Chapter Text
Blood trickled down the iconic Golden bear's mouth, a little girl's limp body lay shoved three-quarters through the mouth, her attire a black skirt with the same yellow striped sweater Michael's sister had been wearing the previous day... The bear stood tall, blood smeared against the teeth, the snout had no less brutality, and no sounds were heard, no sounds but the quiet tears coming from Michael Afton.
The massacre had not stopped at Cassidy's limp lifeless in a bear's mouth, the morbid scene was painting the room, blood smeared the walls, pools of crimson staining the freshly cleaned checker pattern floor, and the animatronics were all painted with guts, guts and blood of his dead friends, all except Spring Bonnie who had seemingly had an absence.
Michael's body was still, the only movement was the shaking of his body, the silence deafening, his ears rang, a wave of nausea hit his stomach, and his face was slicked with his own salty tears. He screamed in agony, fear for his life, and his eyes remained fixated on the one who must have committed this morbid crime, this horrible deed, Fredbear.
Michael's sobs were painful and dry, his voice had hurt, and the only sound was his heartbeat and the faint sound of trickles of blood colliding with the ground, he fell to the ground, struggling to hold his own body up, the fatigue held him in its grasp, his consciousness had slowly slipped away from him, as each gore filled animatronic clouded his brain. In a haze he could only sob, as his hands grasped the cold floor in utter futility, he shouted anything he could describe this pain, as nausea took a toll on him, he heard the footsteps of his father.
"Get up Michael, you're an annoyance... Quit crying, you're ten you should be over this." Michael had not stopped, he only muttered more inaudible sobs, the incoherence was irritating his father, and the rage was building slowly inside him as his son kicked and screamed, "Bloody hell Michael, are you a toddler, get the fuck up and quit this nonsense!" Michael, slowly raised his body, trembling to cause this to falter he nearly hit the cold floor once more, and tears fell amongst quiet whimpers. He stared at his dad, obvious confusion displaying his face, the gory spectacle had been in plain sight, and his father had a stern solemn expression painting his face.
"F-Fath-" Michale spoke, but a pathetic whimper broke the words, his stomach churned, and he could not even tear his eyes from the morbid scene, the horrible deed, he could only stare at the blood from Cassidy's body slowly trickle down the jaw hitting the cold floor. Michael tightly held his father's arm, his shaky hands causing the arm to shake, he sobbed into his father's arm, tears seeping into the black suit, the sobs were loud, almost matching one of a baby.
"Michael Afton, you are not a baby," his father pushes him to the ground, sympathy had not plastered his face, scowls at him, "Clean yourself up and learn to grow up." Michael heard the door of the room slam, the last image he had ever seen of his sister, all he could muster up were quiet whimpers, impact with the floor had brought only more anguish, picking himself up would be futile, the churning of his stomach only increased simultaneously with his tears, as each dead friend of his appeared in his mind before his conscious was taken from his grasp he had vomited.
That sight had not been ever removed from Michaels's eyes. a spectacle that would stay engraved forever plaguing his mind in a puddle of his own worries, and no one else had seen the sight, other than him and his father, this often led to issues in Michael's life.
Michael had a stigma surrounding him that had roots practically strangling his older brother, it was this stigma he was a crybaby, or a baby, words that seemed to label him, words that could not be removed, the word cry in any form was almost a regular word for him to hear, but when his courage to contradict them tried to spill out he would only mutter out more pathetic tears. Michael was not a 'crybaby', no one understood, the anxiety and fear Michale felt that morning, the morning he saw his sister's corpse laying in the criminal's mouth, the fabulous yellow bear.
This morning had carried on as per usual; he had woken up with sunlight painting his room, his bed was a horrible mess, just as his hair, and his toys would often be laid around in a very disorderly fashion, sunlight painting them in a more positive hue, his pyjamas consisted of a black t-shirt and shorts, he had no variation. Michael would sit up, fatigue looming over his body, as aimlessly entered the kitchen, his mother would be there, she would have her deep ginger hair in a bun, her glasses neatly framing her face, and she would have a dress or a long skirt on, she too had barely any colour variation, typically wearing beige.
"Good morning Michael," she speaks, her tone voice was a sweet motherly voice, and she seemed relatively awake every morning, "You seem exhausted, are you sure you slept?"
"Yes..." Michael would answer his eyes glued to the wooden table, the kitchen was painted in a deep forest green the appliances were like any other appliance in the timeframe, and the cabinets and cupboards were not different they would likely match the counter which Michael's mother would be forming a simple breakfast of toast and marmalade. Michael would run his eyes, resting his head against the wooden table, his mother would grin at his antics pacing the plate gently next to him, that clang of the plate always seemed to signify the entrance of his older brother; he and Michale's mother would talk as their positions changed, Michael's older brother controlling breakfast as their mother hurried to her weekend work, the work that no one except father had any details of.
Michael's brother would spend a mere few moments preparing his own toast and marmalade, carrying his plate, and placing it against the table, too had fatigue behind his eyes, yet he would grin maliciously. "What? Did I do something, you really are dramatic, I sit down and you give me shit about it?" Michael's brother was teasing him about his resting face again was he not, Michale proceeded to glare at him as he would take another bite of toast.
"(Insert a name for older brother) I did not even do anything, you are the one being rather dramatic," Micahel would muster up a pitiful reply to counter his first comment, Michael's older brother would give a cunning smile.
"Oi, shut your mouth, I'm in charge, you know I could lock you in your fucking room again?" Michael's eyes averted gaze from home his, his heart picked up a pace with sweat accumulated slowly, a horrible threat indeed, Michael's older brother was rather sadistic, finding some form of gratification from Michale's suffering, he would often laugh at Michael's sudden shyness, washing his plate in the dishwasher, then he would make his exit. Michael would be left terrified as his sister Elizabeth entered the kitchen, unlike Michael her pyjamas were often floral nightgowns in a variety of shades, she was younger than Michael yet only a few years, Michael would form a meal for her to have.
"Michael, were you about to cry again?" Elizabeth would ask good intentions hidden behind such a fatal phrase.
"No, Elizabeth I was not about to cry, enjoy your toast," Michael would provide her with the meal, it making the same noise his and his brothers' plates had, he then hurried out of the kitchen alone in his bedroom, surrounded by his only form of comfort, his friends. Michale would actually cry, but the tears meant nothing, Michale's emotions often being disregarded resulted in these tears that fell to have no meaning, he felt numb, the tears only being an irritation, he had not wanted to cry, he had wanted to forget today had even started.
“‘Are you going to cry, Michael?’” Michael states in a mocking tone, simultaneously grasping his Fredbear plush, the one he and Cassidy would always play with when she had been alive and well. Michael watches a tear pathetically seep into his plushie's head, his fists clench, it was irritating to live with the fact no one had believed him, therefore he had been forced to deal with the spectacle plaguing his mind alone.
Michael wipes his tears, as though his hands had any powers against the rate at which they would spew out, he did not want to accept anything, he would only sit there as thoughts raced through his mind. He missed Cassidy, anyone in the family had, everyone had seemingly shut off with her ‘disappearance’, he supposed they thought of the rumours and the words Michael spoke as blatant lies, yet who would lie about someone’s death, actually five deaths, and Michael had known each one of them, they were his friends.
Michael watched his lamp carefully tracing the shape of it in his mind, it was a light blue shade, a stupid detail, but Michael was too avoidant to worry about his worries, though trying to do any activities only carried memories of Cassidy, the incident at least made Michael aware of how much the two were dependant on each other. Michael stares at the Fredbear plush, seemingly feeling less comforted by its presence, it was such a constant reminder of Fredbear, and the image of her sister dangling from the bear's mouth.
Michael picks up the stuffed toy, carrying it to his dead sister's room, Michael places Fredbear on the bed, turning on Cassidy’s lamp, Michael watches the room brighten, the glow that it used to have once more illuminating it. He remembers various activities that he and Cassidy had previously done; he remembered their constant artistic projects as the drawing covered the walls, which took his breath, each drawing served the purpose of telling a story, he feels stuck as the tears drench his face, the grief of losing his twin sister finally registering in him.
“Mike, happy 9th birthday, I drew you a picture!” Cassidy shouted opening Michael's door at seven in the morning, Michael gave her a tired groan in acknowledgement. “Mike! It’s our birthday get up stupid,” Cassidy frowns, waving her birthday card to him dramatically, Michael jumps, waking up in a form shock.
“Cassidy!” He rubs his eyes, giving Cassidy an annoyed glare, his face softens after a few minutes, “Happy birthday Cass, don’t do that again, okay?” Cassidy gives him a cunning grin, still flaring the card in the air, Michael gently takes it, nearly receiving a paper cut in the process.
The drawing on the card was of him, he seemed to be in the back garden, he was coloured vibrantly given blue eyes and his hair was scribbled with a dark brown not nearly dark enough to match his hair though, Michael smiled at the idea of Cassidy giving him such a light-hearted card. The two give each other an embrace, Michael saw it as a way of thanking Cassidy, to Cassidy it was merely a kind gesture, “Thank you,” Michael mumbles, the early morning tiredness being captured.
Michael watches that drawing in horror, a muffled sob escaping his mouth, he almost wanted to scream, he wanted Cassidy back, he had not wanted to envision her death every morning, he just wanted his twin sister back. Michael grasps his hair, holding it tightly, it was painful, yet he had no other method of coping to resort to, he could only lay there in mere futility as grieved his dead sister, but his tears were funny right?