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CRUNCH!
The sickening sound of Fredbear’s jaw clamping down on Evan’s head rang out in Michael’s ears. The silence of his brother no longer crying and begging to be put down was deafening.
Michael could feel the splatters of blood on his face, feel it dribbling down his cheek and dripping off his chin to drop down onto his sneakers with a quiet splat. The noise broke him out of his trance, leaving him to properly take in the sight of his brother, head bloody and mangled in Freadbear’s unforgiving jaw.
The next thing he did was scream. Loud, terrified, and guilty. He screamed desperately, tears blurring his vision as his hands went up to his head to grab fistfuls of brown hair and tug. The pain made the water in his eyes spill over onto his face, mixing with the already drying blood and creating a mess of his grey tank top.
The boy collapsed to his knees, curling up and sobbing. What had he done?
”Look at the mess you’ve made of him, Michael… How could you do something like that? To your own brother?” A familiar voice rung out. The voice didn’t belong to anyone in particular, but it had been ever-present in his mind ever since Fredbear’s jaw snapped shut around Evan’s head.
“I- I didn’t mean to! You know I didn’t mean to!” Michael cried out, words slightly slurred and interrupted with harsh sobs and gasps.
”You still did it. You murdered him, Mikey. You’re a monster. Poor, sweet little Evan… Murdered by his older brother. The person he was supposed to look up to. You’re a disgusting, vile, mess.” The voice spat, tone cold and unforgiving.
Michael just sobbed, words suddenly too much against the tightness of his throat. ”What, nothing to say? Poor, poor Michael! He wasn’t the only one, was he? What about Elizabeth? Was that an accident too? When you told her to go ahead and see Baby? You knew it’d happen. But you were so desperate for your father’s attention, right?” The voice was taunting him.
“No! No, I did- I didn’t do that! That’s- not- not what I wanted!” Michael exclaimed desperately, reasoning to a presence that didn’t care whether he had a reason or not.
“Oh, Michael…” The voice distorted, sounding different. “Michael! Michael?” Wait. Was that…? “Michael, hey, come on…” His father’s voice hit him suddenly, pulling him away from the scene of Evan’s death and instead back to his bedroom, where he was huddled in a ball on the floor helplessly, face stained with tears and throat sore from yelling.
“Father…?” Michael questioned, voice hoarse, as he blinked away his tears rapidly to look for the source of the voice.
His father was crouched on the floor in front of him, wearing an expression on his face that Michael couldn’t quite decipher. He was probably angry, though. He always was when Michael broke down in this way; he claimed the boy was dramatic and shouldn’t cry like a baby when he was seventeen years old.
“I- I’m sorry, father… I didn’t mean to- You won’t hear anything from me again… I- I promise…” Michael apologised, eyes drifting to the floor in shame. William would probably leave him alone if he just apologised right away, right? He hoped so.
Instead, he heard William tut from in front of him. “Look at me, Michael.” Damn it. Guess it’s not that easy, huh? Michael obeyed quickly, yet still with a sense of hesitance, and looked at his father expectantly. “Haven’t I taught you better than to mumble when speaking to me, son?”
Michael’s face burned in shame as he nodded slowly. “Yes, father… I’m sorry.” He spoke, this time keeping eye contact with William as best as he could and raising his voice a little more.
“That’s okay, Mikey. You’re distressed, you’re not going to be perfect first try.” William stated simply, receiving a puzzled look from Michael before it was gone again and his expression was blank once more. Ah. He’s expecting me to yell at him. “What’s got you so worked up, anyway? I was calling for you for a good few minutes, Mike.”
“Um… I’m sorry, father… uh… It was about… Ev- um- about him…” Michael spluttered, his father’s calm attitude throwing him off centre. This was unlike him. William nodded, urging him to continue. “I keep seeing him. Dead. Like on that day…”
“Oh, Mikey… I know… Must be so difficult, hm? The first time is always the most challenging, I assure you…” William muttered, voice low in an oddly comforting way despite his ominous phrasing. “Do you see your sister, too?”
“Um… Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes they’re together.” Michael answered hesitantly, eyes watering at the thought of it. “Sometimes they taunt me. They… they tell me how horrible I am… how I’m a monster… I-“ A sob cut him off, tears falling down his face once more.
William moved closer, sitting down on the floor and pulling his son into his lap. “Shh… It’s okay… You’re no monster, Michael… You’re such a good son, you know that? Make me so proud… I’m glad you’re the one I’m left with.” He whispered, stroking Michael’s hair in a way he hadn’t since Michael was a kid.
The words shouldn’t have been comforting. They shouldn’t have made Michael feel better. Yet… They did. They did because it was his father saying them and all the young brunet had ever craved was that man’s approval. For the past three years since Evan’s death that’s all he’d wished for. He’d wished his father would look at him with anything other than a cold, blank stare or with that unfiltered rage that filled his eyes whenever he’d punish him for getting in the way or being ‘too bad’.
He cried.
He began to weep softly in his father’s arms, burying his face into the man’s dress shirt and wrapping his arms around his middle, clinging to the back of the soft purple fabric like it was his lifeline.
“Oh, my darling, don’t cry now… You’re not a bad person, son… You’re just like your father, hm? I always knew you were… I’m not upset about Evan, or Lizzie… I’m just glad you’re still here…” William cooed, stroking Michael’s hair with one hand and tracing light shapes into his back with the fingers of the other.
Michael pulled back a bit to look at him. “You’re not… angry…? I- I thought you…” He questioned quietly, afraid that if he spoke any louder he’d shatter the peace that had fallen over them.
“Of course I’m not angry, Mikey… We’re so similar, being angry at you for what you did would be so hypocritical of me, don’t you think?” William hummed, smiling softly at Michael - an expression which was hardly ever worn and looked unnatural on William’s face to the younger Afton.
Michael didn’t understand William’s comparisons. What did he mean they’re alike? Sure, Michael was almost the spitting image of his father in terms of looks, he shared his father’s strong English accent, and he had a bit of a temper to him, but… that was where their similarities ended. Right?
The oldest of the two seemed to understand this and simply smiled wider. “One day, when you’re ready, you’ll understand, Mikey. Until then… We’re going to sort out these episodes. Soon enough, you’ll forget your siblings entirely! Won’t that feel lovely, honey?”
Michael stared, dumbfounded, at his father’s words. No! No, Michael, it wouldn’t! You can’t forget the people you murdered! The voice in his head was screaming at him, denying him the comfort that came with his father’s unfamiliarly warm expression. Yet he ignored it. William was finally seeing him! He was finally offering him the support he’d been craving since that day in 1983. Michael wasn’t going to turn that down, no matter the connotations of his father’s phrasing.
“Ye-Yes, father. That would be nice…” Michael admitted quietly, a pang of guilt in his chest as the words left his mouth. Disgusting, Michael. You’re a monster.
“Good. Come here, son. I’m so glad you’re finally willing to see things my way.” William spoke, tone calm but the slightest hint of a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Michael had no time to process the expression before he was pulled into his father’s arms again, sighing at the long-awaited comfort and relaxing against the oldest Afton. “Yes, father… I- I’m sorry for breaking down.”
“That’s okay, Mikey. You’ll soon forget the pain of it all. We’ll be closer than ever soon, I can tell. I always could.” William whispered, stroking Michael’s hair gently and failing to hold back his smirk as the boy nodded against him, burying his head into the junction between his neck and shoulder and closing his eyes as he let William hold him.
Perhaps things would get better?
Mikey should know better than to think anything will be good for him. He doesn’t deserve it.
Oh well, what’s the harm in hoping?