Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Henry Emily had never imagined he’d take care of a teenage boy.

Even when his wife was pregnant, Henry had firmly believed that their first child would be a girl. His wife had laughed at his assertions, saying that they couldn’t paint the baby’s room a bright shade of pink before even knowing for sure what gender they would be.

Henry reluctantly allowed his wife to paint the baby bedroom blue, and they agreed that Charlie would be their name if they were a boy. Charlotte would be the name of the girl.

Henry, of course, firmly believed they would be receiving a girl, and started telling everyone how excited he was for “Charlotte.”

One such person was his good friend and coworker, William Afton. William was never really good with kids, but he did have his own baby, Michael.

“Good luck,” Henry had told William jokingly at the bar one day. “I hear boys are menaces.”

William downed a shot. “And who told you that ridiculous rumor?”

“Your mother.”

The two men laughed heartily at that, and William gave Henry a smile. “Well, I’ve heard that girls are much worse in their teenage years.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “And who told you that?”

“My mother in-law.”

Henry chuckled. “Well, I guess you’ll be able to point and laugh at me when Michael is past his rotten stage and Charlotte is creating a ruckus about boyfriend drama.”

“If only they could stay little angels forever,” William mused.

“Yeah, well, they have to grow up eventually,” Henry said. “Everyone does.”

William didn’t say anything to that, just staring thoughtfully off to the distance. Whenever William got that look on his face, it usually meant he was going to say something incredibly stupid and incredibly genius.

But Henry was too tired for genius at the moment.

“Besides,” Henry said, nudging his friend’s shoulder, “I’ve heard Michael hasn’t been acting very angelic lately. Your wife says it’s a miracle that either of you get a good night’s sleep.”

William groaned, massaging his eyes wearily. “He certainly has a pair of lungs on him, and, I kid you not, he can’t bloody stop puking. I’m half tempted to hand him off to you right now.”

Henry was Michael’s godfather, just as William would soon be Charlotte’s godfather.

He grimaced sympathetically. “He must know what a rotten man his father is,” Henry said jokingly, raising his shot glass toward William. “Shame I know you won’t be dying on me any time soon.”

William grinned. “For your sake, I hope your future daughter doesn’t realize how terrible her father is until she’s much older.”

“I’ll drink to that, my friend.”

They clinked their glasses together and downed another shot.

Sure enough, their baby came into the world as a small little girl, both the wife and daughter perfectly healthy. Henry practically cried with relief when he heard the news. It almost felt like a sign. A sign that Henry’s small family would grow up happy and healthy, together.

The first time he held his baby girl in his arms felt like he was carrying the world in the shape of a fragile bundle of life.

Unfortunately for Henry, Charlotte also came with her own set of lungs, and William and Henry agreed that she and Michael were perfect for each other.

“They can regal their children with tales of causing their parents to lose sleep together,” Henry moaned.

“I fear the lungs their children will have packed into them,” William said darkly. “Probably enough to break glass.”

Of course, both adults knew that it wasn’t very likely that Charlotte (or Charlie, as Henry had begun calling her) and Michael would form a romantic relationship together, even if they would be seeing a lot of each other in the future.

Life continued on. Henry and William began working together on creating animatronics for a local pizza shop, and Henry made sure that he was present enough in his daughter’s life to watch her grow.

Unfortunately, William seemed to be much more of a workaholic, and Henry would catch him and his wife giving each other nasty glares. At this point, William already had two children, Michael and Elizabeth, and William said he had a feeling a third was on the way.

“You should spend more time with your family,” Henry told William one day. “You can’t buy those sorts of moments.”

William had sighed and nodded, saying that he would lessen his work-load for the sake of his young ones. Henry had nodded approvingly.

Tragedy first struck in Henry’s life when both his and William’s wives had gone out on a girls night together. Henry and William had been babysitting the kids together, making sure that Michael and Charlie included Elizabeth in their playtime. Michael was reluctant to let a “baby” play with them, even though Elizabeth was four at the time and Michael only six. William’s newest child, Evan, was already soundly asleep.

Still, despite the sibling drama, things were going peacefully, and soon, William and Henry parted ways, all of their children exhausted.

As Henry tucked Charlie in, Charlie looked at him with her big, brown eyes and clutched tightly onto the sheets.

“Is Mommy going to tuck me in tonight?” Charlie whispered.

Henry pressed a kiss on Charlie’s forehead. “Mommy’s not home at the moment.”

Charlie looked horrified at this announcement. “Will she come back?”

“Of course, she will.”

“Can I see her?”

Henry smiled, tucking the sheets more firmly around Charlie. “How about this? When Mommy comes home, she can sneak into your room and give you a kiss. Does that sound good to you?”

Charlie grinned and nodded. “Okay, but she has to wake me up.”

“You might not remember, even if you do wake up,” Henry warned.

“That’s okay!” Charlie declared. “Even if I don’t remember, at least I knew I was loved, when I was awake.”

It was strange to hear something so philosophical come out of Charlie’s mouth, but she always had been a deeper thinker than most children her age.

“How very mature of you,” Henry said. “Good night.”

Henry stood up, but Charlotte reached her hands out. “No, one last hug!”

Henry chuckled, sitting back down to hug his daughter. “Okay, but only one more. Daddy has to do things.”

“No,” Charlie moaned dramatically. “Stay.”

“I’m sorry, but I have things to do. You have to go to sleep now, alright.”

Charlie huffed. “Fine.”

“Good girl. I love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

Henry stood up, gave Charlie one last kiss on the forehead, and walked out of the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him.

An hour later, Henry received a call.

There had been a car accident. Both William and Henry’s wives had died on impact.

“Daddy?” Charlie had asked the next morning. “Where’s Mommy?”

Henry had burst into tears.

The ordeal had been deeply traumatic for all parties involved, but life continued on. Henry had a daughter to take care of. He couldn’t afford to let himself be swamped by grief.

But life had other plans for both Henry and his daughter.

On Charlotte’s seventh birthday, Charlotte had insisted they celebrate at Fredbear’s diner. Henry had no objections to that, and he had invited William and his children to come along.

Unfortunately, William said that they were busy on that date, and he was very sorry they could not attend.

This wasn’t the first time that William had acted distant toward Henry. As a matter of fact, ever since their wives died, William had been spending less and less time with Henry outside of business matters.

It was strange, but, then again, grief did strange things to a man.

Charlie was bummed that Michael wasn’t going to be able to attend her birthday party, but Henry promised her that most of her school friends were coming, which caused her to brighten right back up.

“It’s going to be the best day ever!” Charlie had cheered.

Henry gave her a bright smile. “It sure is.”

It was raining on the evening of Charlie’s birthday party. Maybe Henry should have taken that as a sign that things would go horribly wrong.

He hadn’t meant to take her eyes off of Charlotte. He had needed to go to the bathroom, so he told Charlotte he would be right back.

When he returned, Charlotte wasn’t anywhere in sight. After searching the entire restaurant, panic growing more and more in Henry’s chest, one of the workers finally found her in a back alleyway.

Dead.

After that, life began to float by for Henry Emily. His wife was dead; his daughter was dead. There wasn’t much left to live for.

He knew that William could sympathize with his plight. After all, his own daughter had died on the opening of Circus Baby’s Pizza World. Evan had reported it in hysterics, sobbing his eyes out about how the Circus Baby animatronic had brutally killed Elizabeth.

But, at that point, William and Henry were already fairly distant with each other. William was more absorbed in his work than ever, and Henry was trying to grapple with the loss of his entire family.

Things finally came to a head in 1983.

It was Evan’s birthday, and Henry’s peaceful day had been interrupted by a call from none other than Fredbear’s Diner itself.

“Hello?” Henry said tiredly upon picking up the phone. “What’s going on?”

From the other side of the line, Henry could hear the distant sound of screams and sirens. Instantly, he straightened.

“There’s been an…  accident,” William’s voice said on the line

Henry was already on his feet, searching for his car keys. “What sort of accident?”

“I can’t explain everything now.” William’s voice was strangely stoic. “I’m going to the hospital. I need you to take Michael home.”

“Hospital? William, did something happen to—”

Henry was cut off by the sound of beeping. William had hung up on him.

Henry swore on the top of his lungs. “Where are my keys, where are my keys?”

Henry finally found his keys on the coffee table, hidden between a book and two empty coffee mugs. Henry snatched them up and ran to his car, almost speeding to Fredbear’s Diner.

By the time he arrived, the parking lot was already mostly empty, and Henry ran into the diner, bracing himself.

Blood was everywhere.

Well, maybe not everywhere. There was certainly a good amount of it on the floor, and a terrifying amount on Fredbear. Abandoned birthday party decorations seemed to mock the tragedy that had clearly taken place, and with a wave of nausea, Henry was reminded of his own daughter’s death.

But now wasn’t the time for that. He had to find Michael.

It actually wasn’t hard to find the young teenager. He was curled up in the corner of the bathroom. His blood-stained hands were holding tightly onto his hair, and Henry could see tears pouring down Michael’s cheeks.

“Oh my god, Michael?” Henry asked, rushing to the boy. He was bigger than Henry remembered him, but still horrifyingly young. Henry scanned Michael for any injuries, but he couldn’t see anything. “What happened?”

Michael flinched away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Henry had no idea what Michael was sorry for, but he knew he needed to calm the poor boy down.

“It’s okay, Michael,” Henry said gently, trying his best to keep the waver out of his own voice. “I’m here to take you home.”

Michael’s eyes were blown wide, and he was still pressing his body back into the corner of the bathroom like his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean it; I swear.”

Suddenly, Henry felt very out of his depth. It was clear Michael was having an anxiety attack of some kind, and Henry had no idea what he was supposed to do about it.

“Michael, take deep breaths,” he tried. “You’re safe now.”

For a moment, Henry wondered if Michael could even understand him, but then he took a shuddering inhale, sounding like he was drowning in air.

“There you go,” Henry said, trying to sound encouraging. “And out.”

Henry and Michael probably went through breathing exercises for thirty minutes, until, eventually, some more light entered Michael’s eyes, and recognition crossed over his face.

“Mr. Emily?” he whispered, looking like he was about to throw up. Now that Henry was no longer preoccupied with helping the panicking child, the blood that was all over Michael’s body was becoming increasingly concerning. “What are you doing here?”

“Your father wanted me to pick you up and take you home,” Henry said. “I think he’s at the hospital.”

A strange expression came across Michael’s face, and suddenly Michael was leaping to his feet, sprinting to a bathroom stall. The sound of retching came moments later.

“Are you alright?” Henry asked.

As soon as he said it, Henry felt like an idiot. Of course, Michael wasn’t alright. He had clearly witnessed his brother getting brutally injured.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered again.

“It’s alright, Michael,” Henry said, still not at all sure what Michael was apologizing for. “Are you going to throw up again?”

Hesitation. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll wait here for a bit and see if anymore comes out, okay?”

Henry didn’t get a response, but soon, he heard more retching, although it was beginning to sound like dry heaving.

As soon as Michael stepped out of the stall, Henry tried to give him a smile, although he was feeling pretty ill himself, at this point.

“Good job,” he said. “Go clean yourself up, and I’ll bring a bag in a car in case there’s anything left.”

Michael nodded, still looking pale and clammy. He dispensed a mountain of soap onto his hands and began to scrub them with fervor, only pausing to wipe his mouth. As soon as all of the soap was gone, and, at least in Henry’s eyes, all of the blood was gone as well, Michael began to heap more soap into his hands, scrubbing more.

This time, Henry saw that Michael’s hands were beginning to turn red from over scrubbing.

“You got it all off,” Henry said. “You can stop now.”

Michael shook his head. “I can still feel it,” he whispered, scrubbing his hands even more. “I can still—”

Henry turned the sink off for him. “You’re going to make your hands actually bleed if you keep that up,” he said. “The blood is gone.”

Michael was still shaking, staring at his raw and red hands like they were still coated in blood.

Henry bit back a sigh and handed Michael a bunch of paper towels. “Here.”

Michael slowly dried his hands, still looking more distant than he had earlier. Eventually, he threw the paper towels into the trash can, and Henry led him out of the bathroom.

Michael’s eyes instantly landed on the bloodied Fredbear, and Henry hurriedly led him away from the scene before he could work himself into another panic attack.

“Sit in the car,” Henry instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael nodded and started walking to Henry’s car, and Henry re-entered the restaurant, going to one of the employees, who looked almost as sick as Michael.

“What happened here?”

The employee shook themself slightly before replying. “Somehow, a kid ended up in Fredbear’s mouth. He was crying a lot, and Fredbear—” The employee didn’t continue, instead gesturing helplessly to the animatronic.

It didn’t paint a pretty image.

“What did it do to him?” Henry demanded. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“We think it cracked his skull,” the employee said quietly.

Horror and shock ran through Henry’s body, and Henry wasn’t sure which he should deal with first.

“How is that even possible?” he demanded. “Don’t you realize how much force that would require? There’s no way the animatronics have that much power.”

The employee shrugged. “I’m not the engineer, sir.”

The employee might not have been an engineer, but Henry was. That shouldn’t have been possible.

But Michael was waiting for Henry in the car. Henry would interrogate William about the severe design flaw as soon as he got news of Evan’s status.

“Fine,” Henry said. “Could I have a bag and a water bottle?”

The employee didn’t even bother to charge Henry for the water, instead handing it over for free, along with a plastic bag. They wore the expression of one who didn’t care if they got fired, and Henry wouldn’t be surprised if they were planning on resigning.

“Thank you.”

With that, Henry returned to the car. Michael was already sitting in the passenger’s seat, his shoulders shaking as he stared at his lap.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Henry said, getting into the car and shutting the door behind him. “Here.”

Henry handed Michael the plastic bag and the water.

“The water’s for rehydration,” Henry explained. “The bag is for if you need to throw up again.”

Michael nodded quietly.

“Buckle your seatbelt.”

Michael buckled his seatbelt with a solemn click, and Henry buckled his own before starting the car.

The drive was silent, with the exception of the sound of the car, until Michael finally spoke.

“Is he alive?”

Henry turned on his turn signal and stopped at a stoplight. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“It’s my fault.”

“I really doubt that.”

The light turned green, and Michael didn’t say anything as Henry made his turn.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence, and Henry drove into William’s familiar driveway with little to no fanfare.

“Are you going to be alright on your own?” Henry asked, concern pulsing through him as Michael got out of the car.

“Yeah,” Michael said quietly.

“You know my number if you need anything, right?”

“Yeah.”

Henry frowned, checking his watch. It was still about four in the afternoon. “If your dad doesn’t call or come back from the hospital by ten, give me a call, and I’ll take you to my house.”

“Sir, that’s not necessary—”

“Of course, it is,” Henry said firmly. “You shouldn’t be sleeping alone in the house, especially after everything that’s happened.”

Michael opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before shutting it firmly and giving Henry a short nod.

“Great,” Henry sighed. “I’ll try to reach your father when I get home; I’ll call you after.”

Michael nodded again. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Of course.” Henry hesitated. “You should consider taking a shower and putting on fresh clothing.”

Michael nodded.

“And make sure you keep drinking that water. I don’t know if you know how to make a bowl of broth, but that would be a good idea too.”

Michael was glancing at the door now, and Henry knew he had overstayed his welcome.

“That’s it, I guess. I’ll see you later, Michael.”

“You too, sir.”

After Henry made sure Michael was safely in the house, Henry slowly backed out of the driveway and headed back home.

William had a lot of explaining to do.

Chapter Text

Michael couldn’t stop shaking.

As soon as he stepped into the house, the door shut behind him with a terrifying air of finality, and Michael stood there, trying to figure out what to do next. The grandfather clock was ticking hauntingly, and Michael could hear the sound of the air conditioning bringing in cool air in the summer heat.

The silence mocked him. It laughed at Michael, at his childish foolishness. It pointed out all of the blood on his clothes and in his hair. It brought back the sticky feeling of blood on his fingers, the horror that came with realizing that he killed—

And suddenly Michael was bending over the bag Henry had given him, throwing up what little amount of water he had managed to keep down.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

As soon as Michael was done, he threw the bag into the garbage can, grabbing a bowl for him to throw up in if need be. He was half-tempted to throw up all over the floor, to let him just drown in his disgusting misery, but Father wouldn’t like that.

Father was probably already angry with Michael. Michael didn’t need to make it worse than ruining his floors and furniture. He wasn’t a baby that needed to be cleaned up after.

The thought of Father only made Michael shake more. He was going to be so angry, and rightfully so. He likely wasn’t going to arrive back home tonight, but as soon as he did—

A shudder shook Michael’s body harshly, and Michael held back a fresh wave of tears. He shouldn’t be a cry-baby. He was thirteen years old, for Pete’s sake. He needed to start acting like a man.

There had been so much blood.

Michael entered his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and pretending, for just a minute, that Father had locked both Michael and Evan in their rooms, and nothing had changed at all. He sat down in the corner and imagined that the sobs escaping from his chest were Evan’s sobs from the other side of the wall, and everything was normal.

It didn’t really work.

Because there was an unmistakable truth about all of this, something that would haunt Michael until he inevitably died to one of his father’s animatronics himself.

Michael had killed his baby brother.

It didn’t matter if he was still alive in the hospital. There was no way Evan was surviving that for long. Henry might’ve been hopeful, but he hadn’t heard the crack, or seen the way Evan’s body went slack, or seen all of the blood.

It was getting harder to breathe again. How was Michael supposed to answer any important phone calls if he couldn’t breathe? How was Michael supposed to be prepared for his father if he was crying in the corner like a weak child? How was Michael supposed to do anything in this pathetic state?

He just needed to pull himself together. He could do that. Hell, he’d be a sorry excuse for a human being if he killed his brother for being a crybaby, and yet he couldn’t stop crying himself.

Michael forced himself to take deep breaths in the same way Henry had instructed him. Eventually, his sobbing went away, and Michael found himself staring blankly at the wall across from him, not wanting to move.

Henry had told him that he should shower and make himself some broth, and Michael knew he was right. He knew he probably looked like a mess right now, especially after all that blood and throwing up. He knew how to make a pot of broth, if there was any in the pantry.

But Michael didn’t want to move. Did he even deserve to take care of himself? Did he even deserve to live after what he had done?

Father would probably be angry if he still saw blood on Michael.

But, then again, he would probably be angry if he realized Michael cooked food for himself after everything that happened. Real men don’t need food, after all.

Michael nodded to himself. Real men didn’t need food. Or showers. He was fine right where he was.

As soon as Henry got home, he pulled open the phonebook and found the local hospital’s number before quickly dialing it. It took a while to get William onto the line, but as soon as he did, Henry was ready.

“Is he alive?”

“At the moment, yes.”

William still sounded unmoved, which was honestly bizarre. If Henry were in his situation, he would be in a frenzied panic. Hell, even now, Henry felt panic stir within him.

“Will he stay that way?”

“Not unless we receive a miracle,” William said. “The doctors estimate he has a week at most. Did you get Michael home?”

Henry frowned. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Do you want me to take him to the hospital?”

“That is unnecessary. Michael does not need to see this.”

While Henry might’ve been inclined to agree that seeing his brother half-dead would probably not be good for his mental state, it didn’t change the fact that Evan was still Michael’s brother.

“Are you coming back from the hospital tonight?”

“No.”

Henry’s frown deepened. “So, you’re just going to leave your child alone in the house all night? Don’t you think that’s a bit irresponsible? He’s enough of a wreck as it is. He doesn’t need an empty house to emphasize that.”

“Michael can handle himself,” William said. His voice reminded Henry of a blunt blade. “I have bigger things to worry about than his blathering.”

“Blathering—” Henry sputtered, flabbergasted. “William, Michael just watched his brother nearly die! I understand things are difficult, but he needs support—”

“He can play the victim all he would like, but he was the one to put my child into Fredbear’s mouth,” William interrupted. “Now, if you would excuse me.”

Henry was not willing to excuse William. As a matter of fact, he still had a million other questions for him, especially centering around how it could even be possible for Fredbear to do that much damage, but William hung up on him before he could say another word.

Henry swore at the top of his lungs some more, more than ready to slap William across the face.

Then, of course, there was the issue of Michael being the one to put Evan into Fredbear’s mouth, which certainly explained why Michael kept acting like he had been the one solely responsible for Evan’s inevitable death.

Henry wasn’t about to solely put the blame on a thirteen-year-old, however. First of all, the animatronic shouldn’t have been able to kill Evan in the first place, and second of all, there was no way that Michael had intentionally killed his brother. Michael had acted way too shaken and horrified for that.

Sighing, Henry quickly dialed the number to the Afton’s house, and he waited impatiently for a reply. He didn’t get one at first, so Henry dialed the number again, hoping that Michael would answer.

Fortunately, he did, his voice hoarse and shaky over the line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Michael, its Henry,” Henry said. “Has your dad given you a call?”

Henry was pretty sure he already knew the answer, especially after his disturbing phone call with William, but he’d might as well check.

“No, sir,” Michael said. His voice suddenly became accusatory. “You said I should call you after ten.”

“I know, I know,” Henry sighed. “But I managed to get a hold of your dad, and he says he’s not coming home tonight.”

“Oh.” For some reason, there was a tone of relief in Michael’s voice, which only rang more alarm bells in Henry’s mind.  “Is my brother alive?”

Henry drummed his fingers against the kitchen counter, wondering how much he should tell Michael. Should he really make Michael’s guilt worse by telling him that Evan likely wouldn’t live for more than a week?

Then again, it wasn’t as though Michael wouldn’t find out for himself. It wouldn’t do any good for Henry to lose what little trust Michael had in him.

“At the moment, yes,” he said. “But, um, Michael—”

“He’s not going to make it, is he?”

Michael’s voice was of one who had already submitted themselves to the horrible truth, and now only needed confirmation of what they already knew.

“No,” Henry said quietly. “Not unless there’s a miracle.”

Buzzing silence filled the line, and Henry waited for about a minute before finally speaking again.

“I’m going to go pick you up, okay? You can sleep at my place tonight.”

“Father won’t be happy,” Michael said. “Sir, I can take care of myself.”

“That’s neither here nor there. You shouldn’t have to take care of yourself, and, as your godfather, it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re cared for.”

“Have you asked Father for permission?”

“Frankly, I don’t care for William’s permission at the moment,” Henry said. “He hung up on me before I could tell him. I’ll try to get a hold of him after I pick you up.”

“Fine.” Michael didn’t sound too happy about it, and Henry couldn’t exactly blame him. Everything about this situation was terrible.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah… see ya.”

As soon as Michael got off of the phone with Henry, he quickly dialed the hospital. As much as he didn’t want to speak to Father at the moment, he knew that Father would prefer knowing that Michael wasn’t going to be sleeping in the house.

“Michael?” Father asked when he finally got on the phone. “What is the meaning of this?”

Michael swallowed, trying not to feel sick again. “I just… I wanted to tell you—”

“Speak up.”

Michael’s grip tightened around the phone, and he scowled. “Mr. Emily’s taking me to his house.”

The words came out of Michael’s mouth in a rush, and Michael held his breath.

“And why,” Father said slowly, “is he doing that?”

“He says I shouldn’t be alone in the house,” Michael explained. “It wasn’t my idea, I swear, but he insisted, and you always told me to respect my elders—”

“That’s funny,” Father snapped. Michael flinched. “Because I was told that you’ve been sniveling like an uncultured child.”

Michael froze. What was he supposed to say to that? Was he supposed to lie? “Father, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Michael was shaking again. “Maybe, if you had acted like an adult, Henry wouldn’t have taken pity on your pathetic state.”

“I’m sorry, sir; I’m not—”

“It’s clear that Henry isn’t going to be persuaded tonight,” Father continued, ignoring Michael. “He always was more sensitive after the death of his daughter. Tomorrow, I want you to man up and tell Henry you can take care of yourself. Am I clear?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Father hung up, and Michael stood there mutely for a second.

Why couldn’t he stop shaking?

You killed him, you killed him, you killed him—

Michael shoved the phone back into the receiver, slowly lowering himself onto the floor. He was still filthy, and he knew Father wouldn’t want him dirtying the couch.

Michael wasn’t sure how long he sat there, alone in the expanse of the empty house, but eventually, he heard the haunting ringing of the doorbell.

Michael forced himself to stand up, and he opened the front door to reveal Henry. Henry’s eyes widened upon seeing him, and Michael realized he had never showered like Henry had instructed.

Michael steeled himself, getting ready for the lecture, but none came.

“Hello, Michael,” Henry said, sounding frighteningly gentle. “Do you want to bring a change of clothes so you can shower at my place? Or do you want to shower here? I can wait.”

Michael was pretty sure he’d prefer the “no shower at all” option, but he knew that was neither practical nor polite toward Henry.

“I’ll just take a change of clothes,” Michael said, not wanting to inconvenience Henry any more than already had. He swallowed. “Mr. Emily, you don’t have to do this.”

“You’re still a child,” Henry insisted. “You shouldn’t have to take care of yourself.”

Michael found many things that were wrong with that statement, but he found that he wasn’t in the mood to correct Henry, so he just nodded.

“I’ll get my things,” he said, giving Henry a nod before spinning around and hurrying into his bedroom.

He located a small duffle bag before shoving a set of clothes and his toiletries inside. Did he need anything else? Michael didn’t think so, and he returned to Henry, bag in tow.

“You ready?” Henry asked.

Michael nodded. “Yes, sir.”

They returned to Henry’s car, and Michael grimaced at the fast-food trash that crowded the surface of the floors. He kicked away a plastic cup as he sat down in the passenger’s seat, and he could only hope he wouldn’t find a McDonalds patty hidden in between the car cushions.

The car ride started silent and awkward, and Michael eyed Henry wearily as he opened and shut his mouth repeatedly.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” Michael snapped. He grimaced as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but Henry didn’t look too bothered.

Henry took a deep breath and nodded. “Michael, William told me what happened.”

Michael felt his heart drop. “Oh.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, not entirely, at least. It was an accident.”

Michael bristled. “Mr. Emily—”

“Please, call me Henry. Mr. Emily sounds bizarre.”

Michael glared. “Mr. Henry, I don’t know what part of the story my father fed you, but you clearly missed the part where I put my brother in the very same machine that killed him.”

Well, Evan wasn’t dead yet, but he might as well have been.

Henry’s brows furrowed. “You didn’t know it was going to kill him. It was a cruel thing to do, don’t get me wrong, but you couldn’t have foreseen that.”

Michael crossed his arms and looked stubbornly out the window, manners be damned. “Does it matter? I’m still the reason he’s going to die.”

“The reason he’s going to die,” Henry said, a strange tone of finality in his voice, “is because someone tampered with the animatronics. Under ordinary circumstances, your brother would’ve gotten a concussion at absolute most.”

Michael hadn’t known that, but he still thought Henry was being ridiculous. “Fine, then I share the blame with that guy. Is that what you want to hear? If I were to shoot a gun at someone, thinking it was fake, that doesn’t change the fact that I shot the gun.”

“Unless you intentionally made Fredbear bite, you held what you thought to be a fake gun to someone’s head,” Henry countered. “You didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be dying,” Michael muttered.

Henry sighed. “Look, it’s… it’s not your fault, alright? It was an accident.”

Michael glowered, but he didn’t bother to fight back as they drove into Mr. Henry’s driveway.

When they entered the house, Michael realized that not much had changed since the last time he had been there, which, admittedly, had probably been five years ago. In fact, Michael spied the wall calendar still reading the date 1977, although the calendar itself was closed.

Michael stood there awkwardly, not sure what he was supposed to do with himself. He felt like he was an invader in enemy territory, unwelcome and unprepared.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” Henry asked. “You can get a shower while I call your dad.”

Michael swallowed. “I already called him,” he said. “He said it was okay.”

That was the overstatement of the century, but Michael didn’t really care to explain that William had only let Henry pick him up out of exasperation than any approval toward his actions.

Henry’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Alright, then. You ready for your shower, or not yet?”

Michael wasn’t really ready to do anything at all, but he nodded to the shower. “I’m ready.”

Henry led Michael to the bathroom, pointing out the shampoos he could use before leaving him be. Michael slowly peeled off his clothes, turned on the water, and stepped inside the shower.

The hot water beat against his skin rapidly, and in some cases, Michael might’ve found the shower relaxing.

Now, as Michael watched the water on the shower floor come out red from washing away the blood in his hair, Michael was only wondering if there was a way for him to drown in it.

Chapter Text

While Michael was in the shower, Henry grabbed a few blankets and dumped them on the couch for him to sleep on.

Henry’s house was fairly small, with only two bedrooms. Henry and his wife had thought they’d move out to a bigger home eventually, but their family hadn’t quite grown in the way they expected.

Now, Henry lived alone in this small house, and he didn’t see the point in leaving.

Henry would sleep on the couch while Michael slept in Henry’s bedroom. While Henry would offer Charlie’s old room, Henry had a feeling Michael wasn’t going to be overly comfortable with that. After all, Henry had basically left Charlie’s room untouched since the accident. Most days, he was too afraid to go in there at all.

It was nearing five o’clock, and Henry had half a mind to order a pizza for the two of them, before remembering that he had picked Michael up from a pizzeria. Still, Henry wasn’t in the mood to prepare an actual meal, so, instead, he pulled out some frozen mac and cheese out of the freezer.

While the mac and cheese cooked, the sound of rushing shower water finally ceased, and Michael stepped out of the bathroom soon after. The poor kid looked exhausted, his eyes red and puffy and his face still pale.

“Did you find everything okay?” Henry asked.

Michael nodded slowly, his eyes landing on the blankets sitting on the couch. “Am I sleeping there?” Michael asked, pointing to the couch.

Henry shook his head. “You’ll be sleeping in my bedroom tonight.” He pointed further down the hall, where his bedroom was hidden away. “I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Mr. Henry, I’m not a baby. I can handle sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m sure you can,” Henry said easily. “But I’d rather you take the bed, alright? You’re the guest; it’s a manner of politeness, if nothing else.”

Michael glowered, but he nodded. “Fine.”

And with that, Michael spun around and marched toward Henry’s bedroom without saying another word.

Henry was just glad he had remembered to make his bed this morning.

The mac and cheese finished cooking, and Henry called Michael to dinner. For a moment, Henry received nothing but silence in response, and he wondered if Michael would refuse to eat at all.

But, to Henry’s surprise, Michael came out of his bedroom and sat down at the kitchen island. He looked as sullen as ever, but he didn’t say a word to Henry about it.

Henry couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

“I’ll talk to your dad about it, but I think I’ll drive you to the hospital and drop you off there. How does that sound?”

Michael shrugged noncommittally as Henry placed a small bowl of mac and cheese on the counter. Normally, Henry would just give Michael a big bowl of food, but considering Michael had thrown up recently, Henry didn’t want Michael to eat more than he could handle.

“Only eat what your stomach can handle,” he said. “You can always get seconds if you need them.”

Michael nodded silently, picking up his fork and beginning to eat the mac and cheese. Henry made himself a bowl and sat down across from Michael.

The dinner was awkward and silent, but Henry had no idea what to say to Michael. Michael himself looked like he would combust if Henry said a word to him.

They finished dinner in the same silence it began, and Michael picked up his bowl and walked over to the sink.

“You don’t have to worry—”

“I’m not going to force you to clean up after me,” Michael snapped. The bowl in his hands shook as he turned on the sink.

Henry frowned. “I really don’t mind—”

“Please,” Michael gasped. Michael’s eyes were going red, and Henry internally panicked. “I can do this.”

Henry quickly nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s fine.”

Michael thoroughly rinsed out the bowl before putting it in the dishwasher, and as Henry dimly realized he never got Michael anything to drink, Michael was already hurrying back to Henry’s bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

As soon as Michael entered Henry’s bedroom, he began shaking again.

What was wrong with him?

When Michael was six, his father had made it very clear to him that there was a way one should act around adults. He laid out a list of rules that Michael should follow, and whenever Michael slipped up, punishment would be waiting for him.

He had probably broken about a hundred rules during dinner with Henry. First, he didn’t respond verbally to any of Henry’s questions, and then, he interrupted Henry and rudely insisted upon washing his bowl.

Michael didn’t know why he was acting this way, but he was just… so confused and angry. Angry at himself, mostly, but also angry at Henry. What was with him? Why did he keep acting like Michael was someone who needed to be babied? Michael had taken care of himself before; it wasn’t as though this were anything new.

Still, that didn’t give Michael an excuse to act the way he did. He should apologize. He should set things right before henry decided he had enough of being nice.

But Michael didn’t move. Instead, he stood stock-still, his entire body shaking as he tried to will himself to do anything. Breathing was becoming difficult, and Michael didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself.

You killed him, a little voice began to whisper into Michael’s ear all over again. You killed him, you killed him, you killed him.

Tears began spilling down Michael’s cheeks all over again, and repulsion curled inside Michael’s chest.

Michael wasn’t sure how long he stood there, tormented by his own thoughts, but eventually, he felt himself able to move. He collapsed on top of Henry’s bed with an unceremonious thump, pressing his face into the gray quilt.

Michael remembered being younger and never wanting to sleep at all, wanting to stay up all night long with the grown-ups. One night, he had even snuck a torch underneath the covers and read a book with a blanket over his head.

Michael was basically an adult, and all he wanted to do was sleep forever.

But sleep was a luxury Michael didn’t deserve. Every hour, Michael was shocked awake by nightmares of the day previous. Screams and wailing and laughter haunted his dreams, and Michael would press his hand to his mouth, trying not to make any sound as sobs shook his body.

Michael felt ridiculous, like he was the new “cry-baby Afton” of the family. He wasn’t sure he had cried this much in years, maybe even since Lizzie’s death.

“You’re an adult,” Michael whispered to himself firmly. “Start acting like one.”

In spite of the words, Michael didn’t feel like an adult. He felt small, and he selfishly wished for someone’s hand to hold in all of this.

“You’re an adult,” he whispered again. “You don’t need anyone.”

The next morning, Henry scrambled to find some ingredients for a half-way decent breakfast, but the only things he found were a few eggs sitting in a carton. Did Michael like eggs?

Well, Henry didn’t hate eggs, so he cracked one and put it on a pan, beginning to fry it while he waited for Michael to wake up. He didn’t expect Michael to be awake for a few hours yet, seeing as it was only six in the morning.

Michael surpassed Henry’s expectations yet again, however, and Henry was only just placing his plate in the dishwasher when Michael came shuffling out of his bedroom, looking exhausted.

“Hey, Michael,” Henry said. “How’d you sleep?”

From the paleness of Michael’s face and the bags beneath Michael’s eyes, Henry was going to guess the answer was “dreadfully.”

“Fine,” Michael muttered. He paused near the kitchen island, staring at Henry’s frying eggs. “Do you need help with that?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” Henry said. “Do you want eggs for breakfast? If not, I have some old cereal in the pantry.”

“Eggs are fine, sir. Thank you.”

Breakfast was about as awkward as dinner had been, and, when Michael had finished his meal, henry didn’t try to stop him from cleaning his own plate.

“I’ve already called your father last night,” Henry said. “He agreed to the hospital plan.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Well, in reality, William had been incredibly reluctant. Almost ridiculously so. He insisted that Henry could just drop Michael back off at the house until Henry had pointed out that Michael should at least see his little brother before he died.

In spite of William’s agreement, Henry had the distinct feeling that William wanted to punch him across the line, and he wasn’t sure how good he felt about handing Michael back over to him.

“Really,” Henry said. He bit the inside of his cheek before sitting down again with a sigh. “Michael… I need you to be honest with me.”

Michael’s face became suddenly solemn. “What is it?”

“Does your father ever… hurt you?”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “No,” he said instantly. His voice became defensive. “Why would you think that?”

“Does he leave you alone for days?” Henry continued. “Because, I’m going to be completely honest, he’s been giving off a lot of red flags.”

Michael froze, his eyes wide and his mouth opening and closing silently. “No,” he finally said quietly. “He doesn’t leave me alone for days, or hurt me, or do anything wrong, alright? He’s just stressed right now.”

Henry wasn’t sure he bought that, and the idea of his best friend abusing his child was staring to make him feel sick.

“Are you sure?” Henry asked. “Because, Michael, it’s not right, even if he’s not—”

“I’m sure,” Michael interrupted, rolling his eyes. “God, Mr. Henry. I thought you two were supposed to be friends.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

“Well, I am,” Michael said shortly. “He just doesn’t handle death so well, alright? That’s on me. I’ll be perfectly fine after you drop me off at the hospital.”

Henry didn’t feel all that reassured, but Michael seemed genuine enough. He wore none of the tells that Henry was used to seeing in lying children, and Henry had a lot of experience with catching children in a lie. Hell, Charlie’s eye used to twitch every time she tried.

Besides, William wouldn’t hurt his own kid. Right? Henry knew him well enough to know he was better than that.

Henry would just have to trust Michael for now.

“If you’re sure—”

“I am.”

“Alright.” Henry smiled, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure Michael or himself. “When do you want to go?”

“We can go now,” Michael said quickly. “Please.”

Henry was a little startled by the sudden response, but he couldn’t say he was surprised at the answer. If Henry had been in Michael’s shoes, he’d probably have been just as desperate to be able to see his little brother before his heart stopped beating.

“Alright,” Henry said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Michael could hardly keep up with is racing thoughts on the way to the hospital.

A part of him wanted to think more about what Mr. Henry had meant when he said it was wrong for his father to leave him alone for too long. Michael didn’t really understand it. He was almost an adult; he could manage taking care of the family while Father worked.

Besides… now there wasn’t any family left to take care of. Surely Henry wasn’t worried that Michael couldn’t take care of himself?

Still, Michael was still more preoccupied with what would happen when they reached the hospital. Father would surely be angry at him, and rightfully so. After all, Michael had promised he’d make Henry return him home today, and instead, Michael’s going to bother him at the hospital.

Michael really wanted to see Evan, though. There was so much he wanted to say, so little he had left unsaid for years, and Michael… Michael didn’t want to screw everything up all over again. He wanted to at least try to set things right, even if it was infinitely too late for that.

They pulled into the parking lot, and Michael quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

Or never. Michael never saw much of Henry these days.

“Actually,” Henry said, getting out of the car himself. “I need to speak to William about a few things, and I think it’ll be easier to do so face to face.”

Michael really hoped Henry wasn’t going to tell Father that he thought Father was mistreating Michael. Father would not react well to that.

There wasn’t much Michael could do in terms of stopping Henry, though, so he followed Henry inside to the front desk.

“Hello, we’re here to see Evan Afton,” Henry said. “He was admitted here yesterday.”

Michael zoned out of the conversation Henry had with the receptionist, his mind buzzing. Now, being in this hospital waiting room, everything seemed much more real to him, if that was even possible. Between the smell of disinfectant and the silence of people reading their newspapers, it slowly dawned on Michael that this would be the place his brother would die.

Evan had always hated going to see the doctor. Michael wondered what he would think if he knew he was dying in a hospital.

Michael’s eyes landed on the local newspaper someone was reading, the front laid bare for Michael to see.

Tragedy Strikes at Fredbear’s Not-So-Family-Friendly Diner

A photo of the bloodied Fredbear animatronic was stamped underneath the headline, and Michael thought he might throw up all over again.

“Michael?” Henry asked, pulling Michael out of the darkness of his thoughts. “Did you hear me?”

Michael forced himself to turn away from the headline and look back up at Henry. “No, sir. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Henry said. “We can visit Evan now.”

Michael swallowed. “Oh. Okay.”

Michael followed Henry into the elevator.

“Did you see today’s newspaper?” Michael asked, his voice hoarse.

Henry frowned. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“You’re going to lose business over this,” Michael pointed out. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“If I’m being entirely honest with you, I might retire,” Henry said. “Or find a new job.”

Michael wasn’t sure why Henry would do that, unless he was tired of animatronics accidentally killing children.

The elevator stopped with a small ding, and the doors slid open. Henry led Michael further down the hall until they stopped in front of a door.

Henry knocked on the door and studiously waited for it to open. Michael sucked in a breath when it opened to reveal Father.

Father looked only slightly worse for wear. If he had been crying, he was an expert at not showing it, and the bags underneath his eyes were only slightly worse than usual.

“Henry,” Father said shortly. He nodded toward Michael. “Michael.”

“William,” Henry replied with equal shortness. “I thought Michael could visit Evan while we had a little discussion.”

Father didn’t look pleased at that, but he plastered on a fake smile that only Michael could recognize as fake.

“Very well,” he said.

William stepped out of the room, and Michael carefully stepped in it. The door shut behind him, and Michael was alone with the sound of hospital machines and a heart monitor that was slowly beating.

Well, he wasn’t completely alone.

Michael slowly walked across the room and sat down in the chair situated next to Evan’s hospital bed. His death bed.

Evan looked so terrifyingly small. His head was plastered with bandages, as though that could change the damage that had already been done. A ventilator was forcing oxygen into his baby brother’s lungs, but Michael knew it wouldn’t last.

A lump formed in Michael’s throat. Did he even deserve to be here? After everything, did Michael deserve to have final words with Evan, to seek out reconciliation from someone who would be unconscious in a hospital bed for the rest of his cut-short life.

Michael’s hands shook as he carefully reached out and grabbed Evan’s small hand in his own. He had to say something. He had to say something before it was too late.

He opened his mouth.

No words came out.

Michael wanted to throw up.

Instead, he sat silently, listening to the beeping of the heart-monitor as he clutched tightly onto Evan’s hand, trying to stem the way his own hands shook.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say.

He wasn’t even sure he had earned the right to say I love you.

Tears were filling Michael’s eyes again, and Michael quickly wiped them away. Father wouldn’t be happy if he saw Michael crying.

Still unable to say all of the things Michael had never been able to say to Evan, Michael clutched even more tightly onto Evan’s hand and kissed the top of Evan’s bandaged forehead.

Didn’t they say actions spoke louder than words?

In any other situation, Michael would’ve snorted derisively at himself. Maybe when the person was conscious.

But Michael’s throat was dry, and he was unable to form the words he so desperately wanted to say.

So, he sat there, alone, holding onto his last remaining, dying sibling for dear life.

Chapter Text

As soon as Michael was safely inside Evan’s hospital room, Henry turned toward William, but before he could even get a word out of his mouth, William held his hand up in a halting position.

“Let’s take this conversation outside. We don’t need to be disturbing hospital staff.”

Henry had a feeling that this conversation was going to get heated very quickly, so he agreed. At the very least, Michael could visit his little brother without hearing William and Henry argue from right outside the door.

William and Henry silently exited the hospital and started walking along the edge of the building.

“You wanted to talk?” William asked.

That was the understatement of the century. A thousand questions were on Henry’s mind, and he had no idea which ones to start with.

He decided to start with the most pressing matter.

“Do you often leave your child alone in the house?” he asked coldly.

William looked unmoved. “I am a single working father,” he said. “Michael can take care of himself for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Henry laughed, albeit slightly hysterically. In his defense, the past day and a half had been exhausting. “He looked surprised when he saw I was making food for him. Surprised, William. I don’t care how busy you are, the least you could do is hire a babysitter if you can’t even make it during mealtimes. Or, hell, you could call me—”

“Babysitters are for small children, Michael is nearly an adult—”

“He is thirteen years old! He can’t even drive.”

“He is old enough to know how to cook for himself.” William’s voice was clipped and frosty. “He doesn’t need his hand held through everything.”

“Cook for himself? Will, Evan was in the hospital only yesterday. If you’ve been leaving Michael alone in the house long enough for him to have to cook for himself, he’d have to cook for Evan too.”

“Something he is equally capable of.” William rolled his eyes. “You can disapprove of my parenting methods, but seeing as your own child was… well… I don’t see how you have any right to talk.”

William could have stabbed Henry through the stomach and it would’ve hurt less, and it took every fiber of self-control in Henry’s being not to slap William across the face.

“You’re all but admitting to child neglect.” Henry took a deep breath, not trying to hide the venom in his voice. “I could get you arrested for that.”

“You have no proof.”

“I have the words coming right out of your goddamn mouth.”

William smiled smugly at Henry. “And do you really think I would testify against myself? Do you think Michael would testify against me?”

If Henry weren’t so blindly at angry at William, if he weren’t so filled with grief and betrayal, he might not have said what he said next.

“I think if he knew it was his father’s tampering that killed his baby brother, he would.”

It was a shot in the dark, a wild guess, but also one of the few horrifying explanations that would make any remote amount of sense. William worked on those animatronics; he would know better than anyone how to make them deadly.

William’s face hardly changed at the accusation, and he only blinked rapidly, looking offended.

“Old friend, have you lost your mind?”

And that was all the proof Henry needed.

Henry knew William. At least, he knew the way he acted toward false accusations. Once, William’s wife had accused him of cheating, and he had laughed uproariously, reassuring her that he would never do such a thing.

But, years ago, when Henry had accused William of not spending as much time as he should with his family, William had just stayed quiet, blinking rapidly before admitting to the truth. Henry wasn’t even sure William noticed the difference in his reactions.

But Henry did, and now he wanted to throw up.

“I think I should be asking you that,” Henry hissed. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? Why would you tamper with Fredbear like that?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” William said. “What could I possibly have to gain from making Fredbear more dangerous than he already is?”

“That’s what I would like to know.” Henry pointed at William threateningly. “William, your son’s skull was cracked by that animatronics mouth. That amount of force is not natural for a robot, springlock or not. Someone had to have tampered with those suits.”

“And what makes you think it was me?” William asked. “Are you going to mock my grief by saying I am the one responsible for my son’s death?”

Henry faltered, but only for a moment. “You have barely shown an ounce of care or remorse toward Evan’s situation,” he said quietly. “Do you really expect me to believe you’re grieving?”

“I’m hurt.” William’s face was turning more and more furious, but if he thought that was going to scare Henry, he sure as hell had another thing coming. “Just because I do not scream and wail as you did does not mean I’m not grieving as well.”

Henry clenched his fists as they made another turn. “Fine,” he said, his shoulders sagging. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Henry wasn’t about to let William get off that easy, though.

“But that doesn’t mean you can leave Michael alone in the house the way you apparently are, and it doesn’t mean you can’t address the tampering of the animatronics.”

“At this rate, you’re going to tell me that my only goal in life is to kill children.”

“And at this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Henry could hardly believe what he was saying, but he didn’t attempt to find any opportunity to take back the words. “Your daughter was killed by one of your animatronics, your son is dying because of one of your animatronics—”

“Our animatronics, I think you mean.” William’s eyes flashed, and he came to a sudden halt, turning face to face toward Henry. “And how do I know you weren’t the one to tamper with the animatronics?”

“Do you really think I’d be bringing it up if I did it?” Henry spat. “You’re the one looking more and more guilty by the second.”

“And you’re the one who all but kidnapped my only remaining child yesterday,” William snarled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to incriminate me to have a child again.”

Henry balled his fist, only barely managing to stop himself from punching his old friend in the face.

“That was out of line.”

“I apologize.” William sighed and ran his hair back with his fingers. “Just… I’d be careful if I were you, Henry. Oftentimes, sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong gets you killed.”

“Is that a threat?” Henry asked quietly.

William tilted his head. “Just a warning,” he answered with equal quietness. “After all, a killer prefers to keep their identity secret.”

“And the longer it stays a secret, the more opportunities they have to strike.” The image of Charlotte’s dead body pushed itself to the front of Henry’s mind. “Do you really want to lose Michael? Do you really want any parent to go through the same pain we have?”

“If we launch an investigation, you and I will be prime suspects.”

“If that’s what it takes to stop the death of another child, I am more than willing to be questioned by the police a hundred times over. Are you, Mr. Afton?”

William didn’t say anything, only staring at Henry quietly as they listened to the sound of cars zoom by.

“You always were too bold for your own good,” William said quietly.

“Pardon?”

William gave Henry a flashing smile and wrapped an arm around Henry’s shoulders. “You see, Henry, I’ve been doing this for a while now.”

“Doing what?” Henry was half-tempted to shove William’s arm off of him. Old friendships or not, Henry was beginning to despise the man William had become underneath his nose.

William was reaching into his suit now. “You should’ve seen the look in Charlotte’s eyes, when she thought Uncle Will had come to save her.”

Michael couldn’t stand sitting in the silence for long. The sound of the heart-monitor mocked him, and he didn’t even feel like he deserved to be in this space.

So, Michael got up and left the hospital room, fully expecting to see Father and Henry arguing about something.

Instead, they were nowhere in sight.

For some reason, the realization made Michael’s heart skip more than a few beats.

That was fine, though. Father probably had places to be, and Henry had left after having his discussion. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. As a matter of fact, it was downright likely. Michael would just have to find a way to walk home.

Michael quickly got onto the elevator and stepped out of the hospital, scanning the parking lot for the absence of both Father and Henry’s cars to confirm his suspicions.

But Father’s pristine car and Henry’s much more beat up car were still sitting in the same parking spaces as Michael remembered seeing them when he first entered the hospital.

So where the hell were Henry and Father?

To options quickly wared in Michael’s mind. On one hand, Michael would be wise to just go home anyway and not waste any more of their time. On the other hand, Father might like to know Michael had left, just so he could keep track of where he was.

Michael bit the inside of his cheek, and he found a man reading yet another haunting newspaper on a bench outside the hospital doors.

“Excuse me, sir,” Michael said. “Did you see a man in a purple suit walk by?”

The man snorted. “It’d be hard for me to forget a suit that distinct, that’s for sure.” He pointed to Michael’s right. “He and another guy started walking in that direction. I think they were walking around the perimeter of the building, but I’m not sure.”

It was better than nothing. Michael would just hurry over there to make sure Father was okay with his leaving, and if Henry and Father seemed to be talking about anything too serious, Michael would just take responsibility for himself and leave without permission.

Wanting to get the potential conversation with Father over with, Michael broke into a jog in the direction the man had pointed him in. It didn’t take too long for him to find both Father and Henry, and he slowed down into a walk.

Michael suddenly had the very distinct feeling there was something he had missed, though, because suddenly, Henry standing stock still, not saying a word, and Father—

Father was holding a knife.

At William’s words, shock and horror flooded through Henry’s body. His ears began to ring as he processed the information. William had been the one to kill his daughter? His best friend? How could he—

“Mr. Emily, look out!”

Both William and Henry started at the sound of Michael’s voice, and Henry’s eyes landed just in time on the knife clasped in William’s hand.

Red-hot anger suddenly replaced Henry’s shock, and he dodged out of the way of the knife’s path, getting out from underneath William’s arm. Instead of hitting him square in the chest, the knife skidded across Henry’s shoulder, and hot blood began to soak Henry’s sleeve.

Henry grabbed onto William’s wrist, twisting the knife out of his hand. The knife clattered against the pavement. William bent over to pick it up, but Henry kicked him in the ribs instead, causing William to collapse backwards. Henry jumped on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

“You’ll regret this,” William spat, trying to push himself forward.

Henry breathed heavily, seething. “You’re lucky I haven’t killed you, you son of a—”

“What’s going on?”

Michael stood only a few feet away from them, his eyes wide and face pale, and Henry tried to imagine how it would feel to watch his own father aim a knife at a family friend.

“Call the cops,” Henry said. “William tried to kill me.”

“In self-defense,” William growled, the liar. “You were about to strangle me.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Henry resisted the urge to wrap his hands tightly around William’s throat. “You killed my daughter, you bastard!”

“What?” Michael took a step away from both of them, his voice becoming harsher. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t listen to him,” William snarled. “He’s nothing but a liar—”

“Says the man who has done nothing but lie for years,” Henry interrupted. “Michael, call the cops.”

Michael opened and closed his mouth, looking dumbstruck, but he finally spun around and ran off back toward the hospital.

“Goddamnit, Will.” Henry was beginning to feel the pain in his shoulder, but more obvious were the tears forming in his eyes. “What were you even thinking, attacking me in broad daylight? What were you even thinking in the first place? Killing my daughter? She loved you.”

William had given up struggling, and he stared quietly up at the cloudy sky. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Later, Henry would find out that the camera in that specific part of the outer wall of the hospital was broken, and William had likely hoped he could get away with the murder scot free.

Just like he had with Charlie’s.

The cops soon arrived to the scene, and Henry was dragged away by the nurses while the cops cuffed William. Michael still looked shaken out of his mind as a cop started asking him questions.

Henry wished he could be there for him, to pull him into a hug and promise him that everything was going to be okay, but the doctors had insisted they deal with Henry’s injury before he spoke to the cops.

And Henry was only left to wonder how he could have possibly let things go so horribly wrong.

Chapter Text

Evan died two days after William had been arrested, but, unfortunately, his funeral was postponed by the court cases that followed.

For one, the diner was under investigation, which Henry thought was more than fair. Unfortunately, this meant that Henry himself was a suspect, which left him spending a great deal of time answering police questions and wondering if he was going to find himself right next to William in jail.

Honestly, Henry wasn’t even sure he didn’t deserve it. After all, if he had been more observant, maybe he could have prevented William from becoming the person he was today.

Being a key witness to William attempting to murder Henry, Michael shakily testified against William in court, looking terrified out of his mind. Still, Michael wore a hard glare on his face as he told the court what had happened, and Henry couldn’t have been prouder.

William was sentenced to life in prison without parole, and Henry found himself wishing that his daughter’s murderer had received the death penalty. This feeling did not at all abate when William looked as though he were ready to break out of prison just to kill Michael.

After Henry had the second daunting task of actually gaining custody over Michael; although Henry did, at least, have some legal documents that had been signed years ago, stating that if anything were to happen, Michael would go to Henry.

During all of this, Fredbear’s Diner closed down, and Henry was forced to start searching for a new job. One that was preferably not connected to animatronics.

Henry almost appreciated the present chaos of his life. It distracted him from thinking about the horrible truth. It prevented him from re-imagining his daughter’s death, this time with his old friend as the killer.

But finally, after Henry had secured a new job, he found himself picking Michael up from the group home Michael had been staying in.

The time since Evan’s death had not served Michael well. His eye sported a dark bruise, and Michael glared at everything around him, as though they were directly responsible for all of his problems.

Instead of a suitcase, like Henry had expected, Michael carried a trash-bag.

Their drive had been as silent and awkward as they always were, and when they reached the house, Henry showed Michael to his new room.

Henry carefully opened the door to Charlotte’s old bedroom, pushing down the lump that was beginning to form in his throat.

“It, um, it needs re-decorating.”

Before Michael arrived, Henry had quickly packed up all of Charlotte’s old things into boxes, which were currently sitting in Henry’s own bedroom, from barbie dolls, to items stamped with Charlie’s name, to a play kitchen set, all of which had been gathering dust for years. Henry had cried over all of them the day before, but he couldn’t afford to cry now. Michael needed a stable figure in his life.

Still, the room still screamed of Charlie. When Charlie was about five, purple was the color of the year, and she had insisted that everything in her bedroom be purple. Between the walls, the bedding, hell, even the purple bedside table and lamp, Charlie’s footprint on the small room wasn’t even remotely erased.

Both Michael and Henry stood in the door-frame of Charlie’s bedroom, and Michael stood completely still, opening and closing his mouth silently.

“Sir…” he finally said. “I can’t accept this.”

“You have to have a bedroom, and this is the only bedroom in the house apart from my own,” Henry said firmly.

“But…” Michael still looked aghast, and his voice cracked when he spoke next. “This was her bedroom.”

Henry hated to admit it to himself, but it had never occurred to him how much Charlie’s death might’ve affected Michael as well. Sure, he was just a little boy when it had happened, but he was very close to Charlie. They were practically best friends.

The hole in Henry’s chest made its appearance right on cue, and Henry took a deep breath, trying his hardest not to cry.

“She would want you to have it,” he said. He wasn’t even lying. “I don’t know how well you remember her, but… she was a giving soul.”

Michael still looked like he wanted to protest, but he only nodded.

“You’re going through a lot of trouble for me,” he muttered, staring at his feet. “I’m not sure why.”

“I care about you, that’s why.” Michael’s head snapped up toward Henry, his eyes wide and disbelieving, and Henry’s already broken heart was on the verge of shattering. “Michael, you’re a brave young man who deserves to live a happy life, alright?”

Michael’s face hardened back into a glare. “I don’t deserve to be happy,” he said softly.

Before Henry could say anything, Michael stepped into Charlie’s room, Michael’s room, and slammed the door shut behind him. Henry flinched at the sudden movement, but he didn’t try to enter the room after him.

“You deserve happiness,” Henry said, hoping Michael was listening from the other side of the door. “You hear me? In spite the terrible hand life gave you, you deserve a happy life.”

Michael didn’t say anything in response.

Henry fled to his room before he broke down crying.

Michael would’ve given anything to turn back time to a month ago.

Back then, his brother was still alive. Back then, things were normal. Michael had his own bedroom, not one that used to belong to a dead best friend. Michael lived in his own house, not the house of his father’s old friend.

Hell, back then, Michael had a father. A father who wasn’t a murderer, at least in Michael’s eyes. A month ago, Michael could’ve remained wonderfully and blissfully ignorant.

Then again, if he was ignorant a month ago, history would just repeat itself all over again, and Evan would still be dead.

Now, Michael was terrifyingly alone, left with the man who probably pitied him more than he actually professed to care. Why would Henry care about Michael? Michael was a murderer. He was just like his stupid father.

Henry didn’t try to get into Michael’s room, even though Michael hadn’t locked the door. Michael wasn’t entirely sure what he was waiting for, after all, Michael had slammed that door shut. Henry might’ve been pitying Michael, but surely he wasn’t going to tolerate outrageous behavior.

Michael sat down on Charlie’s bed, trying not to throw up, and he held his breath, waiting for Henry to storm in and start yelling at him.

Instead, footsteps started walking away from Michael’s door.

Maybe Henry had locked it. Michael hadn’t heard the sound of a click, but it wasn’t impossible. Michael had gotten increasingly more spacey ever since he killed Evan, and he could’ve just missed the sound.

Michael slowly stood up and walked across the room, carefully wrapping his hand around the golden doorknob. Glaring at the door, Michael forcefully twisted the knob, expecting resistance.

Instead, the knob moved smoothly and easily, and Michael’s heart skipped a beat in surprise.

The door wasn’t locked?

Michael quietly peeked out the door of Charlie’s bedroom, trying to see if Henry was coming back with something to make Michael’s life miserable, but Henry wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Oh. So, it was this sort of punishment. Henry had probably left the house for the time being and wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. Typical. At least Michael knew how to deal with it.

Still, the last thing Michael needed was to be caught messing around with the television because he thought Henry wasn’t home.

“Mr. Henry?” Michael asked the air cautiously.

He waited a beat, but almost as soon as the name came from Michael’s mouth, a reply came from Henry’s bedroom further down the hall.

“I’m here,” Henry said. “Do you need anything?”

Yeah, Michael needed a normal guardian. “No, sir. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

Michael glared at Henry’s door before slamming the door shut once again, this time with extra fervor.

He received no response.

Evan’s funeral was the next day.

Michael had honestly forgotten that they were going to have one of those.

All of the nice suits that Father insisted Michael wear at formal events had been lost when Michael was shipped off to the child protection services and Father had been arrested, but Henry had a suit that was almost Michael’s size. Almost.

Father would’ve been furious if he saw Michael wearing a slightly oversized suit. He would’ve said it was an embarrassment and that it was a mistake that needed to be rectified.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, straightening Michael’s tie. “I tried to take it to the tailors, but apparently I misinterpreted what your size was.”

“It’s fine,” Michael said, instinctively glancing over his shoulder to make sure Father wasn’t watching.  Nobody was there, of course, but Michael still smoothed back his hair with his fingers. “Can we go now?”

Henry looked surprised, but Michael couldn’t say he blamed him. Even Michael was surprised by how detached he was acting. When Lizzie had died, both Michael and Evan had fought internal battles not to cry and make a scene during her funeral.

Now, Michael felt empty. Worn out. Apparently, there was only a certain number of funerals one could attend before losing the grief that came with them.

That’s not true, a small part of him whispered, the part of him that wanted to unearth all of the self-loathing, and pain, and love, and anguish—

Michael pushed that part of him down. He needed to behave himself, and he needed to make a good impression to Henry. He wasn’t going to be the same crybaby he was before.

When they got to the car, Michael made sure he didn’t need to be prompted to buckle his seatbelt. He was going to be the perfect child today. He wasn’t going to cry at the funeral, and he wasn’t going to distract Henry, and he wasn’t going to break any of Henry’s rules.

It was the least he could do, considering that Henry had openly volunteered to take a monster like him.

When they arrived at the cemetery, the sun was hitting its peak in the sky, and Michael felt sweat already begin to form on his face. The dark suits did not help, and Michael was left to wonder how Father had survived wearing a suit like this all the time.

Michael couldn’t remember much of the funeral itself. At one point, everyone got up to talk about Evan, except most of the attendants barely knew him. Evan always struggled to get along with the other kids his age, and he was terrified of talking to adults.

Still, most people found at least one nice thing to say. Henry gave a very touching speech about being there when Evan was born, and how Evan was a bright young boy, even when touched with trauma at a young age.

“I’m sure, wherever he is, he’s already given his mother and sister a big hug,” Henry said, his voice cracking.

A lump formed in Michael’s throat at those words, and he tried to keep his vision focused on the fresh tombstone with Evan’s name on it. He tried not to see the two stones sitting next to it. He tried not to think about how long it would take for Michael’s stone to join the others.

Selfishly, Michael hoped it was sooner rather than later.

Henry finished speaking, and he leaned over toward Michael.

“Are you able to speak?” he whispered.

No, Michael wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak at all, but Michael knew the question wasn’t really a question. Even if it sounded different from Henry than it did from Father, it was just a sarcastic way of telling Michael to man up and do something.

Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing himself to say something. Anything. He could talk about how Evan had always cried over the worms that dried up on the sidewalk. Or he could talk about how his favorite food was the frozen mac and cheese Michael would sometimes make.

Hell, Michael could talk about the first time he held Evan, and how Evan hadn’t cried at all, sound asleep and warm in Michael’s arms.

But the image of Evan’s anguished wailing followed by his broken and bloody body pushed its way to the front of Michael’s mind, and the tears that Michael thought he had been so good at repressing suddenly came full force.

He had to say something. He had to keep it together. Everyone was watching. Just say something.

“I—” Michael tried not to choke on his attempts to not cry. “I loved him.”

Michael shut his mouth, feeling unable to say anything else without shrieking. Henry held out his hand slightly toward Michael, and unthinkingly, Michael took it in his own.

A small thrill ran down Michael’s spine, and a few tears slipped from his eyes as Henry gave his hand a small squeeze. He wasn’t sure why he was acting like this. It wasn’t like he hadn’t comfortingly squeezed Evan or Elizabeth’s hands before.

Whatever it was, it left Michael craving more, and he narrowly managed to stop himself from squeezing Henry’s hand back.

He didn’t deserve love. He didn’t deserve affection.

He tugged his hand out of Henry’s.

The warm sensation of Henry’s hand holding his own still persisted, and Michael resisted the urge to rub his hand against the side of his pants. That would be pathetically rude, and Michael would be lying to himself if he didn’t think that the feeling on his hand was nice.

He wanted more. He so wanted more.

The rest of the service went by in a blur, and Michael could barely hear the attendees that told him they were sorry for his loss. Why were they apologizing to him? He should be the one apologizing. Apologizing for being a murderer.

Instead, Michael said nothing, still trying to maintain some level of dignity as people slowly started dispersing.

Eventually, Michael and Henry were the only ones left.

“Do you want me to wait by the car?” Henry asked. “So, you can say what you want without an audience?”

It was tempting, but Michael knew that if he let himself do that, he’d just end up breaking down. If he broke down, it’d be all too obvious to Henry when Michael got back to the car, which would force Henry to address the fact that he acted disgracefully at the service.

When Evan couldn’t stop crying at Elizabeth’s funeral, Father had locked both Michael and Evan into their rooms for the entire day. Apparently, Michael also bore responsibility because he hadn’t managed to keep his brother in check.

Michael shook his head tiredly, swallowing furiously. “We can… we can go.”

“Are you sure?”

Michael nodded, his eyes beginning to blur. He looked away so that the tears could dry without Henry seeing.

“Michael…” Henry looked suddenly nervous. “Do you need a hug?”

Michael had hugged Evan the night Elizabeth had died. Father had caught them in the act and told them to act like adults.

That was the last time Michael had hugged Evan.

Michael glared at him. “I don’t need your pity,” he said hoarsely, trying not to think about the fact he could still feel the imprint of warmth Henry had left on his hand. “Let’s just go.”

Henry’s face was still pitying, and Michael turned away and marched to the car.

If he could turn back time, he’d give Evan a giant hug, his father be damned.

Chapter Text

As Michael lived with Henry, a strange routine began to develop.

Every morning, Henry would make sure that Michael ate something for breakfast, which, most days, he hadn’t. It wasn’t that Michael couldn’t make himself breakfast. He just didn’t really think he deserved to. After all, if it weren’t for him, his baby brother would still be alive.

Henry seemed to disagree greatly with Michael, and Michael soon learned that if he wasn’t going to make himself breakfast, Henry would end up making it for him. The last thing Michael wanted was for Henry to inconvenience himself further because of Michael drowning in his own self-pity.

Michael still had a few weeks of summer vacation, which opened up a fresh conflict when it came to Henry going to work. While Michael had no problem with Henry needing to be gone for eight hours of the day, Henry seemed to think it was the worst travesty to exist.

“I hate leaving you alone in the house,” he said.

Michael gave Henry a deadpan expression. “Sir, you’re not going to be gone long. Besides, unless you’re locking me inside, I can entertain myself elsewhere.”

Henry still looked incredibly anxious over such a necessary thing.

“Stay safe?” he asked. “And if you go out, leave a note and don’t leave the neighborhood without my permission.”

Michael nodded, still left to wonder why Henry even cared so much. He acted like being gone for less than half of the day was a disaster and that Michael was going to fall to pieces at a simple paper cut.

And why couldn’t he leave the neighborhood? What was the worst thing that could happen, he’d get murdered in an alleyway? By Michael’s books, that wasn’t so bad.

Michael could handle himself. He’d have thought that Henry would’ve figured it out by now. Michael’s summers before now had often consisted of him taking lawn-mowing jobs and saving up money in case he needed to take an emergency trip to the grocery store.

So, after Michael made himself breakfast and Henry went to work. Michael would scrawl a simple note saying I’m taking a walk before searching the neighborhood for simple yard-work jobs he could do.

Normally, Michael would also try to find time to spend with friends, but, as it turned out, working together to accidentally kill someone’s little brother was enough to make outings extremely awkward. Michael didn’t even bother to get permission to go out with them after an incredibly emotionally stunted outing at the arcade. Michael could barely look his old friends in the eyes without remembering how they had all laughed as they put Evan in Fredbear’s mouth.

They all silently agreed that they would never lay eyes on each other outside of school again.

In all honesty, Michael didn’t mind the work. Sure, the sun was awful, and the work was exhausting, but it was one thing that hadn’t changed about his old life. Sure, Michael might be living in a different home with a guardian who treated Michael like glass, but, at least, Michael was still earning money in simple ways.

One day, Henry would figure out that Michael was perfectly independent, and he’d stop making sure Michael had enough food in the pantry to feed himself with. When that time came, Michael would be ready.

One day, however, after Michael had finished weeding a garden, he was dying for some ice cream. And, while, yes, Henry said Michael wasn’t allowed to leave the neighborhood without permission, there was no conveniently timed ice cream truck in sight. Besides, what Henry didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t take too long to exit the neighborhood and walk to the ice-cream shop. Sure, Michael took a few wrong turns, but the walk only took about an hour, and when he arrived, he found families and children alike all sitting around outside the shop, eating their ice cream. Today was just an ice cream day, Michael supposed.

Back when Elizabeth was still alive, sometimes Michael would save up enough money to take all of them to the ice cream shop during the summers. Evan was only four at the time, and he’d make an absolute mess of chocolate ice cream all over his face. Elizabeth would always insist on having the most expensive ice cream on the menu, and when Michael told her that he couldn’t afford it, she’d pout until she’d very predictably order vanilla.

Michael knew that Elizabeth had less wanted the expensive ice cream and was more resentful toward the fact that Michael couldn’t dump all of his savings toward her pleasure.

“Daddy would get me a sundae,” she’d sniff, crossing her arms and sticking her nose in the air.

“Father is busy right now,” Michael would remind her irritably. “Lizzie, we have this conversation every time we go here.”

On one of their last trips before Elizabeth died, Michael caved, buying Elizabeth a sundae and getting nothing for himself.

A fog had fallen over Michael’s life after Elizabeth’s death, and Michael had only taken Evan out for ice cream once since the event. Evan had burst into tears as soon as Michael had ordered only two ice creams instead of three, and Michael had decided it was probably best to save them both their grief and their money by skipping the treat altogether.

Now, Michael felt a lump form in his own throat as he realized this was the first time he’d ever gone out for ice cream by himself. He could buy himself a sundae. He wouldn’t have to worry about making sure Evan’s ice cream wasn’t melting and Elizabeth wasn’t wandering off on her own.

Michael had only himself to worry about.

The thought was terrifying, and Michael pushed it out of his mind.

He went up to the glass window where a teenage employee was standing at the register.

“Could I please have a, uh, small mint-chocolate chip cup?” Michael asked. Even now, his old order was well-rehearsed.

“Would that be all?”

“Yes, please.”

Michael quickly paid the cashier, and soon, his ice cream was delivered to him.

As much as Michael would like to wander even further away from the neighborhood, maybe to spite Henry, Michael knew it wasn’t a good idea. The last thing he needed was for Henry to catch him in the act of blatantly disobeying him.

He walked back home, eating his ice cream along the way. By the time he got back to the neighborhood, Michael had about an hour until Henry would come back from work, and he spent the rest of that time sitting on a park bench, watching some of the neighborhood kids play on the playset.

Evan and Elizabeth used to play on the playset all the time in their old neighborhood. They often played there while Michael was taking jobs.

Evan would be deathly afraid of the monkey bars, but Elizabeth was a natural gymnast, hanging onto the bars by only the crook of her knees. More than once, Michael worried she was going to fall directly on top of her head, but whenever Michael was tempted to rescue her, she’d make herself right-side-up again.

Michael’s eyes burned, and he quickly swiped away the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. Why was he being so goddamn nostalgic today?

“Hey, can I sit here?”

Michael snapped his head up to see a teenager probably a few years older than him, maybe sixteen, standing in front of the empty space of Michael’s bench.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Michael muttered, shuffling a little more to the side to give the stranger space.

“Thanks, man.” The kid sat down with a small sigh, watching as the kids were debating on who should be it for hide and seek.

Michael would have been satisfied with not having to say anything to the stranger sitting next to him, but the stranger was clearly more extraverted than Michael was.

“Are you new here?” he asked.

Michael shrugged. “Yeah,” he muttered, because not replying to a question was rude.

The stranger nodded. “Nice. I thought I might’ve recognized you, but I couldn’t think of your name, and I know everyone in this neighborhood.”

The kid probably recognized Michael from the newspapers, but Michael wasn’t about to admit to that any time soon.

“I’m Jeremy,” the stranger, Jeremy, continued. “What’s your name?”

“Michael.”

“Do you have any younger siblings?”

Michael bit down on the inside of his cheek. “No,” he finally said, his voice strangled.

“Oh.”

While Jeremy was very clearly blind to the fact that Michael didn’t want to talk right now, or maybe he just didn’t care, he at least wasn’t blind to the fact that he had hit a nerve. Jeremy stared at Michael for a moment, and recognition suddenly appeared on his eyes.

“Oh,” he said again, this time sounding more horrified.

Michael would really prefer to skip the conversation here Jeremy pretended he cared about Michael’s wellbeing and then asked a bunch of invasive questions about his personal life.

“Do you have siblings?” he said, admittedly slightly loudly.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Jeremy said, suddenly sounding much less confident in himself. “My little sister, Susie. She’s the one hiding behind that bush, see?”

Jeremy pointed at a girl with curly blond hair very poorly concealed behind a half-dead bush.

Now, Michael wasn’t very good at small talk, but he was willing to carry the conversation long enough so that Jeremy wouldn’t start asking uncomfortable questions.

Then again, Michael could always just leave.

But Michael was frankly exhausted from all of the walking he had already done that day, and he felt a little sick thanks to the ice cream, so standing up and leaving was a last resort for him.

“How old is she?”

“Um, she turned seven in May,” Jeremy said. “I really wanted her to see the third Star Wars movie for her birthday, but my parents said she was ‘too young.’” Jeremy rolled his eyes.

“Did you see it on your own?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, me and a few friends watched it together. You’ve seen it, right?”

If only. Michael snorted. “Didn’t get the time to,” he said.

It was half true. Even if Michael had wanted to see the new Star Wars movie, Evan would’ve been in tears by the end of the first act, and Michael didn’t have that sort of money to splurge.

“Oh, that sucks,” Jeremy said. “You know, I think it still might be in theatres.”

Michael shrugged. “Well, I haven’t even seen the first two, so there’s not much point.”

Jeremy looked incredibly offended by this.

“Meet me by this park bench tomorrow, and I’ll give you my vhs of A New Hope,” Jeremy said.

Michael blinked. “What?”

“You’re missing out, man.” Jeremy gave Michael a serious expression. “You need to watch Star Wars.”

“I mean, I don’t know if I need to,” Michael said slowly. “Besides, what if I lose it?”

“Will you lose it?”

“I mean, I won’t try to lose it.”

“Then, I trust you.” Jeremy grinned. “Besides, if it means culturing a fellow teen in the neighborhood, I’ll gladly loan it to you. Just bring it back as soon as you’re done.”

Michael nodded slowly.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow?” Michael clarified. “What time?”

“Um…” Jeremy hummed. “Sometime in the afternoon. My mom is a worrywart and wants me watching Susie to make sure she doesn’t break her arm while playing.”

Seeing as Susie was currently doing the same thing Elizabeth always did on the monkey bars, Michael could see some logic in that.

“Tomorrow afternoon, then.” That shouldn’t be too hard to remember. “Got it.”

Jeremy nodded to himself in satisfaction, and Michael was left to wonder why Jeremy even cared so much about a stupid movie. Not that he voiced it. Michael had a distinct feeling if he called Star Wars stupid in Jeremy’s hearing, he’d get slapped in the face.

Michael arrived back home a few minutes before Henry did.

“I brought paint chips,” Henry said as soon as he arrived.

He handed Michael a pile of different paint chips of all different colors, and Michael stared down at them with a heavy feeling in his chest. The re-decorating of his bedroom had been a sort of taboo. It was clear that Henry was reluctant to change the bedroom of his dead daughter, and Michael didn’t want Henry to go through any trouble.

“Sir, you don’t have to—”

“It’s your bedroom,” Henry said firmly. “Unless you really like the color purple, you have the right to choose a different color.”

In all honesty, Michael hated the color purple. He hated everything about it, from his father’s suits to the memory of a best friend who left too soon.

“Fine,” Michael said, a small amount of irritation leaking into his voice. He glanced up at Henry expecting a reprimand, but, as always, Henry didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

Michael sat down on the sofa and flipped through the paint chips, mainly focusing on the blue and green ones. Eventually, he pointed to the light blue one.

“Um, is this one alright?” he asked.

Henry took the paint chip from Michael. “You want Wind Blue?”

Michael gave Henry a small nod, biting the same part of his cheek he bit down earlier when talking to Jeremy. A proper lump had formed their now, but Michael didn’t mind.

“Alright.” Henry gave Michael a small smile. “I’ll go buy some tomorrow on my way home from work, and we can paint your bedroom on Saturday. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir.”

Henry’s smile slipped away. “You don’t have to call me that, you know.”

Michael only glared at him.

Chapter Text

The next day, Michael checked to make sure that Henry actually owned a VHS player. Father had never bothered buying one, saying that they could entertain themselves just as well with ordinary television. Michael hadn’t seen much problem with that, and he had begun saving his money toward a gaming console instead.

Of course, Michael had never earned enough money before being relocated, and his carefully curated savings had been lost in the move. And, at the moment, Michael was more concerned with saving up for essentials than worrying about the arduous task of saving up for extra things.

Besides, Michael didn’t actually deserve something as ludicrous as a gaming console.

As luck would have it, Henry did own a VHS player, so Michael met up with Jeremy at the park that afternoon.

“You came!” Jeremy said cheerfully.

Michael frowned. “What, did you think I’d back out on our agreement?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Things happen—”

“Jeremy!”

Jeremy’s sister, Susie, ran up to Jeremy, her eyes wide and her faced scandalized.

Jeremy sighed. “Yes, Susie?”

Susie was staring at the VHS tape in Jeremy’s hand like it had come from the depths of hell.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m just letting my friend borrow this,” Jeremy said. “He’s trustworthy, don’t worry.”

“Did you ask Mommy for permission?”

Jeremy ruffled Susie’s hair, causing her to glower more fiercely. “Yes, I asked. Who do you think I am?”

Just like that, Susie’s glare went away, and she sighed. “Fine,” she huffed. “I just have to make sure you’re not breaking the rules again.”

“Me? Break the rules?” Jeremy laughed. “Never. Go play with your friends now and stop bothering me.”

Susie stuck her tongue out at Jeremy before running back to the playground.

“She wanted blackmail material,” Jeremy said wisely. “She’s sly like that. One minute you’re telling her not to tell on you, and the next, she’s demanding that you play with her all day or else she’ll spill the beans.”

Jeremy snorted, as though he had told a mediocre joke, but Michael didn’t laugh. It reminded him of something Elizabeth might’ve done, if Elizabeth weren’t so afraid of also getting in trouble for Michael’s wrongdoings.

Elizabeth had always been Father’s favorite, of course, and she very rarely received any true punishment. Not like Michael and Evan had, at least. But as much as Elizabeth loved to be a brat, she hated listening to Father shout, even if it wasn’t directed at her. And she couldn’t exactly play with her brothers if they were locked in their room.

The three of them had all formed a silent pact to never ever rat each other out to their father. And even after Elizabeth’s death, Evan never told on Michael no matter how many times Michael jump-scared him with the foxy mask.

Then again, Father was more likely to commend Michael for forcing Evan to confront his fears than to actually punish him. Evan would be far more likely to be locked away for not controlling himself like a man.

“Do you see something?”

Michael blinked. “What?”

Jeremy shrugged. “You were staring at the playground for a long moment. I thought you might’ve seen something.”

“Oh.” Michael pasted on a smile, although it felt more fake than the smiles his father would hand out to people. “No, sorry. I just spaced out.”

Jeremy smiled. “It’s no issue, dude. Anyway, here you go.”

Michael took the VHS from Jeremy, glancing down at it before looking back up at Jeremy again. “Are you sure you got permission to do this?” His mouth felt dry. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for this.”

Jeremy waved his hand in the air as though he were swatting a fly. “Don’t worry, I got permission. It’s no problem.”

“If you’re sure,” Michael said slowly. “How long is the movie?”

“Just about two hours,” Jeremy answered instantly.

“Oh.” Michael frowned. That was fairly long for movies. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get this back to you tomorrow, then. I’ll probably have time to watch it on Monday, though.”

“I can wait.” Jeremy shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing over to see Susie doing cartwheels with some of the other girls. “Life gets in the way, I get that. Do you have weekend plans?”

Michael cast his mind for a good excuse that wasn’t “I don’t want my guardian to take away the VHS before I can watch the movie.”

“I’m, um, painting my bedroom,” Michael said. It wasn’t even a lie. “I moved recently, so… yeah.”

Jeremy’s eyes shone with understanding. “My mom told me you had moved in with Mr. Emily. He’s pretty nice. When I was little, he fixed my broken bike.”

Michael wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to say to that. “He’s alright,” he finally said. “Weird, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he… he makes me breakfast,” Michael said.

Jeremy laughed. “Most parents do,” he said. His eyes widened. “Or guardians, you know. I mean, it’s kind of their job.”

“To make me breakfast?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, you know, to feed us.” Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck, and he looked back over at the playground. “Susie, get down from there!”

Michael looked in the direction Jeremy was staring, and he saw Susie treating the monkey bars as though they were a balance beam.

“Why?!” Susie demanded.

Jeremy dashed to the monkey bars, hovering underneath Susie’s form. “You’re going to fall and break something,” he said.

“I am not—”

As Susie said the words, her leg slipped, and she shrieked as she came tumbling off of the monkey bars.

Without thinking, Michael sprinted toward the falling girl, blood rushing in his ears. He couldn’t let someone else get hurt, he couldn’t let anything happen again.

The image of Evan’s broken and bloody body flashed before Michael’s eyes as he skidded to a halt in front of Jeremy.

Susie was safely in Jeremy’s arms, breathing heavily. Jeremy carefully set her down on the ground, and Michael tried to stay calm.

She was fine. Nobody was hurt, nobody was dying. There wasn’t even any blood.

Everyone was fine.

“Are you alright?” Jeremy was asking Susie.

Susie nodded quietly.

“Do you understand why you shouldn’t stand on the monkey bars?”

Another nod.

“Alright, keep playing. Be more careful next time.”

Susie stood up and ran back to the others, and it was hardly moments later that she wasn’t boasting to them about how she had almost “died.”

Michael hadn’t moved throughout all of this. Time had gone still for him, his heart barely beating and his lungs barely taking in the air necessary for him to stay conscious. He stared at Susie as though she were his only chance at staying alive.

“Michael?” Jeremy asked. He sounded concerned. “Are you okay?”

Michael forced himself to look away from Susie. “Y-yeah,” he said. He swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure—”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, this time much more harshly.

Jeremy looked slightly stunned, and Michael took a few small steps away. “Thanks for the movie,” he said shortly. “I’m… I’m gonna go.”

When Michael arrived back at Henry’s house, he frantically searched for a safe place to hide the movie where Henry couldn’t find it. He debated sticking it somewhere in the bedroom, but considering it was going to be painted tomorrow, Michael wasn’t sure it was the safest there.

Eventually, Michael just put the movie in his bathroom drawer. Henry had his own bathroom, so, hopefully, he wouldn’t see any reason to have to go snooping around Michael’s bathroom drawers.

After that had been sorted out, Michael got into the shower, knowing he was sweaty from being outside for most of the day.

The warm water felt nice against Michael’s back, hitting him in such a way that it almost felt like a massage. If Michael closed his eyes, he could pretend that someone was hugging him in a warm embrace. He could imagine someone was giving him comfort—

And then Michael remembered why he was in this situation to begin with. He killed his brother. He got his father arrested. He had ruined so many lives, and now he was burdening Henry with his presence.

He didn’t deserve to be comforted. He didn’t deserve to be loved.

Even upon the realization, it took a long time for Michael to actually force himself out of the shower. A part of him didn’t even want to leave at all. A part of him just wanted to sit on the shower floor and let the water wash over him for hours. Maybe, that way, he could just forget all of this pain.

But Henry would eventually force him to get out, and Michael didn’t need to waste the water bill.

Michael shoved on a fresh pair of clothing and sat down in the living room, aimlessly turning on the television. He shifted through channels for what was probably thirty minutes before eventually just giving up and turning the stupid thing off.

He was too tired for television.

He took a nap instead.

When Michael woke up, a warm blanket was draped on top of him. Strange. He didn’t remember getting a blanket…

“Michael.”

Henry’s voice broke through Michael’s thoughts, and Michael’s eyes snapped open. He frantically moved to sit up.

“Sorry, sir, I was just…” Michael scrambled to think of some good excuse for sleeping in broad daylight, but Henry didn’t even look angry.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Henry said. “I just needed to wake you up for dinner.”

Michael blinked blearily. Even though his heart was beating rapidly, his mind was still fogged by sleep. This had probably been the longest he had slept soundly since Evan died.

“Sorry,” Michael said again, tugging the blanket off of his shoulders.

“It’s perfectly alright.”

Henry ruffled Michael’s hair, and Michael sucked in a small breath at the touch, the thrill of warmth rushing down his spine. Henry instantly jerked his hand away, and Michael resisted the urge to thrust his head toward the hand.

He also resisted the urge to press his own hand down on his hair to simulate the motion.

Instead, he went to the dinner table, where Henry had two fresh bowls of soup waiting for them.

That was another strange thing about Henry. Not only did he insist on making sure Michael ate breakfast and lunch, but he always made dinner.

Dinner started quietly, as it always did.

“Michael,” Henry said when Michael was about half way done with his bowl of soup. “Your birthday is in about a month, right?”

Michael frowned, confused. Sure, his birthday was about half way through September, but he wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything at the moment.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to have some sort of celebration or party,” Henry said. “We could invite some of your friends over—”

“No,” Michael interrupted. He grimaced at his own rudeness. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

He decided to omit the fact that he had no friends. He also decided to omit the fact that he hadn’t had a birthday party since he turned ten.

“Are you sure?” Henry asked, frowning. He was wearing that concerned expression all over again, and Michael rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure. I’m too old for birthday parties.”

Besides, the idea of going to a birthday party after what had happened at the last one Michael attended was enough for Michael to throw up.

“If that’s what you want.” Fortunately, Henry didn’t look too pitying. “We’ll have a small celebratory dinner just the two of us, then.”

Now Michael was just confused.

“What are you talking about?”

Henry raised his eyebrows. “I’ll make your favorite meal, we’ll have cake, and I’ll give you your present. Nothing too special.”

If Michael hadn’t been trained better, he would’ve gaped.

Nothing too special, Henry said, as though Michael was regularly accustomed to being given cake and a gift on his birthday. As though his father would always make sure Michael felt properly celebrated.

Michael didn’t have the energy to get into another argument with Henry tonight, though, so he just nodded exhaustedly.

“Sounds fun,” he muttered. He wasn’t really lying.

They continued to eat in uncomfortable silence, and as soon as Michael polished off the bottom of his bowl, he quickly stood up to take his dish to the sink.

“I got the paint today,” Henry said as Michael rinsed out his bowl and put it in the dishwasher. “We can paint your bedroom tomorrow.”

“Great,” Michael said shortly.

And, with that, Michael hurried out of the kitchen and rushed into Charlie’s old bedroom, carefully shutting the door behind him.

As promised, the next day was spent entirely on painting Charlie’s bedroom.

After they had properly moved the furniture so that they wouldn’t get in the way of the painting process, both Michael and henry stared at the purple walls. Now that they were completely bare, Michael could see small scuff marks that were likely from playtime gone wrong, and he could even spot the bare traces of crayon.

Guilt filled Michael’s chest all over again. Did he really have the right to take over Charlie’s room like this? Did he really have the right to paint over one of the footprints she had left behind before leaving the world entirely?

“Sir—” Michael said, feeling so thoroughly and totally lost.

A clear gleam sat on Henry’s eyes, but he took a deep breath and gave Michael a smile. “Alright, Mike,” he said. The nickname reminded Michael of when he was younger, and Henry and Charlie would come over. “Let’s do this.”

And before Michael could find the words to protest, Henry dipped his paintbrush into the open can of paint and painted a single stroke of light blue on the rich purple wall.

It looked foreign, like it didn’t belong.

But Henry continued to paint, covering up more and more of the purple with the blue, and Michael eventually summoned up the courage to join him.

When they were finished with the first coat, the room was practically unrecognizable. It felt… lighter, both figuratively and literally, at least in Michael’s eyes. He hated himself for being relieved at the new color, at the invasion on Charlie’s old life, but the room felt less oppressive. It was beginning to feel like it belonged to Michael.

A fresh wave of guilt hit Michael at the realization. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. The room wasn’t Michael’s; it was Charlie’s. And now, Michael was taking over like some sort of invasive species, squashing out every last remnant of Charlie until nothing of her would be left behind.

Michael glanced up at Henry, and he realized that Henry was probably about to cry again.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Michael said quietly. His chest ached. “We can paint it back.”

Henry shook his head. “No, it’s…” He took a deep breath. “Do you like it?”

Michael bit the inside of his cheek. He could lie. He could say that he hated it, that he wanted the purple back. He had a terrifying feeling that at Michael’s word, Henry would change it back again.

But… Michael couldn’t stand the idea of being surrounded by purple all over again. He didn’t want the constant reminder of who he was replacing.

“Yes.”

Henry smiled. “I’m glad.” Henry took yet another deep breath. “Do you want to go find some new furniture while we wait for the new coat to dry? I can’t imagine you want to sleep underneath a purple quilt forever.”

No, Michael didn’t.

“Alright,” Michael said. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Henry had no idea what he was doing.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had some of an idea what he was doing. This wasn’t the first time he had raised a child, after all, and, even years after Charlie’s death, Henry didn’t lose any of those fatherly instincts.

However, Charlie was a young girl when she died, and Michael was a freshly traumatized teenage boy. There was so much about the way Michael acted that caught Henry off-guard and made him feel out of his depth.

For instance, as soon as Michael started implying that Henry shouldn’t be making him dinner every evening, Henry wanted to break into prison to punch William in the face himself. How dare he neglect his own child to this extent? How dare he make Michael think that the bare necessities were luxuries?

But Henry didn’t know what to do to fix any of it. He knew he should make sure Michael felt welcome. He knew he should keep demonstrating to Michael how a proper parent should act, but every time he tried to introduce something new, Michael would grow snappish and irritable.

So many times, Henry would ask Michael if he needed a hug, because the kid clearly needed one. But every single time, Michael’s expression would close off, and he’d shake his head.

If Henry didn’t know better, he’d assume that Michael wanted to go back to the way his life was with William.

Then again, maybe he did. Humans didn’t like change, after all.

And painting Charlie’s, Michael’s bedroom was a big change.

It hurt, to be forced to paint over the purple walls that had defined the last few years of Charlie’s life. It still felt like yesterday that Henry had painted the walls for Charlie to begin with.

“I want to help!” she would insist, even though she was only five.

Henry let her dip a brush in paint, and he lifted her up in his arms, allowing her to paint the first stroke of purple over the originally periwinkle walls. Of course, Henry wasn’t about to let Charlie paint all of the walls, so after a few strokes, Henry set her down and told her to find her mother.

Charlie had pouted over it, but she complied, running off to tell her mother how she had “helped Daddy.”

When Henry had finished painting the walls, Charlie had hugged Henry’s legs with her incredible strength.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she had cheered. She smiled brightly. “Michael will be so jealous!”

Michael was not, in fact, jealous, stating that purple was a girl’s color. Charlie pointed out that William only ever wore purple suits, and the very young Michael looked as though his entire life had been re-defined.

He never called purple a girl’s color again.

The painting of Michael’s new bedroom was not the same sort of joyous occasion that painting Charlie’s room had been. As a matter of fact, Henry wasn’t sure he could call it joyous at all.

Unlike with Charlie, Henry painted the first few strokes of blue over the purple walls. It wasn’t the same periwinkle that had been Charlie’s baby room, but it was fairly close.

For a moment, Henry could almost imagine Charlie huffily leaving the bedroom after Henry had told her she couldn’t help anymore.

Instead, Michael slowly entered the bedroom, dipping his brush into the paint. He looked so painfully unsure of himself, and the hand with the brush trembled, causing the smallest amount of paint to drop on top of the old blanket they had laid down on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” Henry said, ignoring the small wobble in his voice. “If you don’t like it, we can always change it to some other color.”

Henry wasn’t entirely sure Michael had even heard him, but he started painting alongside Henry.

More and more of the purple got covered by the blue, and, by the time they were done, Charlie’s room was almost unrecognizable.

It was astonishing what even one coat of paint could do.

It hurt, to have changed something that had almost served as a memorial to Charlie, but it also felt incredibly right.

Charlie would’ve wanted this. Hell, once, Charlie had asked if she could invite all of the orphans in the world to have a sleepover in her bedroom.

Charlie would’ve been more than happy to know her bedroom was being put to good use after her death.

It didn’t stop the aching feeling in Henry’s throat and chest, and he swallowed furiously. He couldn’t cry in front of Michael. He had to be strong.

“I’m sorry sir.” Michael sounded almost like he was going to cry as well. “We can paint it back.”

Henry internally scolded himself. Michael shouldn’t be worrying after him. It was Henry’s job to worry for Michael.

“No, it’s…” Henry took a deep breath to control himself. Only one thing mattered right now. “Do you like it?”

About a thousand emotions crossed over Michael’s face, but, in the end, his answer was simple.

“Yes.”

Relief flooded Henry. Michael liked it. And Michael wouldn’t lie about this. He had been reluctant to paint the room at all, and Henry had been half expecting him to lie and say he wanted his room to be purple again.

A small smile wormed its way across Henry’s face. “I’m glad.” Well, it would take a little bit for the paint to dry before they could start on the next coat. “Do you want to go find some new furniture while we wait for the new coat to dry? I can’t imagine you want to sleep underneath a purple quilt forever.”

This time, Michael’s reply came much quicker.

“Alright,” he said. “Thank you.”

It was nothing at all like the way Charlie had hugged Henry’s legs and thanked him about a hundred times.

But the words coming from Michael, his voice sounding truly genuine without a mechanical sir at the end, was just as good.

Michael’s new room was completed by Monday.

Michael could hardly believe that this was the same room he had been sleeping in for the past few weeks. Every time he entered, he expected to see the same purple theme that he had grown used to. Instead, he was hit with light blue walls, a blue plaid quilt, and a light blue lamp.

The furniture was all just plain old wood color, and Henry had even gotten Michael a desk that fit comfortably on the side of the room.

It was strange and foreign to Michael, just how much Henry was willing to do to make Michael feel like he belonged. But, weirdly enough, it was somewhat working. Michael was beginning to see his bedroom as his own.

Michael wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

The next Monday had marked the last week before school began, and after Henry had left for work and Michael had finished all of his various jobs around the neighborhood, Michael pulled the Star Wars VHS Jeremy had given him out of his bathroom drawer.

It was somewhat difficult to figure out how to work the VHS player, seeing as Michael had never used one before, but, eventually, Michael had gotten the thing to work, and Star Wars started playing on Henry’s television.

The movie was good. Really good, actually. Michael hadn’t understood what was going on, at first, but it didn’t take long to figure things out.

Michael’s chest hurt every time someone died, though. He couldn’t help but to think about the grief that character’s family and friends might be feeling, how it might change their lives forever.

Michael’s previous intuition had been right, though. Evan would’ve definitely cried watching this movie. Elizabeth would’ve probably loved it, though.

Michael wished that they could be here now. Michael wished he could listen to Elizabeth ramble about how Princess Leia was the coolest character to exist. Michael wished he could reassure Evan that none of it was real, that Evan wasn’t in any danger, that none of the characters who had died were real.

And if Michael cried when the movie ended and the credit’s rolled, that wasn’t anyone else’s business.

Michael didn’t see Jeremy at the park that Monday, but he found him on Tuesday.

“Oh, hi, man,” Jeremy said easily. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Michael said. He handed the VHS back to Jeremy. “I finished the movie.”

Jeremy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? What did you think of it?”

Michael swallowed and nodded, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. “It was really good,” he said. “I liked it.”

Jeremy grinned. “I told you! The next two movies are even better. If the second one comes to theatres, I’ll drag you along.”

Michael frowned. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I want to, though,” Jeremy insisted. “I mean, if you don’t want me to drag you, that’s fine. But, at the very least, I’m telling you when it’s in theatres, so you don’t miss out.”

Michael managed a small smile. “Alright, then,” he said.

The two boys sat down on their park bench, and Michael frowned, trying to think of something to say. In spite of how friendly Jeremy was toward Michael, the fact remained that the two barely knew each other. Besides, Jeremy was probably only being nice because of Michael’s situation.

The thought brought a bitter taste to Michael’s mouth, and he tried to push it away.

“What grade are you going into this year?” Michael asked. He still wasn’t completely sure of Jeremy’s age.

“Oh, uh, tenth,” Jeremy said. “You?”

“Eighth,” Michael said reluctantly. “You’re fifteen, then?”

“Yep!” Jeremy grinned. “My birthday’s in January.”

“Oh, mine’s half-way through September, actually,” Michael said. He twisted his hands together. “I’m turning fourteen.”

“Nice.” Jeremy nodded. “Are you doing anything for your birthday?”

Michael shrugged. “Henry wants to have a birthday dinner with me. He said it had cake and a gift and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, my family has like birthday breakfast,” Jeremy said, lighting up. “We have this fancy breakfast with a gift before school.”

Michael frowned. “So… that’s normal?”

“Birthday breakfast? I don’t know, dinner is probably more typical—”

“No, I mean…” Michael took a deep breath. “It’s normal to celebrate birthdays privately? I thought it was only like big birthday parties.”

Jeremy frowned. “Um, yeah. I think, at least. Most kids talk about what their parents got them for their birthday.”

“Oh.”

An aching bitterness was manifesting in Michael’s chest, now. Jeremy wasn’t one to lie about this sort of thing, and he had a point. Michael wasn’t sure what he had thought when his old friends talked about their parents giving them birthday presents. Michael supposed he assumed that they were the anomalies.

But now Jeremy was acting like Michael was the weird one for not knowing that most parents gave their children birthday presents.

Michael couldn’t remember the last time his father had given him a present. If at all.

“Yeah,” Jeremy said after a moment. Michael had a distinct feeling he was making Jeremy uncomfortable, and he wondered why Jeremy even bothered to talk to him. “My sister got a dog for her birthday a few years ago.”

“Yeah?”

Jeremy nodded. “His name is Goldie, because my sister was the least creative at naming when she was five.”

Michael snorted. “My sister would’ve named him something like Sir Arnold the Third.”

Michael’s heart dropped as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, but Jeremy didn’t miss a beat. “Better than Goldie.”

Michael didn’t understand Jeremy at all.

“You know, you don’t have to hang out with me like this,” Michael said slowly. He glared at the ground. “I know you’re doing it out of… pity, or whatever.”

“Are you kidding?” Jeremy asked. “Dude, none of my friends ever want to watch my sister with me. They think it’s boring. It’s nice to have someone to actually talk to.”

Michael wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he didn’t push the issue.

Michael would be lying if he didn’t think it was nice to actually have someone close to his age to talk to as well.

That night, at dinner, Michael did the most impulsive, most stupid thing he could think of.

“I want a dog,” he said as boldly as he could muster.

Henry visibly started, and Michael held his breath, waiting for the inevitable disapproval. “You want a dog?” Henry asked.

Michael nodded firmly. He wasn’t actually sure that he wanted a dog, but he did want Henry to actually react like an ordinary person.

“For my birthday,” Michael added. “I want a dog for my birthday.”

Henry frowned. “That’s a lot of responsibility,” he said slowly. “I’d help, of course, but you would be mostly responsible for it.”

This was not how Michael thought this conversation was going to go.

“That’s fine.” Taking care of a dog couldn’t be any more difficult than taking care of two children. “I can handle it.”

Henry nodded. “If you’re sure—”

“I am,” Michael interrupted.

Surely, Henry would get angry that Michael interrupted him.

“If you’re sure you want a dog and are willing to handle the responsibility, I don’t see any problem with it,” Henry said calmly. “Besides, a dog might keep you company when you’re alone in the house.”

This was not how this conversation was supposed to go. Henry was supposed to finally shout at him, supposed to finally put Michael in his place. He wasn’t supposed to agree.

“Great,” Michael huffed. His earlier confidence was beginning to drain away. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

It was all too confusing, and Michael fled the table as soon as he finished his dinner.

Chapter Text

 Unfortunately, the days of summer vacation came to an abrupt halt as school rounded the corner.

Once again, Henry was strangely concerned for Michael’s school career. And, while, sure, Father had made sure that Michael was getting good grades in his classes, he had never actually made sure that Michael was ready for school. It was a given that Michael would be up and prepared to take both him and his siblings to school every morning while Father was already at work.

But, on the first day of school, two very strange things occurred.

One, Michael didn’t want to get out of bed.

This in itself wasn’t particularly new. Michael rarely wanted to get out of bed on school mornings; school wasn’t a thing he particularly enjoyed.

However, this type of reluctance was different. He knew he needed to get out of bed and start getting ready. He knew he needed to show Henry that he could responsible for himself.

Instead, Michael’s entire being protested against him getting out from underneath the covers. It would be so much easier to just roll over and sleep, to pretend that his life wasn’t as terrible as it currently was.

Henry wouldn’t be pleased, but Michael suddenly couldn’t bring himself to care, and he closed his eyes—

It hardly felt like moments later when someone was knocking on his bedroom door.

“Michael?” Henry’s voice wormed its way into Michael’s ears like a parasite. “Are you awake? School is this morning.”

Yeah, Michael knew that, actually. He was just being a colossal idiot and sleeping in, because he had felt more tired than he had ever felt before in his life.

“Michael?”

Michael’s heart suddenly dropped. He was ignoring Henry. He was sleeping in.

He had to fix this. And he had to fix it quickly.

“I’m awake,” Michael lied, forcing himself to sit up. He ran his fingers through his hair and massaged his eyes exhaustedly. “I’m awake.”

“Alright,” Henry said. “Great. I’ve made you a back-to-school breakfast. Take your time to get there, though.” A pause. “Well, maybe not too much time. Your bus comes in around twenty minutes.”

Michael rolled his eyes and began pulling his clothes on, still trying to wake himself up completely. He really would prefer to go back to sleep, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. He had already failed at showing Henry that he was a fully functioning adult; he wasn’t going to fail at simple obedience.

As soon as he was properly dressed and at least somewhat put together, Michael stumbled out of his bedroom, glancing into the kitchen. Just as promised, Henry had made a breakfast of eggs and bacon, all apparently because Michael was going back to school.

Every time Michael thought he had Henry figured out, Henry would pull this sort of stunt on him. What the hell was a back to school breakfast even for? Why was it necessary?

It seemed ridiculous, but Michael sat down at eth table anyway, quickly shoving the entire breakfast into his mouth.

It was really good, not that Michael was about to admit it.

As per usual, Henry was way too involved in the proceedings. “Your backpack is on that chair,” he said. “I’ve already got books inside. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to pack your lunch—”

“I can pack my own lunch,” Michael interrupted, rolling his eyes.

He held his breath, but Henry nodded. “Alright, then. Do you know where the bus stop is?”

Michael opened his mouth to say that yes, he did know where the bus stop is, he wasn’t an idiot—

It wasn’t until Michael realized that he was imaging his old neighborhood bus stop that he suddenly realized he had a problem.

“No,” Michael said slowly. “Sorry.”

“Honestly, I would be surprised if you did,” Henry said. “It’s just at the end of the road at the stop sign. You can’t miss it.”

Michael quickly shoved the last of the eggs into his mouth while nodding. He proceeded to make himself a lunch bag, and he had to just stop himself from making another one for Evan.

After he stopped himself, Michael stared at his hands for a long moment. If he squinted hard enough, he thought he could see blood.

Murderer.

Michael quickly shoved one of his hands into his pockets as he grabbed his bags and hurried out of the door.

“Have a good first day!” Henry called out from behind him.

Michael glared, but it didn’t drown out the sound of Michael’s own stuttering heartbeat.

Killer, murderer, monster.

“Goodbye,” Michael said shortly.

School was… terrible.

By the day was over, Michael could say with sure confidence that almost everyone hated him for some reason or another. And if they didn’t hate him, they most certainly were afraid of him.

Whispers followed him as he walked down the halls. Michael couldn’t tell if they were talking about the arrest of his father, Michael accidentally killing his brother, or both.

It was probably both.

Michael kept to himself, trying not to panic as he shoved his way past people in the halls.

Just ignore them, Michael told himself firmly. Ignore them.

Some kids were at least nice enough to pretend he wasn’t a terrible person. They lent him pencils when he asked for them, and they didn’t whisper behind his back.

It was kids like that who forced Michael to remind himself that the entire school wasn’t against him. That Michael could make it through the year without incident.

“How was your day at school?” Henry would ask every day.

Michael would have to stop himself from making a snappish remark. “Great,” he’d reply instead.

And Henry, ever perceptive, would look up from the book he was reading and stare Michael right in the eyes.

“Are you sure things are alright?” he asked. “They don’t have to be, you know.”

Michael grinned. It felt fake and wooden on his own face. “I’m great,” he lied. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Henry never looked convinced. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Michael would nod firmly. “I’m sure.”

Henry hesitated. “Do you need a hug?”

Michael’s skin crawled at the words, phantom touches that Henry would give him practically burning on his skin all over again.

The idea of a hug sounded so wonderful and yet so terrifying. Michael wondered how it would feel to be hugged again. Would it hurt? Would it cause Michael to melt like a popsicle left in the sun?

Regardless, every time, Michael would shake his head, doing his best to keep his wooden smile from slipping off of his face.

“I’m fine, sir,” he’d say smoothly.

He’d leave before Henry could say another word.

And when Michael was safely tucked away in his room, he’d sink to the floor, his back against his door, letting his fake smile fall away.

Father had always been full of fake smiles, using them to manipulate everyone around him. Michael himself had been victim to such facades.

Father would smile and grab Michael’s shoulder in a strong grip when he was angry with Michael in public. He’d smile when he was really truly angry, his rage turning into something far deadlier.

Was Michael becoming his father? Masking all of his emotions behind a fake smile full of poison? Michael already felt like he was looking more and more like the man who raised him, and it wasn’t like Michael and his father didn’t have the same set of crimes.

The idea terrified Michael, and he spent the rest of the day curled up in the corner of his bedroom, scratching listlessly at his forearms. The pain grounded him, in some screwed up way.

The scratching wasn’t enough to break skin, but Michael wore long sleeves over his arms anyway, lest Henry saw the raised rash on Michael’s skin and asked him what was wrong.

Nothing was wrong with Michael. He had just panicked. Michael was totally fine.

That Saturday, Michael met Jeremy at the park.

“Hey, man,” Jeremy said, looking happy to see Michael, for some reason. “How was the first week of school?”

Michael debated telling Jeremy the truth about the entire thing, but he decided against it. The last thing Michael needed was for Jeremy to pity Michael more than he already did.

“Fine,” he said. “You?”

Jeremy nodded. “Just first week stuff, you know. It’s kind of boring at the moment, but I’m confident it’ll get harder.”

Michael nodded in agreement. In all honesty, he was already struggling with the small amount of homework he had received in his first week of school.

It wasn’t that the work was truly hard. It wasn’t. It was just getting harder and harder to gather up the motivation to complete the schoolwork, and when Michael did sit in front of his assignment to complete it, his mind kept wandering.

The only thing that kept Michael on top of things was his fear of what might happen if Michael got anything less than all A’s on his report card.

Henry might be a strange guardian, but he clearly cared about Michael’s education. Michael knew he would not be pleased if Michael didn’t come home with straight A’s.

Susie chose that moment to run up to them, looking very pleased.

“What are you two talking about?” she demanded.

“Big kid stuff,” Jeremy said immediately.

“You were not!” Susie scowled, but she smiled sunnily up at Michael. “I started the second grade this year.”

Michael wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, even though he once had two younger siblings of his own.

“Oh yeah?” Michael asked. He tried to inject interest into his voice. “How are you liking it?”

“Good,” Susie said simply. “Fritz is a jerk, though. He keeps poking me when I’m trying to focus.”

“He probably has a crush on you,” Jeremy said wisely.

Susie looked offended at that. “Why would he annoy me if he has a crush on me?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Boys don’t know how to process emotions like you girls do.”

Michael himself had never had a crush when he was younger, so he couldn’t explain it either.

Susie huffed, looking more aggravated than before.

“Can’t you just ask the teacher to change your seats so you’re not sitting next to each other?” Michael asked. “I’m sure your teacher wants you to focus just as much as you do.”

“Or, I could poke him back!” Susie exclaimed, looking thrilled.

“Let’s not start fights,” Jeremy said. “Resolving conflicts peacefully is so much simpler.”

Michael nodded in agreement.

Look, Michael hadn’t meant to start a fight. Contrary to popular belief, Michael didn’t actually seek out people to hurt.

It had been the third week of school, and although most of the whispering around Michael had seemed to die down some bullies thought it would be a great idea to keep making the same stupid jokes over and over again.

Kids were stupid and cruel. Michael knew that better than anyone. He tried not to snap at the stupid remarks bullies would make. Michael tried to ignore the mistakes they would continue to throw in his face.

But one day, as Michael was trying to get to his next class, Michael heard a snide voice a few feet behind him.

“I heard that him and his dad worked together to kill his brother. He even laughed when it happened.”

Just ignore them, just ignore them.

Michael spun around anyway. “What do you want?” he snapped, trying to ignore the way his eyes burned with a fresh wave of tears.

The bully, Tyler, smiled, his lip curling. “Aw, are you mad? Are you gonna call Daddy and tell him to kill me?”

And Michael snapped.

One minute, both Michael and Tyler were staring each other. Shock coursed through Michael’s body as Tyler smiled smugly at him.

The next minute, Michael was surging forward, his fist connecting with Tyler’s nose.

Tyler was by no means a weak kid. He hit Michael firmly in the eye, and Michael gasped at the fresh wave of pain, stumbling backwards. It only took a moment for Michael to surge forward again.

And then both boys were on the floor, wrestling with each other as they tried to get another good punch in. Michael had no idea who was “winning”, and, honestly, he didn’t care. He was just so angry, and he needed to let it out somehow.

By the time a teacher had broken them up, both Michael and Tyler had nose-bleeds, and Michael’s entire body ached. Tyler didn’t look like he was fairing any better, and a small trickle of dread began to fall into Michael’s stomach.

What the hell was Henry going to say to all of this?

When Henry and Tyler’s parents arrived, the principal explained that since this was their first time in a fight, they’d only get five days of suspension. To Michael’s surprise, nobody argued that Michael should have more time away from school, since he was the one who threw the first punch.

“Michael’s a hardworking kid,” the principal said. He gave Michael a small smile. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Of course, not,” Henry said. “I’m so sorry about all of this. Thank you for your patience.”

“Thank you, Mr. Emily.”

Henry stood up, and Michael’s chest was beginning to ache from how erratically his heart was beating.

“Alright, Michael,” Henry said quietly. “Let’s go.”

Michael followed Henry out of the school building and quietly got into the car. Henry still hadn’t said anything yet, and Michael considered just getting out of the car and running away.

“Buckle your seatbelt.”

Michael obeyed.

The drive began with tense silence, the sound of the engine and turn signal being their only company.

Michael couldn’t take it.

“Look, if you’re going to shout at me, just get it over with, alright?” he snapped. “I know you’re angry.”

Henry took a deep breath, and Michael tensed. “I’m not angry,” he said slowly. “I’m just disappointed.”

Michael winced. “You don’t have to lie to me, sir.”

“I’m not lying,” Henry said, his voice still sounding tense. Henry took another deep breath as they stopped at a stoplight. “I just don’t understand. What are you getting into fights for?”

“It wasn’t like I was actively looking to punch someone in the face,” Michael muttered.

“I know you weren’t.” Henry sighed. “Michael, you’re a good kid. I don’t know what that young man said to you, but that doesn’t mean you can retaliate with violence—”

“You try being compared with your serial killer father every day and see how you like it.”

Michael’s voice cracked at the words, and he wanted to curl in on himself and die. What was wrong with him? He was already in enough trouble as it was, and now he was going ahead and making it worse?

Henry’s face paled. “You never mentioned getting bullied.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Michael admitted. “Besides, it’s not like I don’t deserve it—”

“You don’t deserve it,” Henry said firmly. He looked aghast. “Have they seriously been...”

Michael glared out the window. “Not most of them,” he muttered. “Look, it doesn’t matter what they were saying. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“You should’ve told someone,” Henry said. “I understand that you didn’t want to worry me, but that’s my job—”

“No, it’s not,” Michael snapped. “Your job is to make sure I survive to adulthood and don’t ruin your reputation.”

“My job is to make sure you’re happy and healthy,” Henry corrected as he turned into the neighborhood.

He said it like it was a fact. Like it was well-known and common that parents should show proper care to their children.

Maybe it was. Maybe Michael was the stupid one.

Not that he would admit it.

“Or maybe you’re just a moron,” Michael snapped. He pushed away the sob that was threatening to burst forth. “Can’t you just yell at me, already? I know you want to.”

“I don’t want to yell at you,” Henry said quietly. “I want to make sure this sort of thing doesn’t happen again. I don’t want you to get hurt or jeopardize your future.”

Michael wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he said nothing at all, crossing his arms and staring stubbornly out the window.

They drove into the drive way, and Michael quickly got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He marched into the house, Henry following close behind.

Henry closed the door behind him, and Michael froze, waiting for Henry to show his true colors, waiting for him to scream and lock Michael in his room for twenty-four hours.

“Alright, sit down,” Henry said. He still didn’t raise his voice. “I know I have some bruise cream around here somewhere.”

Michael’s heart stuttered. “What?”

“Michael, just because I’m disappointed doesn’t mean I’m not going to make sure you’re alright,” Henry said. “You’re hurt.”

“I know I’m hurt, but…” Michael wasn’t sure how on earth he was supposed to articulate this. “Isn’t it a natural punishment?”

Real anger flashed in Henry’s eyes, and Michael held his breath, his heart stuttering.

But the anger left as quickly as it came, and Henry was left looking incredibly tired.

“I’m not going to do nothing for your injuries as punishment,” Henry said. “I don’t want you to be hurt at all.”

Michael laughed disbelievingly. “Then what are you going to do?”

Henry hesitated. “I’m revoking your television privileges during your suspension,” he finally said.

“That’s it?” Michael demanded. “I beat someone up!”

“And he beat you up right back,” Henry said. “You’ve told me that it won’t happen again, and I believe you. I think you’ve suffered enough.”

Michael opened and closed his mouth, still baffled. “You’re not even going to lock me in my room?” he demanded.

Henry looked flabbergasted. “Why would I lock you in your room?”

Michael stopped himself from saying that it was what any normal parent would do. He shut his mouth firmly and shrugged.

“I’m not locking you in your room,” Henry said. “Could you please sit down so I can help you with the bruise cream? Or you can do it yourself.”

Michael slowly sat down at the kitchen island, and Henry finally pulled some bruise cream out of one of the drawers.

“Here it is,” he said, sounding triumphant. He walked back over to where Michael was sitting. “Do you want to do it, or should I?”

Michael only stared at the tube in Henry’s hand, feeling as though if he dared open his mouth, he’d burst into tears.

Michael was better than this. He shouldn’t be crying at a simple show of generosity. It was stupid and childish.

“Michael?” Henry asked. His voice was still gentle, even after everything that had happened.

Michael inhaled through his nose. He had to say something. It was a simple question with a simple answer.

“I—”

And Michael burst into tears.

Michael quickly brought his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the fountains of water that were running down his cheeks. He choked on his on sobs in an attempt to stay quiet, but nothing was working, and surely now Henry would finally decide he had enough.

“Oh, Michael,” Henry said, somehow sounding heartbroken. “Do you need a hug?”

Normally, Michael would’ve resisted, but everything was just too much today. Unthinkingly, Michael thrust himself into Henry’s arms, wrapping his own arms tightly around Henry’s body. Henry didn’t hesitate before holding Michael in return.

The warmth was incredible. Thrills ran down Michael’s spine as he held onto Henry more stubbornly than before, trying to soak up all of the warmth. It felt so amazing, and so foreign, and so different from any other hug Michael had ever had. Even hugging his siblings hadn’t felt like this.

Strangely enough, Michael felt safe like this in Henry’s arms.

The revelation only made Michael cry more hysterically.

“It’s alright,” Henry said, rubbing Michael’s back in a way that felt made Michael melt all the more. “Just let it all out.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael gasped, heaving for air. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Henry said. “I forgive you for getting into a fight. You don’t have anything to be afraid of.”

Michael shuddered with another sob. He had everything to be afraid of. He was afraid of this life. He was afraid of the newness of it all. He was afraid of not knowing Henry’s stupid rules and his stupid punishments and his stupid standards. He was afraid of screwing up suddenly and ruining all of the patience Henry had in him.

But, for now, in the terrifyingly wonderful warmth of Henry’s arms, maybe Michael could pretend he understood the security Henry seemed to think he was offering him.

Chapter Text

The hug did not make things miraculously perfect. Michael wasn't sure why he thought it would. 

Henry called the school, probably hoping that they could do something against the bullying Michael faced, but Michael knew better. The school wasn’t going to be able to be of any help.

The weekend after Michael got suspended, Michael met Jeremy at the park as per usual. As soon as Jeremy saw the slightly faint bruise around Michael’s eye, he whistled.

“I heard you had gotten into a fight,” Jeremy said. “You doing okay?”

Michael shrugged. “I lost a week of school,” he said as he sat down beside Jeremy on their park bench. “I don’t know how badly it’s going to affect my grades.”

Henry would be more than just "disappointed" if Michael started to fail all of his classes. 

Jeremy nodded sympathetically. “At least it’s still the beginning of the year,” he said. “There’s plenty of time to get them back to a happy place.”

“Sure.” Michael bit the inside of his cheek. “Henry hugged me. After I had gotten into the fight.”

Michael wasn’t sure what he wanted Jeremy to say. Did he want Jeremy to act surprised? Did he want Jeremy to affirm that Henry was a completely ordinary adult?

He didn’t know.

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “Well, he was probably worried about you. Even now, you look like you’ve seen better days.”

Michael frowned, his mind still struggling to wrap around the concept. “But… he was disappointed with me.”

“Sure, but…” Jeremy sounded suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, parents still love you even if they’re upset with you.”

“Henry’s not my dad,” Michael snapped.

“Oh, sorry. That was my bad.”

Jeremy looked suddenly nervous, and Michael felt a small stab of guilt. He shouldn’t be burdening Jeremy with his own inability to process emotions.

Michael quickly changed the subject, asking Jeremy if he had read any good books recently, and Jeremy launched into an excited explanation on the Lord of the Rings.

During suspension, Henry approached Michael about the dog.

“Your birthday is coming up,” he said over the dinner table. “Do you still want a dog?”

Michael frowned but nodded.

“Alright, just checking,” Henry said easily, not sounding aggravated. “I’ve been doing some research, so I wanted to discuss your options with you.”

Michael’s frown deepened, this time more out of confusion than anxiety. “My options?”

Henry nodded. “See, you could adopt a puppy or an older dog. A puppy will be a lot of work at the start, while an older dog will likely already be trained. On the other hand, if we do go with an adult, it’s not impossible that they will be more withdrawn at first.”

“Why?” Michael asked.

“Adjusting to a new home is hard for everyone.” Henry gave Michael a small smile. “It’ll take a little bit for the dog to get used to us, our routine, and our home.”

Michael’s chest ached slightly at the words, and he stared studiously at his plate of chili.

“And it’s my choice?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Michael glanced back up at Henry. “Can’t you just pick what will be easier for you?”

“This is your gift,” Henry said firmly. “I want you to choose what makes you the happiest.”

Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever been given the option to choose like that before.

He internally weighed his options. A puppy would probably be happier to live in a stable home for the rest of its life, but Michael had already told Henry he’d primarily be responsible for their new dog. Michael wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle the amount of training and attention a puppy would need, especially considering that some days, Michael had enough difficulty finding the motivation to get his own work done.

Michael had a lot more confidence he’d be able to keep up with taking care of an adult dog, and it wasn’t like the dog would hate him forever. With enough time and patience, Henry seemed to think that the dog would warm up to them.

Also, an adult dog was much less likely to trash Henry’s house.

“Um, we can go with the adult,” Michael said.

“You sure?” Henry asked. His voice didn’t sound incredulous or upset, and Michael was pretty sure he was just confirming.

“Yes, sir,” Michael said. “If that’s not inconvenient.”

“Not at all!” Henry said quickly. “I’ll be glad to find an adult dog to adopt. Would you like to come with me while I start looking for one or…?”

Michael shrugged. “You can surprise me,” he said.

Michael asking for a dog had been more impulsive than something he yearned for anyway. He didn’t need to help Henry with every single step of the adoption process.

When Michael returned to school, most snide remarks and hushed whispers stopped following Michael around the halls. Michael had his doubts that Henry’s intervention had done anything. He was pretty sure that his beating up Tyler was enough to get people to stop screwing with him.

Michael didn’t really care either way. Less kids reminding Michael of the worst mistake of his life, the less likely Michael was to break his promise to not start another fight to Henry.

The idea of breaking the promise was enough to make Michael’s chest ache, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to avoid punishment, or if he legitimately cared about what Henry wanted for him.

Michael attributed it to the former.

While the absence of bullying made school more manageable, it didn’t make it any less hard. Not only was it difficult to find motivation to put effort into his classes, but Michael’s classes were actually getting difficult. Michael would find himself staying up into the late hours of the night just trying to understand what his teachers acted as though were basic concepts. How could any of these concepts be considered basic?

Henry sometimes asked Michael how he was handling his homework, and Michael knew the answer expected of him.

He put on yet another fake smile and tried not to feel sick to his stomach as he said that he was handling it perfectly fine.

Michael wasn’t sure if Henry believed him, but he never pushed the issue past a reminder that there was nothing wrong with needing help.

Michael ignored the reminders.

Michael’s birthday landed on the Friday he was allowed back at school.

Henry started the day off by making Michael a slightly nicer breakfast than usual, similar to the “back to school” breakfast. Michael wasn’t sure what it was about Henry and breakfasts to mark special occasions, but then he remembered that Jeremy’s family had a whole affair when it came to breakfasts and birthdays, so maybe Michael was the one missing something.

That was beginning to come a very common theme in Michael’s life.

When Michael arrived home from school that day, Henry took longer than usual to arrive back home. Michael tried not to be too disconcerted by it; he probably was delayed by running some errands. This wasn’t even the first time Henry ran late.

Still, whenever Father didn’t arrive home from work on time, it usually meant that Michael was going to be the one cooking dinner.

Michael instinctually checked the fridge, and he let out a small breath upon seeing that there would at least be enough food to scrounge around in case Henry really didn’t come back that evening.

Michael tried to swallow back the bitter disappointment that came with the realization that Henry wouldn’t be home for his birthday. He wasn’t sure why he had kept his hopes up; Henry had already shown him way more generosity than Michael deserved.

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, resting his forehead against the now closed refrigerator. Henry was allowed to have a life outside of taking care of Michael; especially when Michael was never supposed to be Henry’s problem to begin with.  Michael could handle himself. There was no reason to be panicking like this.

Everything was fine—

Michael’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and Michael snapped his head up to see Henry entering, looking somewhat confused. Henry was holding something bulky in his hands, but Michael didn’t focus on that.

“Are you alright?” Henry asked.

Michael suddenly felt silly. Henry hadn’t left. Henry had only been getting something, whatever that thing might be. Michael had been stupid to think that Henry being gone for an extra hour meant anything.

“I’m fine,” Michael said, somewhat harshly.

His heart still felt out of rhythm, and he clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms. The pain grounded him slightly.

Michael tried to put on his best “fine” façade, but Henry was always good at seeing past those. Michael had never been as good of a liar as his father, something Michael supposed he should be grateful for.

“Sorry for being late,” Henry said. He put the large box on the ground. “I—”

Henry was interrupted by loud barking, and Michael realized that the large box wasn’t a box. Instead, it was a crate, and a medium-sized black dog sat inside it.

Michael’s mouth went suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He wasn’t sure why the world felt like it had been flipped upside down. Henry had spoken to Michael about getting him a dog. Henry had occasionally left the house, saying that he was going to speak with the rescue he was working with.

And yet, Michael was surprised. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Had he expected Henry to turn around at the last minute and tell Michael that it was stupid of him to think Henry would give Michael such an expensive gift? That Michael wasn’t worthy of taking care of another living being?

But Henry hadn’t done that. Henry had brought home a dog on Michael’s birthday, just as Henry had promised.

“Is that…” Michael’s voice trailed off. He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to ask.

“Yep,” Henry said. “I’m going to let him out of his crate while I get the rest of his stuff out of the car.”

Henry unlatched the crate and opened the door, and the new dog quickly dashed out, his paws scritching against the kitchen tile.

“Does he have a name?” Michael asked, crouching down in front of the dog. The dog eyed Michael warily for a few moments, but that didn’t stop it from coming closer.

“He does, but it’s okay to give him a new one,” Henry said. “It’s like a new start.”

“Oh.”

The dog had gotten close enough for Michael to scratch him behind the ears. The movement was actually helped loosen the tension in Michael’s chest, and he let out a small breath.

“I’m going to go get his stuff from the car, okay?” henry asked.

Michael nodded.

Henry went back outside, and Michael stared his new dog in the eyes. The dog stared intelligently back at him, and Michael scrambled to think of a good name.

“Sir Arnold the Fifth,” Elizabeth’s voice whispered in his head, a remnant of a long-forgotten memory.

That’s right. At the ripe age of four, Elizabeth had been trying to persuade their mother to let them keep a stray dog they had found. She had insisted upon calling the dog “Sir Arnold the Fifth”, and she had wept for hours after Father sent the dog to the shelter.

Michael had only been six at the time, and he had nearly forgotten the memory altogether. But it explained why the name had come so easily to Michael when he was speaking to Jeremy earlier. Although, Michael had said third instead of fifth.

“I am not calling you Sir Arnold the Fifth,” Michael told the dog.

The dog just tilted his head, and Michael bit the inside of his cheek.

“How about Arnold instead?”

Arnold didn’t respond, considering that he was, well, a dog, but something fit into place when Michael said the name. Michael couldn’t explain it, but it felt right.

Henry came back in with an abundance of dog supplies, and Michael helped him set everything up. They agreed to put the dog bed in the corner of Michael’s bedroom, and they placed the water and food bowl in the kitchen.

After they had set everything up, Arnold had curled up on his dog bed, continuing to eye Michael and Henry warily.

“We should give him his space,” Henry said. “I’m going to start dinner.”

Michael nodded and sat down at his desk, deciding he might as well work on his homework while he had some semblance of motivation to do so.

Soon enough, Henry called Michael for dinner, and Michael put some food in Arnold’s bowl. Arnold came out to eat, but he retreated back into Michael’s bedroom as soon as he had finished.

Well, Henry did say that this was likely to happen.

Michael tried not to let it bother him too much as they sat down to dinner. Henry had made Michael stew, which was his favorite meal, and Michael tried not to cry over how much thought and effort Henry had put into everything.

After dinner, Henry brought out a small chocolate cake with fourteen candles sitting on top of it, and he lit them.

“Make a wish,” he said.

Michael almost said that he was too young for such childish things, but he stopped himself.

It didn’t take long for Michael to come up with something to wish for.

Please let Evan and Elizabeth be happy somewhere.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and blew out the candles. They deserved that much, at least.

“Happy birthday, Michael,” Henry said, beaming.

Michael wasn’t sure why he was so happy over Michael being a year older. A lump rose to his throat anyway, and he furiously swallowed it down.

“Thank you,” Michael said quietly.

Henry ruffled Michael’s hair. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

Apparently, there was a lot to keep in mind when it came to Arnold.

Henry explained to Michael that Arnold had been abused by his previous owners, although he had no details. As Michael had already seen, he was nervous and occasionally skittish around other humans and dogs, but Henry assured him that he had never shown any violent tendencies. Henry gave Michael careful instructions on how not to scare Arnold and explained that Arnold would need a routine to help him adjust to his new life.

“Arnold is toilet trained, but I’ve been told to expect a few accidents,” Henry said kindly. “Don’t panic if Arnold pees in the house.”

Michael was grateful for the warning, because when he woke up the next morning, he found Arnold had peed in the corner of his bedroom.

Fortunately, Michael’s bedroom had wood flooring. It should be an easy fix, and Henry said not to panic. He probably wouldn’t be mad.

Still, Michael went about cleaning as discreetly as possible, sneaking into the kitchen for paper towels.

Not that it changed anything.

“Arnold had an accident?” Henry asked knowingly.

Michael’s heart skipped a couple of beats, even though Henry hadn’t sounded accusing or angry. He took a few deep breaths.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Sorry.”

The apology was instinctual, but Henry didn’t look upset.

“That’s alright,” he said. “I’ll clean it up. You can take Arnold outside to see if he can relieve himself.”

Michael swallowed back a protest that he could clean his own messes, and instead searched for Arnold. He was no longer in Michael’s bedroom, probably sensing he had done something wrong and escaped while Michael had left the door open.

It only took minimal searching of the house to find Arnold in the corner of the bathroom, making whimpering noises.

Michael tried not to panic. Arnold was scared, that much was obvious. He was probably afraid of getting punished. Michael knew the feeling.

Henry had told Michael that approaching Arnold while he was scared would probably only scare him more, and it was better to let Arnold come to Michael on his own terms.

Michael crouched down at the entrance of the bathroom, looking at Arnold’s shoulder. Henry said eye contact was frightening.

“Arnold,” Michael said softly. “It’s okay. You can come here.”

Arnold didn’t listen, although he stopped whimpering. To be fair, Michael wouldn’t have trusted himself either.

After a few admittedly weak attempts to reassure Arnold, Michael retreated to the kitchen and grabbed a dog treat. When he came back, he crouched down like he had done before and held out the treat slightly.

“I have a treat for you,” Michael said.

Arnold carefully walked toward Michael, eventually taking the treat from Michael’s hand. Michael grinned, his chest loosening in relief.

“Good boy,” he praised, scratching Arnold from behind the ear.

Arnold made a shy barking sound.

Michael led Arnold outside, where Arnold did end up going to the bathroom. As soon as that was done, Michael poured some food and water into a bowl for him. Arnold only ate half of his bowl before retreating back to his bedroom.

Henry came back into the kitchen, smiling at Michael. “You got him his food?”

Michael nodded, not sure why Henry was so smiley after he had been sent to clean up dog urine.

“He didn’t eat all of it, though,” Michael said, staring forlornly at the half-filled bowl.

“Don’t worry about it,” Henry reassured him. “Remember what I told you?”

“About Arnold adjusting to his environment?” Michael asked.

Henry nodded. “Yeah. He might do weird things. It’s our job to show him that it’s safe here.”

Michael bit the inside of his cheek. “What if I screw it up?”

The “what if” bit was really unnecessary. Michael screwing up was inevitable. All he ever seemed to do was make mistakes.

“We all make mistakes, Michael,” Henry said. “What’s important is that we learn from them.”

Michael frowned, once again confused. Accidents or mistakes of any type were not tolerated in the Afton household.

Then again, Henry continued to defy expectations.

Henry told Michael that he should take Arnold on his walk sooner rather than later, since most days, Michael would only be able to walk Arnold in the early mornings and in the afternoons.

“He doesn’t look that energetic,” Michael told Henry. Arnold was curled up on his dog bed, looking like he would much rather stay where he was.

“You have to give him his exercise,” Henry said. “Just because he doesn’t want it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it.”

Michael still had his doubts, but he carefully put on Arnold’s leash and took him outside, studiously avoiding any other dog-walkers for Arnold’s sake.

That didn’t stop him from seeing Susie and her mother walking Goldie from across the sidewalk.

“Michael!” Susie exclaimed. “You got a dog!”

Michael managed a small smile and waved. Arnold hid behind the other side of Michael’s legs.

And thus, a new routine was formed.

The first few weeks of Arnold’s presence were probably the most difficult. Arnold was still cautious around Michael, and even more so around Henry, and some days, it was difficult to get Arnold to even go outside to do his business.

Still, slowly but surely, a new routine began to form.

Michael would wake up in the early hours of the morning to take Arnold outside to go to the bathroom and feed him. While Michael did last minute homework and ate breakfast, which was sometimes prepared by Henry, Arnold would usually retreat back into Michael’s bedroom. After Michael was ready for school, he’d take Arnold out on a forty-minute walk, put him in his crate (since Arnold didn’t handle long absences well), and go to school. When Michael returned home, he’d take Arnold out on another walk, feed him again in the evenings, and let him out before bed to let Arnold do his business.

If nothing else, Arnold was a good motivator for Michael to get out of bed in the morning.

And, slowly but surely, Arnold began to grow more and more comfortable around Michael and Henry.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Henry told Michael one day at dinner. “Well, no matter what, I’m proud of you, but I’m especially impressed by how well you’ve been taking care of Arnold.”

Michael felt his face grow hot, and he chose to ignore the stupidly wrong comment about Henry being always proud of him. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Things had been getting… nice. Michael was getting less and less nightmares. His chest was slightly lighter. He found himself more and more motivated to go about his day, and he was becoming less and less snappish with Henry.

Michael knew it was stupid to think it, but… Michael was actually a little happier. Things were actually getting better.

The happiness came with a small bitter note. Soon, Henry would stop pitying Michael. Soon, Henry would grow comfortable with the idea that Michael would take care of himself.

Soon, Henry would show his true colors.

Michael pretended the idea didn’t terrify him.

“Hey, Michael,” Jeremy said one day as he sat down at their bench, looking like he was about to bounce up and down with excitement.

Michael closed his book for school. “What’s up?”

“I have the best news ever.” Jeremy was beginning to sound like a child being told that their birthday was the next day.

“Which is?”

“The movie theater is showing the Empire Strikes Back this weekend.” Jeremy beamed. “You should totally see it with me.”

Michael frowned. As much as he wanted to hang out with Jeremy more, and as much as he wanted to see the second Star Wars movie, nothing was ever that simple.

“I don’t know if Henry will let me.”

Jeremy’s face fell. “Why not?”

Michael fumbled for a good reason. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure. Logically, he knew Henry would be fine with it, but an uneasy feeling in his chest told him otherwise.

If Michael had asked his father if he could go to the movies, his father would’ve said something along the lines of wasting both his time and money for selfish means.

“It’s… expensive,” Michael finally said.

“I can pay for the tickets,” Jeremy said, waving his hand like he were swatting a fly. “Don’t worry about that.”

The uneasy feeling didn’t go away, but how was Michael supposed to tell Jeremy that he didn’t deserve to go see a movie? Jeremy would probably think he was weird, and then he’d get uncomfortable in the way he always did when Michael alluded to his past home life.

“Alright,” Michael finally said. “What time?”

They agreed that they’d meet at the movie theater at noon, which gave Michael enough time to make sure that Arnold had gone on his walk. Of course, avoiding Henry would be tricky, since he didn’t go to work on Saturday’s, but Michael was sure that he could just say he was visiting Jeremy at the park.

Henry had made it clear that Michael wasn’t to leave the neighborhood without telling Henry, but Michael didn’t care. Worst case scenario, Henry found out that Michael was sneaking around behind his back and finally did something reasonable for once in his life.

Maybe, if Michael were particularly lucky, he’d leave Michael then and there. It would be better than the cruel façade at kindness that he kept pulling Michael along with. The façade that Michael was currently falling for.

Michael wished that Henry would just rip off the band aid and get it over with.

And if Henry didn’t, Michael would just do it for him.

Chapter Text

Nightmares of Father trying to get into Michael’s bedroom woke Michael up with a start, and Michael gasped for breath, staring at his door like his life depended on it.

The doorknob was not moving. Nobody was shouting at him to let him in.

Michael still very carefully climbed out of bed, crossed the room, and locked the door. In Michael’s old house, the locking mechanism had been on the other side of the doors, and Michael would be forced to barricade his door if he wanted to prevent Father from getting in.

Not that it had been a usual occurrence. Father had only gotten that angry once, really.

There was still something immensely reassuring about knowing that Henry would have a hard time getting into Michael’s bedroom, even if it was one in the morning, and Henry was likely still asleep.

Michael should be asleep too.

Instead, Michael’s breathing continued to come out as gasping breaths as his heart hiccuped.

Arnold looked up from his own slumber with a small whimper, and Michael flinched. He couldn’t even keep his own dog safe from the walking disaster that he was.

Arnold crawled out of bed and walked toward Michael, nudging his leg ever so slightly. Michael flinched backwards, and Arnold scuttled away slightly himself.

God, what a mess.

Michael carefully slid to the ground, trying to get control of his breathing. He was fine. Father was not here. He was not drunk and angry. He was not trying to hurt Michael.

Father had never hurt Michael, regardless.

That didn’t stop Michael from staring at his bedroom window. It wasn’t locked; Michael had already checked. A small knot in Michael’s chest loosened at the reminder.

At least, if Henry decided to drown in drunken grief, Michael wouldn’t have to break the window to escape.

Arnold crawled into Michael’s lap, nudging his hand slightly, and Michael automatically began to run his hand up and down Arnold’s fur. The motion was slightly soothing, and his breathing started to even out.

He was… well, he wasn’t sure if he was safe, but he was safer. At least, Michael wasn’t stuck with Father, who everyone seemed to regard as a monster, and not just for the fact that he was a murderer.

“Is it ever safe?” Michael whispered to Arnold, so quietly that he could barely hear his own voice.

Arnold didn’t say anything, and Michael hugged him closer.

It was… nice… having somebody to hold. It distracted Michael from the series of bad decisions he was going to make when the morning came.

Michael ended up falling asleep on the floor, which, unsurprisingly, did not help Michael feel anymore well-rested when he woke up a few hours later to the sound of his alarm.

Arnold had crawled out of Michael’s lap and was standing at the door, patting it with his paw. Michael nodded groggily.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he murmured, pulling himself to his feet. He rubbed to sleep out of his eyes as he crossed the room to shut off his alarm. When the room returned to blissful silence, he returned to the door and tried to open it.

His heart skipped a beat when it was locked.

Had Henry done this? Did Henry decide that he was sick of Michael’s crap for the day? Had Michael broken some sort of unspoken rule? Did it have something to do with him falling asleep on the floor?

Michael tried to twist the doorknob, more frantically this time, and it didn’t budge. His eyes were beginning to blur, and Michael wasn’t sure if it was because he was about to pass out or burst into tears.

Arnold let out a few barks, and Michael jumped.

“Michael?!” Henry’s voice called out, from what Michael assumed was the kitchen. “Are you alright in there?”

Michael bit back a retort about how, no, he was not okay, because Henry had locked the door, even though he had said that he wouldn’t—

Well, actually, Henry had said he wouldn’t lock Michael in his room that one time. he never said that he would never lock Michael into his room.

Michael hated it here. What was he going to tell Jeremy?

“Michael?” Henry’s voice asked, a new tone to it. Arnold started barking again.

“I’m—I’m fine,” Michael choked out, because that’s what Father would want him to say. Father would expect Michael to take his temporary imprisonment in stride, not whine about it in the way that Evan always did…

“Are you sure?” Henry asked. His voice was closer now, and, in spite of the broken trust, Michael felt himself calm down slightly. “Can I come in?”

Michael’s vision was still blurry, and he could barely think clearly at all.

If Henry wanted to come in, he could come in. He was the one with the ability to lock and unlock doors.

“Sure,” Michael gasped.

Michael flinched away at the rattling sound of a doorknob, but the door didn’t open. Michael wasn’t sure why, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe, and—

“Michael, the door is locked,” Henry said.

“I know!” Michael shouted, unable to control himself. “You’re the one who—”

His eyes finally landed on his own turned locking mechanism.

Oh. Oh.

With trembling fingers, Michael frantically unlocked the door, shoving it open. Arnold dashed out of the bedroom, beelining toward the backdoor of the house, and Michael shoved his way past Henry to open the door for him.

It was better than seeing the pity that was in Henry’s eyes. Or seeing the complete lack of it.

Michael couldn’t decide which was worse.

Michael’s couldn’t stop shaking as Arnold relieved himself, and Henry approached him slowly, like Michael was some sort of spooked animal.

“Are you alright?” Henry asked.

The question was redundant, and they both knew it. “I’m fine,” Michael snapped. His voice cracked at the words.

“You don’t have to be—”

“I said, I’m fine,” Michael said. Arnold dutifully returned to the back door, and Michael let him back inside the house shutting the door behind him.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Henry said, the gentleness in his tone failing to hide the bluntness in his words. “Sit down, at least.”

Unfortunately, Henry had a point. Michael’s vision was blacking out slightly at the edges, and he quickly sat down on the couch, trying to re-steady his, well, everything.

“Sorry, sir,” Michael muttered, trying to keep himself from collapsing fully and completely.

Arnold resettled himself on Michael’s lap, and Michael honestly wasn’t sure if the dog was smart enough to know that Michael was distressed, or if he just enjoyed getting pets.

Michael wasn’t about to complain, though.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Henry said quickly, as though it were obvious.

Michael took a deep breath. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to imply that you… that you locked me in. I’m sorry.”

Crap. Henry had said Michael didn’t need to apologize—

“Just take deep breaths, alright?” Henry sat down on the futon in front of the sofa and gave Michael a small smile. “Breathe in with me.”

Eventually, Michael felt slightly more settled and aware, and he stutteringly explained to Henry that he had locked his door in the middle of the night and had forgotten.

“Was there a reason you locked the door?” Henry asked after a moment’s deliberation. When Michael didn’t immediately respond, his face blanched. “You don’t have to tell me, but if there’s something I should avoid doing so I don’t trigger you—”

“There was no reason,” Michael lied, because he couldn’t stand any more of Henry’s generosity. Not when Michael was hours away from going behind his back. “I just freaked out, I guess.”

Henry’s face became somber, but he nodded.

Even after Michael had calmed down, Henry gave him his breakfast of scrambled eggs at the sofa. Michael that it was stupid and foolish, but he also wasn’t sure if he had the energy to walk to the kitchen table, so he didn’t complain.

Arnold, unfortunately, did have to get off of Michael’s lap to eat his food. And, while he didn’t eat the entirety of his bowl’s contents, he did eat most of it.

At least Arnold’s day was shaping up to be better than Michael’s.

In spite of Henry’s insistence that Michael could rest, Michael still took Arnold out on his walk. Part of Henry and Michael’s agreement was that Michael would be the one primarily taking care of Arnold, and Michael wasn’t about to go back on that now.

Arnold seemed to enjoy the walk well enough, and the fresh air helped both wake Michael up and clear his mind of any remaining panic.

When Michael returned home, he retreated back to his bedroom and sat at his desk, determined to at least some of his homework before he went to the movies with Jeremy.

Still, anxiety began eating away at Michael. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Michael had already worried Henry once this morning, and he had forced Henry to take care of him more than usual, so maybe…

But no. Michael had to do this. He had to.

Michael didn’t succeed in getting much homework done. He did succeed in doodling stick figures in the midst of having a crisis in the margins though. He quickly erased them. When Father had caught Michael doodling, he’d had a fit over Michael wasting his time doing nothing of value. Besides, his teachers didn’t really appreciate him graffitiing all over his homework.

But, finally, the time was a quarter until eleven, and Michael took a deep breath and slipped out of his bedroom.

“I’m going to the park to meet up with Jeremy,” Michael told Henry, making a break for the door.

“Okay,” Henry said mildly, looking up from the book he was reading. “Have fun.”

Michael rolled his eyes and shut the door firmly behind himself.

It took Michael an hour of fast walking to reach the theater before Jeremy.

Of course, Jeremy did not suffer the same difficulties, seeing as his father drove him to the entrance and dropped him off.

“Are you okay?” Jeremy asked as he approached Michael. “Did you walk all the way here?”

“No,” Michael lied, trying not to sound out of breath.

Jeremy looked unconvinced, but he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ready to go in?”

Michael followed Jeremy into the theaters, and he tried to pull out his own money for buying the tickets.

“Nah, man, I’ve got it,” Jeremy said dismissively. “My dad gave me money for the both of us.”

Michael let out a small laugh of surprise. The idea of a father giving money to their child to waste on stupid entertainment was bizarre.

Jeremy purchased their tickets, as well as a heaping bucket of popcorn.

“That’s really not necessary—” Michael tried, but Jeremy shook his head.

“All movies need popcorn,” he said firmly as they sat down at their seats.

Michael wasn’t going to complain. The popcorn was actually pretty good.

The movie itself was excellent, and although Michael had already been spoiled, he couldn’t help but to feel sorry for Luke.

Michael tried to imagine how he would feel if his father had tried to convince him to help in murdering children.

Then again, in a sick way, Michael already had.

The movie ended, and Michael couldn’t help but to be slightly aghast.

“That’s how it ends?” he demanded.

Jeremy nodded. “Don’t worry, things get better in the third one. We can watch it next weekend, if you’d like.”

“Sure,” Michael said slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around the depressing ending. He had been expecting something more along the lines of the ending of the first one, but apparently not.

After the movie, he and Jeremy had ice cream at a nearby parlor, and Jeremy’s dad picked him up.

“Do you need a ride?” Jeremy asked, frowning all over again.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Michael said, giving Jeremy a smile. “Henry’s probably just running a little late.”

“Are you sure?” Jeremy asked. “We can call him—”

“I’m fine,” Michael said firmly.

Jeremy still looked doubtful, but he nodded, getting into the car and letting his dad drive him home.

Michael knew he should probably get home as soon as possible, but the entire point of this experiment was to get Henry to finally realize what a useless human being Michael was.

Michael didn’t head home.

Instead, he mindlessly wandered the streets, his hands shoved into his pockets.

He tried to ignore the dread that was beginning to rise up within him. He tried to ignore the way his mind began to replay the worst mistakes of his life.

He wanted to go home, and he hated it.

Chapter Text

Henry had been glancing at the clock nervously, wondering when Michael would get home to take Arnold on his walk. The events of earlier that morning had been nagging at him constantly, a sickening reminder of what Henry had let happen under his own nose.

What the hell had William done to make Michael so afraid? How the hell could Henry have missed it?

Before Henry could stew too much in his anger toward William and his self-loathing toward himself, the phone started ringing.

Sighing, Henry stood up from where he had been trying his best to read on the couch and crossed the room, picking up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Henry, its Hannah Fitzgerald,” Hannah said. Her voice held a no-nonsense air to it, and Henry was left to wonder what he had done wrong. “My husband just returned from driving Jeremy back from the movies, and Jeremy said it looked as though Michael had walked all the way to the theater.”

Henry’s heart dropped. “The theater?” he asked. “Michael said he was going to the park.”

“The park?” The sternness in Hannah’s tone had gone away, replaced by concern. “No, Jeremy met Michael at the movie theaters at noon. They watched that second Star Wars movie together. You mean you haven’t picked him up? Is he home yet?”

Henry’s heart was doing multiple palpitations, and his hands were growing slippery with sweat.

“N-no,” he said, trying to keep himself remotely calm. “I’ve—I’ve got to go.”

Without waiting for Hannah to respond, he slammed his phone back into the receiver and frantically raced to his car, his keys fortunately easy to locate in his pockets.

Henry’s hands trembled as he drove out of the neighborhood, and he tried his best to stay focused on the road. Swear words flew out of his mouth as he scanned the streets for any sign of Michael.

He tried not to think of a similar panic he felt when Charlie was nowhere to be found at her own birthday party. He tried not to remember the way he had scoured the entire restaurant before an employee found her outside.

He tried not to remember Charlie’s small body lying in a pool of her own blood. He tried not to remember how terrifyingly still she was, how small she was in his arms.

Henry was hyperventilating.

Henry forced himself to take deep breaths as he arrived at the movie theater, scanning the front area for any sign of a skinny teenager. No one was in sight, and Henry’s heart had all but stopped.

“Have you seen my daughter? Her name is Charlotte, but she likes to be called Charlie; she has two pigtails with bright purple bows; you can’t miss her.”

William was in jail. He couldn’t kill Michael. Henry just had to keep looking.

Henry began carefully driving in the area surrounding the movie theater, his eyes frantically searching, looking more at the sidewalk than at the actual road.

Michael was going to be okay. Michael had to be okay.

“Sir, I-I found her. I need to… I need to call the police.”

After another ten minutes of frantic searching, Henry’s mind cruelly replaying the night of Charlie’s death over and over again, Henry’s eyes finally landed on a boy with curly brown hair wearing the same clothes that Michael had left with.

Henry frantically parked in the nearest empty spot and scrambled out of the car, sprinting toward Michael.

“Michael!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

Michael turned around, and his face was undeniable. It was Michael. Michael was alive, and he was uninjured as far as Henry could tell, and he was alive.

Michael’s eyes were wide as Henry rushed toward him. “Mr. Henry, I can—”

Henry didn’t hesitate before all but jumping on top of Michael, wrapping him in such a tight embrace that if he hadn’t been in such a blind panic, he would’ve been horrified with himself. He was dimly aware of the tears in his eyes, but he honestly didn’t care. All that mattered was that Michael was alright.

Michael stiffened, and Henry held on for another moment before realizing he was blatantly infringing on Michael’s boundaries.

“Sorry,” Henry muttered, quickly stepping away from Michael. “Are you alright? Are you injured anywhere?”

Michael didn’t say anything, instead staring at Henry like he was speaking in a completely different language.

Anxiety rushed back into Henry’s chest. “Michael? Can you hear me?”

Michael slowly nodded. “I… yeah…”

“Are you alright?”

Michael nodded again. “I’m… I’m not injured,” he said, his words careful.

Henry nearly laughed out of relief, but instead, he opted for a huge sigh, brushing the tears away from his eyes.

“Thank god,” he said. “Thank god.”

Henry led Michael to the car, and it wasn’t until his child was safely inside that an emotion other than overwhelming relief crept in.

“What were you thinking?” Henry asked, his voice harsher than he would’ve liked it as he backed out of his parking space.

Michael shrugged.

Henry opened and shut his mouth, feeling somewhat dumbstruck. “We agreed that you’d ask before leaving the neighborhood. Did you forget?”

Michael didn’t say anything for a moment, and they were left with the hum of the engine and air conditioner.

Michael muttered something under his breath.

Henry took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

“I didn’t forget,” Michael said, his voice loud and irritated.

A mixture of confusion, frustration, and disappointment washed over Henry, and he willed it not to show on his face. Michael didn’t need that right now.

“Then, why didn’t you?”

Michael glared, turning his head to look out the window.

Frustration and worry were becoming driving forces in Henry’s mind. Frustration because Michael wasn’t working with him. Frustration because Henry didn’t know how to fix this, how to get through to Michael.

Worry because Michael was going through so much, and Henry had no idea how he was supposed to help.

“Michael, I need you to answer—”

“Why does it matter?” Michael snapped. “I didn’t do it. Isn’t that enough for you?”

They were almost to the neighborhood. “I would like to hear your reasoning behind it.”

“Why?” Michael asked petulantly.

“Because then we can get at the heart of the issue,” Henry said. “Were you afraid I was going to be angry at you for asking? Were you afraid I wouldn’t let you go?”

Michael shrugged again, and Henry took another deep breath.

“Michael, I really want to help you, but—”

“Well, maybe I don’t want your help,” Michael said, his voice downright nasty.

“Please don’t use that tone—”

“Or what?”

“It’s not enough that it’s rude and hurtful?”

Henry drove into their driveway as Michael laughed, sounding like he was on the verge of tears.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Michael said. “I’m not… I’m not stupid. I know there are consequences for these sorts of things. You don’t have to play dumb anymore.”

“And what would you like me to do, Michael?” Henry asked, his voice slightly tenser than he would’ve preferred. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Even though the car was parked, neither Michael or Henry tried to get out of it.  Instead, Michael looked Henry dead in the eyes, his own eyes filled with a challenging anger.

“Father never hurt me,” Michael all but snarled. “He just knew how to raise children properly.”

The reminder of how horrifyingly William treated his own children made Henry grip the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles went white.

“He abused you.”

“He was just disciplining me; I deserved it!” Michael’s voice raised in octave as he glanced at Henry’s hands, and Henry loosened his grip on the wheel. “You’re the one who bloody refuses to do anything when I’m being an ungrateful brat.”

Henry closed his eyes, not sure if he wanted to cry or drive to the prison just to shout at William’s pathetic face.

“You’re not an ungrateful brat,” Henry said. “You’re a traumatized and abused child who did not deserve to be treated the way William treated you.”

“You make it sound like he hit me,” Michael muttered.

“Abuse isn’t just physical,” Henry said, trying to keep his voice gentle.

“I know that,” Michael snapped. “But… he didn’t… he wasn’t…”

Michael firmly shut his mouth, his Adam’s apple working up and forth.

“He was,” Henry said softly. “And I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Henry was supposed to finally cave, finally supposed to show his true colors and scream at Michael. He was supposed to lock Michael in his room, or prohibit him from having food, or something.

He wasn’t supposed to hug Michael instantly upon seeing him. He wasn’t supposed to cry.

And then, Henry was acting like this was something he could solve with an ordinary conversation, as though an even tone and the use of reasoning would teach Michael a lesson. He started to explaining to Michael that Father was abusive, and Michael had known that, but…

Michael had deserved it. It was just discipline; it was the way things were supposed to be; it was the only way William could manage to get Michael to listen.

Maybe other kids could be swayed by gentle words and kind touch, but other kids didn’t lead their baby brothers to their deaths. Other kids didn’t laugh as their brother wailed; other kids didn’t feel shock and mounting horror when the screaming suddenly stopped with a flash of crimson.

And even before Michael murdered his brother, he was an ornery child. He was always picking fights with Father, or refusing to listen to what was best for him, or being blatantly disrespectful when it would’ve been better for him to obey.

Henry just didn’t understand that, but no matter how hard Michael put the worst of himself on display, Henry acted as though it was all Father’s fault that Michael was such a horrible person. And worse, Henry was acting like Michael wasn’t a horrible person at all.

What did Michael have to do to get Henry to understand?

Michael didn’t speak out of fear of humiliating himself further by bursting into tears, and he followed henry silently into the house. Henry sat Michael down at the sofa, and Arnold settled himself into Michael’s lap.

“Let’s try this again,” Henry said. His voice was still soft, as though he were afraid he was going to accidentally break Michael by speaking to harshly. “Can you tell me why you left without permission?”

Michael grabbed onto his jeans, wrapping his hands into fists. “You’re… you’re not doing any of this right.”

Maybe Henry was a little smarter than Michael gave him credit for, because understanding shone in his eyes almost immediately.

“You were trying to get a reaction out of me,” he said. “You wanted me to hurt you.”

Frustration caused Michael to bristle. “Not hurt me,” he muttered. “Just… actually punish me for once.”

“And what do you consider actual punishment? And, no, I’m not locking you in your room.”

Michael’s mouth felt suddenly dry. Wasn’t it a given?

“I… you shouldn’t let me eat for the day,” Michael said. “Or… shout at me… or throw away my drawing supplies…”

Michael faltered. He didn’t have drawing supplies anymore. In the rush to leave his old home, he had left the behind.

“Drawing supplies?” Henry asked. “Do you have those?”

Michael crossed his arms. “Forget it.”

“We’ll put a pin in that,” Henry said, as though he cared enough to actually care about Michael’s hobbies. “I’m not going to starve you, or throw away your stuff, or shout at you.”

“So, you’re just going to let me get away with it,” Michael said scathingly.

“Not quite,” Henry said. “Tomorrow and next weekend, you’re not going to hang out with Jeremy, alright? You’ll help me out in the yard instead.”

Michael scoffed. “That’s it?”

Henry frowned. “Michael, do you understand why I don’t want you to go out on your own without me knowing?”

Michael frowned. Why the hell did it matter? “Because you want to keep track of me?”

“Partly,” Henry admitted. “But also because I don’t want you to get hurt while I have no idea where you are. I want to keep you safe.”

Michael felt as though someone had carved a hole from his chest. “Oh,” he said hollowly.

It probably should’ve been obvious, but Father’s rules had never really been made with Michael’s safety in mind. Father was more concerned with his own reputation.

“I’m sorry,” Michael muttered. He was surprised to realize that it was genuine.

“I forgive you,” Henry said, as though it were that easy. “I love you.”

Michael didn’t speak. If he did, he was sure he would cry, and then the last shred of dignity he had would fall to pieces.

Chapter Text

“I can’t hang out with you this weekend.”

Michael and Jeremy were walking Arnold together. Arnold was still struggling to feel safe around strangers, but he had met Jeremy a few times before, so he was more or less comfortable in Jeremy’s presence.

Jeremy frowned. “Why not?”

Michael shrugged, and he felt some heat rise to his cheeks. “I, uh, got grounded,” he muttered.

Jeremy’s eyes widened, as though he suddenly remembered something. “Oh,” he said in a long, drawn-out fashion. “Is it because Mr. Henry didn’t know you were going to the movies with me?”

Michael’s chest squeezed slightly, anxiety’s hold tightening its grip. “How’d you know?”

“My mom called your—uh, Mr. Henry,” Jeremy said. Michael studiously ignored the stumble of words. “She said that Mr. Henry had to go looking for you.”

“Oh,” Michael said hollowly. If he weren’t holding onto Arnold’s leash, this would be the part where he would shove his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. I’m, uh, sorry for lying to you.”

“It’s alright,” Jeremy said. He chuckled awkwardly. “I mean, don’t make a habit out of it, but I understand.”

“You do?”

Jeremy nodded. “Sure. I mean, who hasn’t lied to try to get away with something they didn’t think they’d get permission to do?”

This was actually quite a good point. Even Elizabeth, Father’s golden child, had lied plenty of times to Michael or Evan, and even sometimes to Father’s face.

Father had never been convinced.

Michael tried to put his father’s shouting out of his mind.

“Maybe we can see the third movie next weekend?” He offered, genuinely wanting to see the movie. With that bleak ending of the Empire Strikes Back, Michael would really like to know what happened next.

“I can get behind that,” Jeremy agreed, smiling. “I hope your weekend isn’t too boring without me.”

He gestured to himself dramatically, and a small laugh slipped out of Michael.

Jeremy looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

One day, while Michael was reading in the living room, Henry came in and cleared his throat.

Michael glanced up, wondering what Henry wanted, but Henry gave Michael one of his warm smiles and sat down on the other sofa.

“Could we talk for a moment?” He asked, as though Michael had any true choice in the matter.

“Sure,” Michael muttered, closing his book and tossing it onto the sofa cushions. It would be a pain in the butt to find his place, but it was even more aggravating trying to keep track of a bookmark.

“You mentioned that you had art supplies, back when you lived with-with William.” Henry’s face twisted into something unpleasant when he said the name, and Michael supposed it made sense. Father did kill Henry’s daughter.

“Yeah?” Michael asked, not entirely sure where Henry was going with this.

“Do you draw?” Henry asked.

Michael nodded, twisting the bottom of his shirt a little restlessly. “A little bit,” he admitted. “It’s just a stupid hobby, though, and I promise it’s not interfering with my schoolwork.”

Michael said that last bit with a small crack in his voice, and he grimaced, falling silent.

“It’s not stupid,” Henry said, his voice somewhat firm. “I think it’s great that you have hobbies. What type of art did you do?”

Michael shrugged. “I mostly used pencils and colored pencils,” Michael said. He omitted the fact that it was because it was cheaper for Michael to invest in and were much less likely to make a noticeable mess.

Henry nodded. “That’s really cool, Mike,” he said, smiling. “Maybe one day you can show me your drawings.”

Michael wasn’t showing Henry hide nor hair of his drawings, not if he wanted to keep them. Henry could pretend to be supportive, but Michael wasn’t going to let Henry inevitably take his hard work and stuff it into the trash, telling Michael to do something actually productive.

But Michael wasn’t going to tell Henry that, because, then, Henry would wear that stupid sad, pitying expression he wore whenever Michael told the truth.

“Okay.”

When Michael got home from hanging out with Jeremy the next day, he came into his bedroom to find a sketchbook, a set of colored pencils, and a set of graphite pencils sitting on his desk.

Michael’s chest ached for no particularly good reason as he picked up the art supplies, and a lump formed stubbornly in his throat. His hands shook as he inspected the gift that surely came with a catch, searching for the note that told Michael how long he could have the supplies, and what Michael had to do in exchange for such a gift.

Usually, Michael just had to “behave himself” to keep the art supplies, as though that wasn’t vague as all hell.

Michael did locate a note sitting on his desk, and he quickly picked it up, reading the contents thoroughly.

You mentioned you didn’t have any supplies anymore, so I decided to fix that. :D

Michael frowned, flipping the sheet of paper over, but there was nothing written on the other side.

Confusion filled Michael. Did Henry… give him a gift? Randomly? For no reason? Was this some sort of test? Maybe Michael was supposed to give the gift back to Henry to prove that Michael understood that gifts weren’t just random occurrences. Maybe Michael was supposed to figure out what Henry wanted on his own? Was there a hidden meaning behind the meaningless and goofily drawn smiley face?

Maybe it was just a dumb trick, and Henry would take the art supplies when Michael was away the next day.

Well, if there was one thing Michael knew for certain, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

After Michael got his homework done,  Michael opened up his sketchbook up to the first page. It was honestly intimidating, staring at the blank cleanliness of the piece of paper.

Arnold was sitting in the corner of the bedroom, and Michael picked up a pencil and sat down in front of him, carefully sketching out Arnold’s features. When he was done with the sketch, he more carefully refined the entire line art, until he finally shaded Arnold with his graphite pencils.

Michael wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about the drawing, but it wasn’t terrible. He flipped it over and showed it to Arnold.

“What do you think?” Michael asked.

Arnold barked.

Michael couldn’t tell if it was a positive or a negative bark.

“Fair enough,” he sighed, shutting the sketchbook. He shoved it and the pencil sets into his book bag. If Henry wanted to take his new art supplies away from him, he’d at least have to find them first.

For good measure, Michael shoved his backpack under the bed.

Still, in spite of his anxieties, Michael summoned up the courage to enter the living room, where he found Henry reading.

“Um,” Michael said, feeling suddenly awkward.

Henry looked up, giving Michael his full attention, and Michael tried not to panic.

“Thank you,” Michael said quietly. “For the, ah, for the gift.”

Henry smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Of course,” he said. “Did you like it?”

Michael swallowed, wondering if he was going to burst into tears all over again. “I, uh, yeah.” Michael took a deep breath, clasping his hands behind his back. “I liked it a lot, actually. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Henry said. “I couldn’t just let you be an artist without supplies, now could I?”

Michael blinked. Sure, he drew, but Michael wasn’t sure he would call himself an artist.

Oh well. It didn’t particularly matter. Henry said strange stuff like that all the time, and Michael was coming to grow more and more used to it.

“If there’s anything you want in return, I can try to pay you back,” Michael said, still feeling uneasy.

Henry shook his head. “It was a gift,” he said, still smiling. “You don’t need to give me anything in return. That’s not how gifts work.”

“Oh.” Michael’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “Right. Of course.”

Henry’s smile faded slightly. “Are you alright?”

Michael nodded automatically. “Yeah, I’m… I’m going to go now,” he said, backing out of the living room.

Henry still looked concerned, but he nodded. “Dinner’s in thirty.”

Michael nodded, afraid if he spoke at all, he’d burst into hysterics.

It sucked, not being able to hang out with Jeremy that weekend, but doing chores out in the yard with Henry hadn’t been the least enjoyable thing in the world. Henry had made sure Michael took plenty of breaks to drink water, even though it wasn’t even that hot outside.

The fall months were starting to come in with fuller force, October quickly slipping away. It occurred to Michael that Halloween was steadily approaching, and the decorations outside some houses made that all the more obvious.

Henry asked Michael if he wanted to go trick-or-treating, and Michael had refused. Even if he thought that kids Michael’s age should be engaging in a childish activity to get candy, Michael wasn’t too enthused at the idea of dressing up and walking around all night.

Fortunately, Henry didn’t push the issue.

Jeremy invited Michael to his Halloween party, which had actually turned out to be pretty fun, even though Michael had been surrounded by high schoolers he didn’t know. They had been nice enough to him, and they all watched a scary movie.

The party was nice. It distracted Michael from memories of taking Elizabeth and Evan out with some makeshift costumes Michael had managed to pull together, allowing the two of them to ring doorbells and ask for candy.

Michael hadn’t taken Evan the year before, having been fresh into teenage-hood and thinking himself too good to bother with helping Evan with such a “stupid activity.”

Evan had cried, and Michael wished he hadn’t been so terrible to his baby brother in their last months together.

Michael wished Evan didn’t have to be dead at all.

It was a less than a week into November that Henry looked suddenly nervous at the dinner table.

“Michael,” he said slowly, sounding like he was going to announce some dreadful news.

“Yeah?” Michael asked, looking up from his meal. He tried to hide how his entire body was put on edge by Henry simply saying his name.

“I’ve been speaking with a friend of mine,” Henry said. “She knows a therapist that might—“

“No,” Michael said immediately.

Henry looked slightly taken aback, and Michael avoided eye contact with him.

“Michael,” Henry said again. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help.”

Michael bristled. He knew that Henry was only trying to help, but did he seriously pity Michael so much that he thought Michael was broken enough to need a therapist? Michael was fine.

“I don’t need to be fixed,” Michael all but snarled.

“That’s not what I said,” Henry said patiently. “You’re struggling. I’m not trying to fix you. I’m trying to get you the help you need to heal.”

“Well, I don’t need it,” Michael snapped. “I’m fine.”

Michael didn’t need a paid professional to tell Michael he was a horrible person. Michael could figure that much out for himself.

To Michael’s surprise, Henry didn’t look angry, although he did detect some mild disappointment.

“If you ever change your mind, the offer’s out there,” Henry said. “I think I might start seeing a therapist myself.”

Michael narrowed his eyes and Henry. He wasn’t sure what Henry was trying to prove by saying that, except that Henry was weak.

For some reason, guilt flooded Michael’s chest at the thought, and Michael was glad he didn’t say it out loud.

Micheal gave Henry a small nod, and, suddenly, he wasn’t very hungry anymore.

“May I be excused?” Michael muttered.

Henry glanced at Michael’s half-eaten plate of food. “You’re not hungry?”

Michael shook his head.

“Alright,” Henry said, a small frown on his face. “Did you get all of your homework done?”

Michael nodded, shoving himself away from the table and trying to pretend that he wasn’t still confused by Henry’s frequent inquiries about his schooling.

Chapter Text

Michael was at the movies with Jeremy. He wasn’t sure what they were watching, but, whatever it was, it was enough to make Jeremy shrink away in fear.

Michael frowned, glancing over at Jeremy. His mouth moved without permission.

“What the hell are you crying about now?”

And then Jeremy was Evan, curled up in the corner of his bedroom, clinging to that stupid Fredbear plush like his life had depended on it.

“Go away!” Evan shouted, his voice nearly as hysterical as it had been on the day he died.

Michael didn’t leave. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to. His feet were glued to the ground, and he stared at Evan quietly. Evan continued to sob, and Michael was struck with the need to do something. Anything to reassure his brother.

“Evan…” Michael began.

“Shut up.”

Michael flinched, and Evan wasn’t crying anymore. He was glaring at Michael with such a horrible fury that it made Michael stumble backwards.

“Why did you kill me?” Evan demanded, pulling himself to his feet. Somehow, he seemed even taller than Michael, in spite of their age differences. “What did I ever do to you?”

Michael couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t even sure what he would say. Evan hadn’t done anything, other than cry and sob and get the two of them into trouble with Father.

“I’m sorry,” Michael tried.

Evan laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “You’re sorry? You killed me!”

“It was an accident!”

Father suddenly replaced Evan, towering over Michael like the grim reaper. Blood was splattered all over his normally pristine suit, and Michael could see a knife glinting in Father’s hand.

“You’re just like me,” Father said. There was something manic in his voice. “And yet you still betrayed me. You still put me in jail.”

Michael’s heart was beating so hard it ached, and he tried to make himself run, tried to make himself move at all, to say something.

But he couldn’t do anything. All he could do was watch as Father brought the knife closer and closer to Michael’s chest.

The blade connected, and—

Michael fell out of bed and landed onto the wooden floors of his room with an unceremonious thump.

For a moment, Michael didn’t move. He breathed heavily, trying to inhale as much air as possible as he focused on the cold floor underneath him. His body ached from the fall, but Michael was glad for it.

He was alive. Father hadn’t killed him. Father couldn’t kill him.

Michael could feel Arnold’s nose nudge Michael’s face, and Michael rolled over, giving Arnold a small smile.

“I’m alright, boy,” he said, reaching up to scratch Arnold behind the ear. “Don’t worry about me.”

Arnold made a small whining sound anyway, and Michael grimaced. He couldn’t even manage to keep his dog happy.

“Sorry,” Michael muttered, staring up at the ceiling fan.

It wasn’t the first time Michael had woken up from a nightmare, far from it, but it had been a while since Michael had one nearly that bad. Between Evan demanding answers Michael didn’t have and Father trying to kill him, Michael had to rank it as his worst nightmare that week.

Michael’s room felt suddenly confining, and he stood up, walking toward the door as quietly as possible. He carefully opened it, grimacing at the slight creaking in the hinges, and he carefully walked into the living room, settling himself on the sofa.

The living room was larger and less terrifying, and Michael curled up at the corner of the sofa, allowing Arnold to sit in his lap. Michael glanced at the clock sitting on the wall. It was only three o’clock in the morning.

Hopefully, Michael hadn’t woken Henry up. The last thing he needed was a lecture about respecting the rest of others.

Unfortunately for Michael, he could already hear the door in Henry’s room creaking open, and Michael concentrated on the fireplace as he heard Henry’s footsteps approach.

“Michael?” Henry asked, his voice softened on the edges by sleep. “Are you alright?”

Michael glanced up at Henry, who was standing at the entrance of the living room. Michael clutched onto Arnold a little more tightly.

“I’m fine,” Michael muttered. “You can go back to sleep.”

Henry frowned, his eyes filled with something that Michael couldn’t read, and he shook his head.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to fall back asleep,” Henry admitted.

Michael gave him a quizzical look, and Henry gave him a small smile in return.

“Nightmares,” he said, sounding almost sheepish.

Michael glanced back over at the fireplace. “Oh.”

Henry walked into the living room, grabbing a blanket from the blanket basket and holding it out to Michael. Michael frowned in confusion.

“You might as well get comfortable,” Henry said, placing the blanket down next to Michael.

Michael stared at the blanket for another moment, confusion still running rampant inside, but he eventually grabbed it and wrapped it around his shoulders. It felt nice. Almost like a hug.

Henry was in the kitchen now.

“Do you want some tea?” Henry asked. “Or hot chocolate? I’d offer coffee, but it is the middle of the night.”

Michael was too tired to get irritable at Henry’s strange behavior, and he buried himself deeper inside his blanket.

“Tea is fine,” he said quietly.

Michael waited silently as Henry made the tea, and soon after, Henry sat down next to Michael, placing the mug in Michael’s hands.

The tea was hot. It helped Michael focus past the fuzziness in the corners of his mind.

“Anything on your mind?” Henry asked, his voice gentle. His voice was always gentle.

Michael bit hard on the inside of his lip before taking a long sip of tea. It burned the roof of his mouth, but he didn’t particularly care.

“Am I…” Michael hesitated. “Am I a bad person?”

Henry frowned. “Of course, you’re not a bad person,” he said. There was so much conviction in his voice that Michael almost believed it.

Michael couldn’t stand the look on Henry’s face, and he stared at his steaming cup of tea. “But I… I’ve hurt people. I’ve killed someone.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” Henry said.

“I’m pretty sure murderers are bad people.” Michael’s voice took on a more hysterical note, and he took deep breaths.

“You’re not a murderer.” Henry actually sounded like he believed it. “What happened to Evan was a horrible, tragic accident—”

“He asked me to stop,” Michael whispered. His hands were shaking, and he put down the tea on a coaster before he could spill any of it. “He begged me to let him go, and I still… I still…”

Michael shut his eyes, trying to stop the tears from escaping, but, instead, the memory of Fredbear’s jaw crushing Evan’s skull came back with full force. Michael’s eyes flew open, and he tried not to choke on his terror.

“Michael…” Henry took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to you. It was a cruel thing to do, and you shouldn’t have done it, but it’s not your fault he’s dead. You didn’t know Fredbear was going to kill him.”

Michael wasn’t in the mood to argue the point. “Still, I… I hurt Evan.” Michael’s voice cracked. “That wasn’t even the only time. I bullied him, and here I am whining when I’m not the one who’s dead.”

“You’re not a bad person.” Henry put down his own mug and stared Michael right in the eyes. “You did bad things, but the fact that you’re even guilty about it proves you’re not a bad person.”

Michael glared. “So, if Father decided to feel guilty, would that make him a good person?”

Henry winced. “William intentionally killed my daughter and created machines to kill even more children,” he said. “He abused his own kids and is a full-grown adult. You’re a child.”

“I’m not a kid,” Michael muttered. “I’m almost an adult, I should take the responsibility of one.”

“You’re fourteen years old,” Henry said. “You’re a child, and you deserve to be treated like one.”

Michael glared at Henry, but he didn’t protest.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and eventually, Michael spoke up again, clutching onto his blanket tightly. Arnold was already asleep in his lap.

“I just… I don’t understand. Why don’t you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you?”

“William—” the name felt foreign on Michael’s tongue “—killed your daughter. And he’s my father. I even… I even look like him.”

“You’re nothing like your father,” Henry said firmly. “And even if you were, you’re not responsible for William’s actions. Those are his own.”

“I don’t understand you.” Tears were filling Michael’s eyes.

“I know.”

“You keep acting like you care.”

Henry looked heartbroken. “It’s because I do care.”

“I know, I just—” Michael faltered. Did he know? Did he really know that Henry cared? Sure, Henry had said it time and time again, but… “I thought Father cared.” The words were a hushed confession, and Michael wanted to curl up and die from embarrassment.

Henry didn’t say anything for a moment, seeming temporarily at a loss for words.

“That’s not your fault,” he finally said. “You’re a child. Of course, you’d believe your father cared about you.”

“But he didn’t, though, did he?” Michael’s voice shook. “He was never around… and whenever he was he could get scary… and even on good days he-he never hugged us, or acted like you did, or…”

Michael stopped talking out of fear of bursting into tears.

“Can I give you a hug?” Henry asked softly.

Michael gave Henry a nod, and Henry slowly wrapped his arms around Michael, pulling him into a firm embrace. Michael buried his face into Henry’s shoulder, hoping he could just hide in Henry’s warmth and safety.

“I don’t know if he cared about you,” Henry said quietly, rocking Michael back and forth. “But that doesn’t excuse the way he treated you. I’m sorry.”

Michael wasn’t sure why Henry was sorry. Michael was the one who should be sorry. He was the one who had intruded upon Henry’s life, forcing Henry to upend everything for Michael’s sake.

But Michael was too tired to say much of anything, the warmth and safety of Henry’s embrace being almost overwhelming.

“You’re a good person, Michael,” Henry whispered. “If you believe nothing else, at least believe that.”

“Okay,” Michael said hoarsely. His voice was small and quiet, but Henry hugged him all the more tightly at the word. A few tears escaped Michael’s eyes and landed on Henry’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Henry said. “It’s going to be okay.”

The words sounded like a promise.

And Michael believed them.

Chapter Text

The November weeks slipped by, and before Michael knew it, Thanksgiving was upon them, granting Michael a few days off from school.

Jeremy had been eager to talk about how he was going to have to go visit his grandparents for the holiday as he walked Goldie alongside Michael and Arnold. Arnold had grown comfortable around both Jeremy and Goldie, and Michael couldn’t have been prouder of him.

“They’re a lot,” Jeremy complained. “I love them, don’t get me wrong, but they’re going to complain about my haircut, I just know it.”

“What haircut?” Michael asked teasingly.

“Hey, you have a mullet too,” Jeremy said, glaring half-heartedly at Michael. “I can just hear them now.” Jeremy pitched his voice. “Oh, sweetpea, when are you going to cut that infernal hair of yours? You know, back in my day, men shaved themselves bald.”

“I do not think that’s true,” Michael said.

“Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a little bit,” Jeremy sighed. “But still. Pray for me, man, alright? I’m going to need it.”

Michael bit back a comment about at least having grandparents to spend thanksgiving with.

“Sure,” Michael said. “Will the food be good at least?”

“Oh yeah, my grandpa makes a mean turkey,” Jeremy said. He shoved the hand not holding Goldie’s leash in his pocket. “What about you? What are you doing for thanksgiving?”

Michael shrugged. “I think we’re just going to have a quiet dinner, if anything at all,” Michael said, biting the inside of his cheek. “Can I be completely honest with you?”

“Of course,” Jeremy said instantly.

Michael glanced around, and he already felt embarrassment rising through his body. “Well, um. I kind of though thanksgiving dinners was just for movies and television.”

Jeremy gaped. “You never had thanksgiving dinner?”

“Well, I think I had it when I was younger,” Michael said slowly. “Maybe when I was five or six? Before my mum died.”

Jeremy looked uncomfortable in that way he always did whenever Michael mentioned anything of his tragic life.

“Oh,” Jeremy said. “Yeah, I mean, if you never had it after that, I can understand why you might think the whole thing was just a hoax.”

“It’s dumb,” Michael admitted. “I mean, people would talk about seeing their families, and I just…”

Michael shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had been trying to say anyway.

“It’s not dumb,” Jeremy assured him. “You had a weird childhood. It’s okay that you would think everyone else had the same weird childhood.”

Michael snorted. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Jeremy said. “Anyway, I hope dinner goes well. You should watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

“Lizzie and Evan used to love that thing,” Michael said. His chest ached slightly at the reminder of the two of them crowded in front of the television while Michael sulked around the house.

“Susie can barely tear herself away from the TV,” Jeremy said sympathetically.

Michael only nodded.

When Michael woke up on the morning of Thanksgiving, he lay in bed silently, staring up at the empty ceiling of his room and listening to Henry already working in the kitchen. Anxiety churned in his stomach, and he wasn’t at all sure why.

It was just a stupid holiday. Just a stupid holiday with a stupid dinner and stupid gratefulness. There was nothing to be nervous about.

Michael’s stomach seemed to disagree.

After lying in bed for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to ten minutes, Michael sighed and got out of bed. Doing nothing wasn’t exactly going to change anything.

After tending to Arnold and grunting a reply to Henry’s cheerful good morning, Michael sat down in front of the TV and turned on the parade. Maybe something from his old life would calm him down.

Michael managed to successfully watch a few minutes of it before feeling sicker than before. If he closed his eyes, he could picture Evan and Lizzie arguing over which balloons were the best.

Michael quickly reached for the remote and shut off the television. Henry looked up from where he was chopping vegetables.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Michael shrugged, resisting the urge to hug his knees to his chest. He was better than that. Instead, he absently pet Arnold, who instantly sat down in Michael’s lap.

“I’m fine,” Michael lied.

Henry’s frown only deepened, and his eyebrows furrowed. Michael would need to improve upon his lying skills.

“Are you sure?”

Michael bit the inside of his lip, and he furiously swallowed back the lump forming in his throat.

“I just… miss them,” Michael said lamely. He looked away from Henry, unable to stand the sympathy and sorrow in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re allowed to miss them,” Henry said gently. He had resumed chopping vegetables, which Michael was grateful for. It at least erased some of the silence that had stifled the room.

“I know that.” Michael wasn’t exactly sure that he did know that, though. Obviously, his mind was his own, but… Henry already had his own loss he had to grapple with. Michael shouldn’t add onto that.

For a moment, the only sound was Henry’s knife slicing through carrots. Michael pet Arnold more furiously, half-tempted to bury his face in Arnold’s fur.

“Do you want to peel potatoes?” Henry offered.

Michael didn’t exactly have anything better to do. He wrestled Arnold off of him and joined Henry at the kitchen counter grabbing a potato peeler from one of the drawers. Henry already had the potatoes ready.

“Do you know how?” Henry asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “This isn’t my first-time peeling potatoes.” He grabbed one of the potatoes and roughly began peeling off its skin.

“Just checking. The last thing we need is a trip to the ER on Thanksgiving,” Henry said lightly.

“Do you think they’d let us bring the food into the hospital room?” Michael’s lips quirked up at the thought.

Henry laughed. “It’d be one more thing to be thankful for if we could.”

Michael snorted.

Henry and Michael quietly prepared dinner together, and Henry basked in the peaceful companionship of it all. It was nice to have a quiet moment. It was nice to see Michael smile.

A different time, about seven years ago, Henry had spent his last thanksgiving with Charlie, letting her stir the mashed potatoes, much to her delight. She’d bragged to Michael about how she had “made the mashed potatoes”, and Michael had puffed up his cheeks and insisted that he had helped make dinner too.

In hindsight, Henry realized that there was a good chance Michael had been the one to make himself and his siblings dinner. Yet another thing Henry had missed.

Unfortunately, as the minutes ticked by, Michael’s smile slowly slipped away, and Henry felt his own heart grow heavier with it.

“Can I ask you something?” Michael asked. His voice was tight, and he held himself stiffly, his hand clenched tightly around his potato knife. He almost looked like he was about to confess to some sort of serious crime.

“Of course.”

Michael stared at his half-peeled potato, and Henry could almost imagine Michael accidentally squashing it in his fist.

“Does it… does it get better?”

Michael’s voice was hoarse, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was talking about.

Henry didn’t really consider himself an expert on grief. As a matter of fact, he had really let his own grief blind him to William’s vile actions going on right underneath his nose. But Henry could try to console Michael. It was the least he could do.

“It… it does, eventually,” Henry said. He stared carefully at the potatoes he was placing in a pot. “It doesn’t go away completely. You can go some days, maybe weeks, without thinking about them at all, and then one day you’ll see something they used to like, or suddenly remember an inside joke you used to share, and it’ll come back, like an old wound.”

Michael didn’t look too reassured. To be fair, it wasn’t Henry’s most reassuring response.

“Father never talked about Mum,” he muttered. “I kind of assumed… he had managed to get over it.”

“I don’t know,” Henry admitted honestly. He had no idea what had gone on in that twisted mind of William’s. “But most people agree that it’s never that simple. The most…” A lump suddenly formed in Henry’s throat. “…the most anyone can do is try to celebrate the life their loved one lived, instead of focusing on the pain of the loss.”

Michael scowled, pressing the peeler against his potato with more force than normal. “Easier said than done.”

“Much easier said than done,” Henry agreed. “But if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Michael scowled even more furiously at his potato. “You never talk about any of your problems.”

Henry’s chest tightened. Of all the responses he’d been preparing himself for, that had not been one of them.

“It’s not your responsibility to worry about me,” Henry said. “I have other people to talk to.”

Said “other people” used to be William, but Henry had other friends, and his therapist was certainly a help.

“How am I supposed to trust you if you don’t trust me?” Michael demanded.

Henry shook his head quickly. “It’s not like that. I do trust you, I just don’t want to burden you with my problems. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“But I don’t want to burden you either, so there,” Michael huffed. He placed his fully peeled potato down on the counter.

A small realization occurred to Henry. Michael lived by example. If his father was distant and refused to show weakness, Michael was also going to be distant and refusing to show weakness. If Henry didn’t talk about his problems, Michael wasn’t going to be prone to talk about his.

“Alright, then,” Henry said. “What if we trade? You ask me a question, and in turn, I’ll ask you a question.”

Michael frowned, but he looked more confused than angry this time around. “Fine,” he muttered. “Um… you said you had nightmares, that one night. What… what do you get nightmares about?”

Michael’s voice trembled, as though he thought he had no right to ask such a question, and Henry tried to keep his face encouraging, even though the memories of his nightmares made him want to shut down.

Henry shut his eyes and took a deep breath, but all that really served to do was remind him of how dark it always was outside in his dreams.

“It was about you, ah, dying,” Henry said. Much to his horror, a bitter laugh escaped him, and Henry quickly shut it down. “I don’t remember how.”

Michael hesitated before opening his mouth, but he shut it again. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”

Oh. Right.

It didn’t take much time for Henry to think of a question of his own.

“Do I do anything that makes you uncomfortable?”

Michael glanced at him like he had said something bizarre. “That’s your question?”

Henry nodded. “I want you to feel safe with me, not the other way around.”

Michael shrugged. “I dunno. Can you stop acting like you give a crap?” His tone of voice sounded more like a moment of dark humor than an actual request, but it made a small piece of henry’s heart shrivel up inside.

Henry decided to stick with the light-hearted tone of Michael’s question, while still making it clear that Henry would always care. “Sorry, that’ll be difficult, seeing as I do give a crap. I give a lot of craps, actually.”

A small smile appeared on Michael’s face, and Henry counted that as a win.

“Your turn,” Henry prompted.

“Oh…” Michael’s face turned to one of confusion again. “Do you have a lot of nightmares about me dying?”

Henry winced. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Not just you, though. It’s Charlie too, a lot of the time. Sometimes both of you. Sometimes Evan and Elizabeth too.”

“How do we die?” Michael blurted out. His eyes widened. “Sorry, it wasn’t my turn…”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Henry said. “It, uh, varies from nightmare to nightmare.”

Michael stared down at the counter solemnly. “Was it my father?” he asked quietly.

“Sometimes.”

Michael glanced back up at Henry his face full of determination. “I won’t die,” he said, grabbing tightly onto Henry’s hand. “I won’t.”

Henry managed to give Michael a small smile and squeeze his hand in return. “I know you won’t.”

It was a lie. There was no knowing these things. Michael could get hit by a car, or get mugged, or get killed by any manner of other things.

But Henry appreciated the sentiment.

Michael let go of Henry’s hand and continued helping to prepare the meal. They returned to silence, and it wasn’t until they had set the table and sat down that Michael spoke again.

“Is this the part where we tell each other what we’re thankful for?” Michael asked. He shuffled slightly in his seat, looking unsure. “Or do we do that after eating?”

“We can do it now, if you’d like,” Henry said, slightly surprised by the question.

Michael still looked unsure about the whole thing. “You go first.”

“Alright,” Henry said, “I’m thankful for you.”

Michael stared at his empty plate, not saying anything. Henry’s heart picked up pace, and he prayed he hadn’t said the wrong thing.

But then Michael smiled, even as a single tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m thankful for you too.”

Chapter Text

Their first snow was the day after Thanksgiving, something Arnold seemed especially excited over.

Michael himself had considered snow more of a hinderance than something to be celebrated. Summer months were fine and manageable, but when winter came along, fresh worries came along as well.

Would Evan and Lizzie’s coats fit this year? Would Michael’s coat fit this year? Could Michael afford a new coat? Maybe Lizzie can slip into one of Michael’s old ones? Would Father notice if Michael stole one of his jackets?

Father never considered it necessary to buy Michael a coat himself. According to him, Michael should be able to handle the cold. “It builds character,” he said.

Michael shouldn’t have been surprised when Henry turned out to take a completely different stance on the subject. Henry always took a different stance on the subject.

Still, when Henry asked him if any of the coats in the coat-closet fit, Michael almost spat out his orange juice.

“I, um, haven’t checked,” Michael admitted. He suddenly felt clammy, and he rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants.

“Oh,” Henry said, sitting down next to Michael at the table. “Well, I don’t want you going out there without anything. It’s getting cold outside.”

“Oh, I know,” Michael assured him quickly. This, at least, Michael could seem competent over. “I was just going to buy it myself. I’ve been saving the money, and you’ve already done so much for me, so I didn’t want to hassle you.”

That was only half the truth, but Michael didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t realized Henry buying the coat himself was even an option.

“It’s not a hassle,” Henry said. Michael knew his father would’ve certainly disagreed on that point. “It’s my job to make sure you’re clothed properly in the winter months. The last thing I want is for you to get hypothermia.”

Michael frowned, but the last part made sense. The last thing anyone would want would be to deal with someone who was sick.

Still, Michael’s stubborn streak wasn’t quite willing to let this go.

“I can handle it,” he said stoutly. “I’m not going to get sick.”

Henry suddenly looked very tired, and Michael almost regretted saying anything. “I know you can handle it,” he said. “But you don’t have to.”

“But I did have to,” Michael snapped. He clenched his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Nobody else was doing it.”

Henry practically wilted at the words. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change the past,” Michael spat.

Henry grimaced, and Michael looked away, shutting his mouth tightly. He didn’t want to hurt Henry. He just felt so frustrated, and he didn’t know how to get rid of the festering hurt inside of his chest.

“Maybe it can’t change the past,” Henry admitted. “But it can change the future. Things are different now. You’re not alone.”

Michael would’ve begged to differ, considering that nearly everyone in his family was dead, and his father was in jail.

But somehow, Michael did feel less alone than he had in years. Even with everyone gone, Henry had become a presence that refused to let Michael go, that refused to treat Michael like some sort of nuisance he didn’t want.

It was strange, and Michael had no idea what to do with this revelation.

“Can we visit the cemetery?” Michael muttered, staring pointedly at the tile floor.

Henry made a small noise. “Of course, we can. Let’s finish breakfast and then we can go straight out.”

Michael wasn’t sure why he was surprised at the affirmative response. One would think he’d be used to it by now.

True to Henry’s word, after breakfast, they got into the car and drove to the cemetery. Michael didn’t say much during the trip, feeling a strange knot in his stomach as he stared out the window. With the holidays fast approaching, Michael stared at the various wreaths and holly decking the streets, and he knew that during the evening, colorful Christmas lights would be lighting up the neighborhood.

A year ago, Father would be concerned with decorating the diner for Christmas, and Michael would be ignoring Evan’s pleas to play outside in the snow.

Henry parked near the cemetery, and Michael could already see the tops of headstones mostly covered by a layer of snow. Even after months since the funeral, Michael knew exactly where to find his late family member’s graves.

“Are you good to go on your own, or do you want me to come with you?” Henry asked. His face was unassuming, and Micheal knew that there was no right or wrong answer.

“Alone,” Michael said quietly, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Please.”

“Of course,” Henry said. “I’ll just wait in the car, alright? There’s no rush.”

Michael nodded, climbing out of the car and walking through the snow to Evan’s grave. The cold breeze nipped at his cheeks, but Michael could barely feel it. He was too preoccupied wondering what on earth he was even doing there.

Michael stopped in front of his mother’s grave first. It was a force of habit more than anything else, seeing as Michael had visited this grave the most throughout his life. It was the most worn down by time, and Michael bent over to wipe off the snow covering it.

Michael could barely remember his mother. He remembered soft smiles and laughter. He remembered his father being around more. He remembered his mother comforting him when Michael had a breakdown over never being able to learn his ABC’s.

She would be disappointed in the sort of person Michael had become.

Michael had no idea what to say to her, not that she was even really there to begin with. It was just a stupid stone with a stupid body buried underneath it.

Michael swallowed. Maybe coming was a mistake.

But Michael had come this far, and he wasn’t willing to turn around and tell Henry that he had both wasted gas and his time in taking Michael here.

Michael walked to his right, where Lizzie’s grave sat. it was newer, of course, and Michael bent down and wiped of the snow like he had done before.

“Hi, Liz,” Michael whispered. At least he could find the words for her. “I hope there’s lots of ice cream wherever you are. With cones. I hope you and Evan have a dog too. I know you two always wanted a dog.”

Michael smiled bitterly at the stone and swallowed down the lump steadily forming in his throat. “Merry Christmas.”

Michael stayed crouched there for a while, not wanting to look at the grave sitting right next to Lizzie’s, not wanting to be reminded of his greatest failure.

But eventually, Michael found himself standing in front of Evan’s grave, staring down at the newest stone of them all. Less than a year old.

Michael sighed as he got rid of the snow.

“Ev, I…” Michael stopped short. He wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant about all this. He was only speaking to the air. But somehow, being here, being in front of his grave for the first time since the funeral, it felt too real.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered. “God, I’m so sorry. I’d take it all back in a heartbeat, please, I’m so sorry.”

The air didn’t respond, and Michael felt tears well up in his eyes.

“I love you so much, and I don’t know why I started to hate you, but it was wrong and stupid and cruel, and now… I’m sorry.”

Another cold breeze slapped Michael across the face, freezing his tears ever so slightly. Michael shoved his gloved hand across his eyes, inhaling deeply. The cold air burned at his lungs.

Quietly, Michael rolled up three balls of snow in front of Evan’s grave, stacking them to make a small snowman.

“I know I failed you as a brother,” Michael whispered. “I wish I could have a second chance to do it all over again.”

Christmas was a quiet affair. Michael had no idea what he was supposed to get Henry, but he had remembered hearing henry complain about how old his watch had been getting.

Michael had hardly used the money he had saved up from his summer jobs. He had originally planned to use it for food and clothing, but Henry insisted on having it covered time and time again.

Michael didn’t mind using some of his savings to buy Henry a new watch for Christmas, even if Henry had insisted that Michael didn’t need to get Henry anything.

Michael also got Arnold a new dog toy, and he purchased one of the new Star Wars novels for Jeremy. Arnold deserved it for being such a good dog, and Jeremy was a good friend. Michael didn’t want him to feel unappreciated.

Michael and Jeremy exchanged gifts at Jeremy’s house, where Jeremy had convinced Michael to help his little sister in making cookies for Santa.

Jeremy had exclaimed and grinned widely at his gift. “How’d you know I wanted this?”

“Only because you couldn’t stop talking about it,” Michael said in reply, grinning back. Some tension in his chest was released upon Jeremy’s positive response.

Jeremy dramatically placed his hand over his chest and sniffed. “You know me so well.” His face returned to some semblance of seriousness. “Now open your gift.”

Michael rolled his eyes fondly and meticulously undid the wrapping paper, much to Jeremy’s annoyance. When Michael finally freed the package from underneath the wrapping paper, he found himself holding an art instruction book and a box of water color pencils.

“I know you’re really into the art thing,” Jeremy said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you mentioned wanting to hone your skills, so…”

Michael felt a smile worm its way onto his face. He knew Jeremy didn’t quite understand Michael’s infatuation with drawing, which made this gift all the more touching.

“Thanks, man,” he said. “I love it.”

Jeremy grinned. “Well, of course you do,” he bluffed. “It’s from me.”

Michael laughed.

On Christmas day, Michael felt a bit like a little kid as he woke up at about six in the morning and crept into the living room. Henry was already waiting for him, and Michael was surprised to see three gifts with his name on it sitting underneath the tree.

“That’s a lot of gifts,” Michael said.

Henry smiled. “I want only the best for my kid.”

Michael felt his face grow hot at the words.

“Thanks.”

Michael quickly went through his presents, although henry laughed at how carefully Michael removed the wrapping paper. Michael pointed out that they should save it for next year, and Henry quite frankly told Michael that he had intended on throwing the stuff away.

Michael refused to admit that it was kind of fun to see if he could manage not wripping the stuff anyhow.

Henry had gotten Michael the first Star Wars movie for him to keep, a new sweater Michael had been eying for a while now, and a freaking game console.

Michael gaped at the Nintendo Entertainment System sitting in his lap.

“This is too much,” he began.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t like the gift. He loved it, but there was no way Henry should have spent so much money on one person.

“It’s a gift, and it’s Christmas,” Henry said firmly.

Something told Michael there was no point in arguing.

“I got you something too,” Michael said, feeling slightly embarrassed now. It was nothing like the thought Henry had put into his presents.

Henry smiled. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Michael interrupted. “It’s Christmas.”

Henry laughed as Michael ran back to his bedroom and grabbed Henry’s gift for him. He held his breath as Henry opened it.

“Oh, Michael,” Henry said, sounding hushed as he stared at the watch. It wasn’t that fancy, and Michael honestly wasn’t sure why henry was making such a big deal out of this. “This is so thoughtful.”

Michael hadn’t even realized it was possible for his face to get redder than it already was. “It was nothing,” he said embarrassedly.

“Thank you,” Henry said, his voice so sincere Michael almost felt dizzy.

Henry instantly took off his old watch and put the new one on instead. Michael almost wanted to cry.

“You’re welcome,” Michael croaked.

Henry pulled Michael into a hug, and if Michael cried a little bit into Henry’s shoulder, than nobody else needed to know.

All in all, it was a good Christmas.

Chapter Text

Michael sometimes thought his life was some sort of sick movie. Maybe someone was hiding behind the bushes with a film crew, documenting his every step. Waiting for him to make a mistake. Waiting for a moment that could be marked as his characteristic moment.

Maybe English was rubbing off on Michael too much.

Speaking of English, Michael was currently trying to work through an English essay, which was becoming way too much trouble than it was worth. It was an essay prompt from the book A Tale of Two Cities, which Michael was more than ready to be done with.

It wasn’t that the book was bad. As a matter of fact, it had struck a rare chord with Michael, even though some of the chapters were nearly impossible to understand. Honestly, why couldn’t these famous authors have spared themselves the word count and just made things concise?

“Well, these people were being paid by the word,” Jeremy so very helpfully pointed out when Michael vented his frustrations out loud. Michael had invited Jeremy over to play on his new NES, but Jeremy was eager to help Michael with his essay as soon as he heard Michael’s woes.

“Well, that’s a dumb system,” Michael replied, staring at his blank sheet of lined paper. “If it were true, which it’s not. My teacher went on a rant about how that belief is a myth and he was really just paid by the serial installment.”

“Really?” Jeremy sounded affronted. “My mother lied to me?”

Michael snorted. “At least you don’t have to write this stupid essay.”

“What’s the prompt again?”

Michael glanced over at his notes, where he had scrawled down the essay prompt his teacher had given them in messy chicken-scratch. “The Tale of Two Cities is a tale of redemption. How does Sydney Carton redeem himself by the end of the story? Is redemption possible for everyone?”

Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “That’s a really long prompt. Your teacher means business.”

Michael sighed and nodded. “You can say that again.”

“Well…” Jeremy hummed. “If I’m completely honest, I purged my memory of that book as soon as we were done reading it. Who is Sydney Carton again?”

“He’s the one who sacrificed himself for Charles Darnay,” Michael muttered. “The last question is a stupid one, though, of course redemption isn’t possible for everyone.”

“Why not?” Jeremy asked.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Because not everyone wants to be redeemed.”

Besides, sometimes there are things that one can't just take back. Mistakes that will haunt them forever. 

“What if they do want to be redeemed?” Jeremy countered. “Or what if they don’t think they want to be redeemed and then do redeem themselves when their son is in danger?”

Michael scowled. “Are you seriously turning my literature essay into a Star Wars reference?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I’m just asking you the sorts of questions you need to answer in your essay. My mom was an English major; I would know.”

Michael snorted. “Somehow, I doubt I have to reference Darth Vader in my essay.”

“Anything is possible. Maybe you’ll get extra points for creativity.”

“And maybe I’ll lose points for using a story about space wizards as a good example for the parameters as redemption.”

Jeremy gasped lightheartedly, bringing his hand to his chest. “I’m hurt.”

“You’ll live,” Michael said dryly. He glared at his not at all written essay and sighed. “Look, this isn’t due for another few days anyway. Let’s just forget about it for now.”

Jeremy nodded sagely. “Procrastination, now you’re speaking my language.”

In spite of Michael’s previous assertions that not everyone could be redeemed, what should’ve been a throw-away conversation stuck to Michael like a leech. He lay awake in bed that night, staring at the ceiling as his mind turned over the question over and over again.

Could anyone be redeemed? No matter what they did?

Logically, Michael knew that some people just didn’t change. That no matter how hard one tried to convince them to change, it wasn’t ever going to work out.

But on the other hand…

Maybe his father had learned a thing or two in prison. Maybe… maybe he missed Michael. Maybe he had realized how terrible he had acted in the past.

The thought was idealistic and stupid, and Michael knew it. He snorted to himself, trying to ignore the way his chest ached.

He wished he could just hate his father. Things would be so much simpler that way. William had never done his job properly; Michael was beginning to see that more and more now. Besides, even if William had been father of the year, he was a murderer. He killed his best friend’s daughter.

Michael rolled over in bed, staring at his newly painted walls. His life had changed so much since his father had been arrested. For the better, Michael was pretty sure. Michael should just put the past behind him and let his father rot in jail. It was no less than he deserved.

Michael tried to put the whole thing out of his mind, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

For the rest of that week, Michael became all too aware of how his feelings toward his father changed on any given day. Some days, Michael wanted nothing more than to strangle him, to scream at him and to demand what Michael had done to deserve such harsh treatment.

Other days, Michael missed him. Sure, Michael had become more and more accustomed to the way Henry manage things, but some rules were still incomprehensible. It was ungrateful, Michael knew, to want to go back to a time where things were worse. But even after months of living with Henry, things were strange and foreign.

Henry had noticed that Michael’s inner turmoil, asking him if he wanted to talk multiple times throughout the week. Michael shrugged him off every time. Henry didn’t deserve to be burdened with Michael’s problems. Michael would sort this out on his own.

Which, of course, was why Michael was sitting in the corner of his bedroom after a nightmare, trying to breathe properly.

“You don’t even visit me,” William had said coldly in Michael’s dream, “You put me here and you don’t even have the decency to be sorry about it.”

Michael shuddered, gripping his hair tightly and tugging. The pain grounded him ever so slightly, although Michael still felt as though he were drowning.

It was true, though, wasn’t it? Michael had put his father in jail, and Michael was trying to forget about him. Michael was trying to let the man who raised him rot in a place that broke people.

What sort of person did that? What sort of son leaves their father in prison to rot?

The noise Michael was making must’ve woken up Arnold, because Arnold was climbing out of his dog bed and walking toward Michael. Michael didn’t move as Arnold nudged Michael with his head.

“Leave me alone,” Michael gasped.

Arnold didn’t leave Michael alone, continuing to nudge Michael’s arm. Michael shrunk away, leaning further into the wall.

He felt stupid. He felt weak. A stupid nightmare was causing him to hide from his own dog.

Why couldn’t Michael just be normal?

A sob escaped Michael’s chest, and Michael let go of his hair to wipe away the tears that had started to rush down his face. He needed to pull himself together. He was acting like a stupid crybaby—

There was a knock on Michael’s bedroom door, and Michael flinched.

“Michael?” Henry’s voice asked, sounding groggy. Shame filled Michael. His tantrum must’ve woken Henry up. “Are you alright in there?”

Michael swallowed. “I’m fine,” Michael croaked. The words were undercut by the sob that burst forth from Michael just a moment later.

“I’m going to come in, okay?” Henry said.

Michael shook his head. “I’m fine,” he repeated, inhaling gaspingly.

Henry entered the room anyway, sitting down in front of Michael. Michael shrunk away from him, but Henry didn’t grab Michael like Michael expected him to. Instead, he gently lead Michael through various breathing exercises, and slowly but surely, Michael felt his breathing return to normal.

Michael was still sobbing like a baby, though, and he hid his face in mortification.

“It’s going to be okay, Michael,” Henry promised him. “It’s going to be okay.”

The next morning, after Michael took Arnold on his walk, Michael approached Henry, who was putting clean dishes back into their cabinets.

Michael swallowed anxiously, feeling a hole open up in his stomach. “Thanks for helping. Last night.”

Henry smiled. “It was nothing. Are you feeling better?”

Michael nodded. “I’m a little tired,” he confessed. Honestly, he felt really tired, but Henry didn’t know that. “Sir, I… I wanted to request something.”

Henry put down the dish he was holding on the counter with a small clink, looking at Michael. Michael could see the concern on his face, and he took a deep breath.

“What’s going on?” Henry asked.

“I wanted…” Michael hesitated before a split second before deciding to finally bite the bullet. “I wanted to visit my father. In prison. Please.”

Henry didn’t say anything for a moment, standing perfectly still. When he spoke, he sounded unsure. “Can you tell me why you would like to visit him?”

Damnit. Michael really should’ve thought this out before asking. He scrambled for an appropriate response that wasn’t, “I want to see if prison changed him.”

“I just… I can’t get him out of my head, and I think that maybe if I talk to him, confront him, I’ll be able to get closure.”

Henry’s face still screamed of reluctance, his brows furrowed together. “There’s a chance that it will make it worse.”

Michael scowled. “It’s my father. I should be allowed to visit him whenever I want.”

Henry closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the countertop tightly. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it?” Michael snapped, feeling betrayal bubble up inside him. “It’s not hard. You just have to drive me there.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” There was a pleading note to Henry’s voice.

“You’re hurting me right now!”

Henry winced, and Michael felt hot guilt begin to spread into his chest. He furiously pushed it away. He was supposed to be angry, not guilty. Henry was the one refusing to let Michael try and get closure.

“Will, damnit, Michael—”

A cold, nasty sensation pushed against Michael’s stomach, and he felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. “Did you just call me Will?” Michael demanded.

“It was an accident,” Henry said quickly.

“Am I really so much like my father that you accidentally call me by his name?!”

Michael was being unfair; he knew he was being unfair. There were days that Michael accidentally called Jeremy “Evan”, and the both of them would pretend nothing had happened.

“You’re nothing like him.” Henry’s voice was firm.

“But you’re afraid that I will be if I talk to him, is that it?” Michael didn’t know why he was saying these things, but he just couldn’t stop. A dam had been broken, and the hurt was rushing forth with a vengeance. “You’re afraid I’ll become a killer like him? Well, more of a killer, I guess—”

“No, that’s not true—”

“Never mind,” Michael huffed. He grabbed his backpack and marched toward the door. “Forget I said anything.”

“Michael, wait—!”

But Michael was already outside, slamming the door furiously behind him.

Chapter Text

Michael got on the bus before Henry could catch up to him, absolutely furious.

Henry wouldn’t let him visit his father? Fine. Michael would just visit him himself.

Henry was still at work when Michael arrived home after school. Michael had been counting on it. Taking the privacy to his advantage, Michael fished around the house until he could find a map. He sprawled the map on the floor and located the prison he knew his father was held in.

Michael frowned. It was really far away. There was no way he would be able to make it by foot.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t drive there.

In spite of his young age, Michael did know how to drive. One, it wasn’t that complicated, and two, in a fit of pure rebellion one day, Michael had taken his father’s car and practiced driving in an empty parking lot with one of his friends.

Michael didn’t like to think about that day, but Michael was grateful for the experience.

That night, Michael pretended to be apologetic as Henry apologized again for their argument.

“I’m sorry for running out on you,” Michael said, trying to look appropriately ashamed.

“It’s alright Michael,” Henry said. “I’m sorry too. Let’s just… try to sort things out more calmly next time.”

Michael nodded.

“And about William—”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Michael said. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t know what I was thinking before.”

Henry looked surprised, and, more importantly, suspicious. “Really?”

Michael nodded and put on a smile. “I was just rattled from my dream. Sorry for making a fuss.”

“We can try to work something out,” Henry said in a tone that meant he really would rather avoid it altogether.

“It’s fine,” Michael said slightly more forcefully. “Please don’t worry about it.”

Henry dropped it, still looking somewhat doubtful about Michael’s intentions. That was fine. As long as he didn’t know what Michael was planning, Michael didn’t particularly care what Henry thought about him.

Michael did his homework and spent the rest of his evening in his bedroom. It wasn’t until four in the morning, after Michael confirmed that Henry and Arnold were sound asleep, that Michael made his move.

Holding his breath and walking as quietly as possible, Michael crept out of his bedroom. He already had the map half-folded in his pocket, so he crept to the hook Henry kept his keys on.

Michael carefully grabbed the keys and moved them as slowly as possible. They rattled against each other ever so slightly, and Michael froze waiting for Henry to come out in a raging fury.

The only other sound in the house was the clock, ticking away as it always did.

Michael released a silent breath of relief and tightened his hold around the keys. The metal dug into his palms, but he didn’t care.

Michael made his way to the back door and slowly opened the door. It creaked, but this time Michael didn’t freeze. He jumped outside as though the floor of the house was lava and closed the door behind him silently. He knew he made more noise than was ideal, but these next few minutes would be the most critical when it came to making his escape.

Michael ran around the house to Henry’s car, which was parked in the driveway. He opened the door and slid inside the driver’s seat. His heart hammered against his chest as Michael glanced at the window of Henry’s room. The light was on. He must have heard Michael slipping outside.

Sweat formed on Michael’s palms and fingers. He fumbled with the keys and shoved them into the ignition. The car roared to life, and the headlights came on like floodlights during a prison break. Michael barely remembered how the stick shift worked as he began to back out of the driveway.

The front door opened, and Michael saw Henry running toward him. Blood rushing in his ears, Michael pressed his foot against the gas, haphazardly shooting out of the driveway and into the street. Michael changed gears and drove away without another moment’s thought.

He pretended he couldn’t hear Henry shouting behind him, panic and desperation laced in his tone.

Hannah Fitzgerald woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of her phone ringing. Her husband made a noise of confusion beside her, but otherwise made no indication of an intent to get up.

Hannah was exhausted, but she hated to ignore phone calls. Even if it turned out to be nothing in the end, what if it was an emergency? Especially since it was the middle of the night.

Hannah reluctantly climbed out of bed and started walking to the phone. The ringing stopped, and Hannah stepped out of her bedroom in confusion. She jogged to the living room as she heard her son’s voice whisper through the house.

“Mr. Henry, sir?” Jeremy asked, his voice surprised. “Why are you calling? Oh, um…”

Hannah entered the living room, and Jeremy glanced at her guiltily. He looked wide awake, which as funny, since he was meant to be asleep at least an hour ago.

“Yeah, she’s right here,” Jeremy said. “Here.”

Jeremy reluctantly handed the phone to Hannah. Lecturing him on the importance of sleep could wait.  She held the device to her ear.

“Henry?” she asked, trying to keep the yawn out of her voice.

“Hannah, thank god,” Henry said. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but Michael has just run away, and I need a car.”

Run away? Car?

“What happened to your car?” Hannah asked.

“Michael just took off with it,” Henry said, his voice a mixture of panic and frustration. Mostly panic. “And I think I know where he’s going.”

Hannah swore, ignoring her son standing right next to her. Jeremy’s eyes widened as though he witnessed a crime.

“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Just a minute.”

She hung up the phone and gave Jeremy a severe look. “Tell your father I’ll be gone for the rest of the night,” she said. “And then go straight back to sleep. Didn’t you say you had a test tomorrow?”

Jeremy nodded, clearly understanding that things were more serious than Hannah was letting on. He ran to her bedroom, and Hannah shoved her shoes on and grabbed her keys.

Why did these things always happen in the middle of the night?

The prison was really far away, and Michael only sort of knew where he was going.

He had done his best to memorize his course, and Michael was ninety percent sure he had made it onto the correct highway. Since it was the middle of the night, there were barely any other cars on the road, which was good. Otherwise, Michael might have crashed into them.

Michael’s hands were still slick with sweat as he looked for the right exit. He had been driving for hours, and the sun was going to start rising any second now. He had been going at breakneck speed, but the fact remained that there weren’t many high-security prisons in Utah.

What was Henry doing right now? Was he looking for Michael? Was he waiting at home for Michael to return? Did he not care?

Michael pushed away the guilt twisting its way into his gut when he saw the correct exit appear. He yanked his steering wheel to the right and skidded off the highway and onto the exit ramp.

If Henry was chasing him, Michael had to hurry. Visiting hours should start around the time Michael finally got there, especially considering that Michael was doomed to make a few more wrong turns before he arrived. He just had to hope that Henry didn’t get there before him.

He didn’t.

Luckily for Michael, he didn’t need parental consent to visit his own father in prison.

And before he knew it, Michael sat on one side of a glass barrier, holding a phone in his hand and trying not to feel sick.

William Afton sat on the other side, wearing an orange jumpsuit that was so unlike the purple suits he always favored. There was a bruise on his cheek, and he was even thinner than usual. His normally well-kept hair was overgrown and uneven.

He looked nothing like the man in Michael’s nightmares.

Except.

William’s eyes were as sharp as they had always been. Cold and hard and furious. Prison had done nothing to tamper the pure hate that William used as a power source. Hate for Michael.

Michael swallowed back the bile that was trying to force its way back up his throat. Why did he want to come here again? What was he trying to prove? William didn’t love him. William didn’t give a crap about him. So why was he here?

“I thought you’d never come,” William said, his voice as cold as it always had been. If Michael closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was back in his old house, on the phone with his father. “What’s the grand occasion?”

Closure. Confrontation. William was a terrible father. An evil man. A murderer. Michael was going to put him in his place and get him out of his mind once and for all.

“Where did you get that bruise?” Michael asked instead, unable to control the words coming out of his mouth.

William stared at Michael with his lips pursed for an entire second. Michael refused to shrink away from his ire.

And then William started to laugh.

It was a cold, mean sound. Nothing like Henry’s warm laugh. It was heartless and cruel, and it somehow reflected the gray despair the entire building gave off.

“Don’t tell me you came here out of concern,” William said. The laughter left as soon as it came, and now his voice came out as a sharp bite. “You were the one who put me in here. I’d sooner assume that you would come to gloat.”

“I didn’t come to gloat,” Michael said, his voice ringing hollow to his own ears.

Closure was slipping further and further from his grasp.

“Then you have no business here,” William said. “It’s obvious that loyalty means nothing to you. If you don’t intend to shove your freedom into my face, I’m sure I have no idea why you came.”

“Why did you do it?” Michael asked.

“You came here for answers?” William’s expression twisted even further. Disgust.

“You loved Elizabeth,” Michael said. His voice was becoming pleading. “You adored her. How could you kill her like that? How could you?”

“I didn’t intend for her to die,” William said. A cruel grin formed on his face. “I was rather hoping Circus Baby might take care of you, the rebellious one, but you were too old, and Elizabeth was disobedient.”

He was lying. He was trying to get underneath Michael’s skin. There was no way that William had wanted to kill Michael.

Right?

Right?

“And the others?” Michael asked. “Why did you do any of it? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t,” William said. And he didn’t say more.

Michael supposed he should have known better than to reason with a serial killer.

“You’re a monster,” he spat.

“I’m the monster?” William asked. “I never intentionally killed one of my own family. And what did you do—”

“Don’t—”

“Kill your own brother,” William said. “I thought you were meant to take care of him—”

“You were meant to take care of me!” Michael shouted, unable to contain himself. His entire body was shaking.

“I did take care of you,” William said, not missing a beat. “Who paid the bills? Who fed you? Who made sure you stayed in line?”

“You hate me. You've always hated me,” Michael said with dawning realization. He wasn’t sure when he realized it, but he knew it in his core to be true. He slammed his hand against the counter. “What did I do? Why—why do you hate me so much?”

“Do you really have to ask?” William demanded, exasperated.

“I hope you rot,” Michael hissed. “I hope you die in here. I hope you feel the same pain that all those children felt when you murdered them—”

“You shouldn’t say those things to your own father,” William said.

“You don’t deserve to be my father.”

“Don’t I?” William was still grinning. “You snuck away, didn’t you? That’s why your dress is so appalling and you look so exhausted. You lied and took matters into your own hands to do what needed to be done. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re the spitting image of me…” William’s grin turned to an expression of revulsion. “That is, if I were an uncultured buffoon.”

Michael slammed the phone into the receiver. He couldn’t do this anymore. He said his piece. He was done.

Michael let security lead him out into the lobby, and his stomach sank when he saw who was waiting for him there.

Henry was pacing, his arms crossed and his face exhausted. Jeremy’s mom was also there, still wearing plaid pajama pants and looking wrecked with worry.

Michael tensed instinctively and waited for Henry to start yelling.

“Well?” Henry sighed. His tone reeked of disappointment. “Did you find what you were looking for?”