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The Afton children were an unlucky bunch. Whether they knew it or not was a different story.
Some days, Michael wished for his life to be different, sometimes quietly pleading into the darkness when nobody was around to hear him. He pleaded and wished to be someone else, be born in a different family, or maybe never even be born at all.
At least, if Michael were born into Henry's family, he knew he could be happy. He felt as though he could be born into any of his friends’ families, too, and still be happy.
His friends often complained about their parents or siblings, rambling on about the smallest problems. Michael always found himself thinking how ungrateful his friends were to not be content with their luxurious lives, but he reminded himself not to compare.
There were also some days where he did believe he was grateful for what he himself had. He lived in a decently well-off family, he had Father looking after them, and everyone was safe. Sometimes, that wasn't enough, though.
Those days were always, somehow, worse. They always gave him false hope that things would get better, and Michael would eventually come to chide himself for being so naïve, purposefully blinded for the temporary sense of relief. The continuous ups and downs only served to confuse him, it seemed.
Today was a particularly regrettable day to be an Afton, he thought. Father was yelling at him over something that he didn't even do. This time, it was a mess that Elizabeth made in the living room that set him off. Even though Michael had the opportunity to shift the blame to her, he decided against it. She was only twelve, his only sister, and she didn't deserve to face Father's wrath.
This was how it usually went. Sometimes their father would be angry with his actions, but sometimes it was the fault of his siblings. With a stubborn desire to protect those two, he always allowed himself to face their consequences for them. They didn't really deserve it. He was used to it anyway.
“I was unaware that I was raising an animal,” Father told him, coldly.
Michael was still under his father's unrelenting gaze. That was the strategy that Michael eventually adopted over the years, a habit for whenever he got in trouble.
Father hates it when his children cry. That's why it's something Michael always avoids doing in front of other people. Whenever Evan cries, it always irritates Father, so Michael will be the one to warn his brother to be quiet. If it were Michael, he would endure a harsher punishment for being so sensitive. Sometimes, it was better to pretend not to feel anything at all.
Listening to his father ramble on and on about what a disappointment he was got boring after a few dozen times, anyway. It's not that he didn't care–he actually cared a lot, always crying himself to sleep. In that regard, he was no better than his brother. But Evan never learned. The only thing that mattered here is to learn how to pretend.
The only issue with Michael pretending was that sometimes, his father would think he didn't care at all. Michael wished he didn't. However, when Father suspected this, he–
Slap.
That. That would happen.
“You think this is just some game, that you really can do whatever you want?” Sometimes his accent would get stronger when he was really angry, like now. Michael never understood why Father felt so upset from little things. Perhaps it was that he hated to feel as though he was being disrespected. Michael was not trying to disrespect him, though; He was just trying to survive.
Another hit–an actual one, this time, to his shoulder. That's going to leave a bruise…
Michael refrained from clutching the spot that now was throbbing in pain. He didn't want Father to think he was overreacting, after all. So, like a good child, he stood there and took it.
It seemed as Father no longer had gained any satisfaction from talking to him, now opting to shove his eldest son down onto the floor, letting him take solace in the softer carpet. “I want you in your room and out of my sight, I've already had a long day at work and need to clean up the mess you made.”
Michael was quick to take the opportunity to leave, despite the awkward stiff feeling in his joints forcing him to take a few seconds longer.
He practically scurried to his room and gently closed the door, as quietly as he could. That way, he wouldn't be accused of giving his father any attitude, and his movement would go more unnoticed.
His room was his safe space, he believed. Whilst he wouldn't dare cry in front of Father or his siblings, he always broke down alone in his room. He leaned against the door. That way, no one would barge into the sight of a pitiful teenager crying on their bedroom floor. This is when he let himself finally shed his tears.
He looked up at the ceiling in a sorry attempt to stop the waterworks escaping his eyes, but the efforts proved futile as they streamed down his cheeks. Michael wasn't too worried about anyone hearing, though–he always cried silently, unlike his brother. No, it was just that he didn't want to let his father get to him like this.
Part of it was from his stubbornness and determined personality, but a lot of it was because he could hear his father's voice in the back of his mind. He would always tell Michael that he was too weak, too sensitive, overemotional. Even though Michael was a smart kid, he sometimes let these things get to him. When he's been told the same thing for so long, it's hard not to believe it.
Momentarily, he wonders if Elizabeth and Evan heard that interaction. He sniffled. It was likely they did. Impossible that they didn't, what with their father's incessant urge to be loud and all. Evan was probably crying just from the yelling, knowing him. Michael thought it was sort of annoying that his brother could still make it about him, even when Michael was the one getting hurt.
As for Elizabeth, she probably felt guilty to put her brother through this. Then again, if she was sorry, she would have been more careful so he wouldn't have to be hit by Father. Hell, she probably is smirking to herself, knowing that no matter what she does, he'll always take the blame for it!
Michael throws himself onto the bed, face-down, and screamed into his pillow. He was so frustrated, he wanted to get his anger out. Not just metaphorically, but it felt like his fury had taken up a physically form inside of his body, poisoning him. Despite being more angry than sad, hot tears ran downward along his nose bridge, soaking into the once-dry pillow.
This was how it continued for a while. One day, though, Father came home late in the night. Elizabeth and Evan were already asleep, but Michael was still awake. These nights, he would always stay awake until their father got home. The late return has become a nightly routine, as of this week.
Father entered the doorway to see Michael sitting on the couch. Immediately Michael turned his head to Father, curiously. “Ah, Michael, you're wide awake as ever, I see.”
Truthfully, Michael was actually very tired. The diner is only open until nine, what could possibly warrant his father to stay out until midnight? Despite his curiosity, he wouldn't dare ask that.
“Come here, son,” he beckoned Michael over.
Obeying, he walked over. He wasn't terribly afraid of his father tonight. Michael was always very observant, he knew when his father came home in a good mood versus a bad one. At this moment, he seemed rather calm, so that was a good sign.
When Michael approached his father, he had to look up to meet his eyes. Father placed a hand on his shoulder, gentle enough to be taken as a gesture of affection.
“Michael, I'm going to be gone much more often, now. I have certain… Matters to attend to at Fredbear’s, and I believe you're responsible enough to take care of the house for me?” He suggested.
“Ah, and also if you would be kind enough to take care of Evan and Liz? You are their brother, after all.” When he sensed hesitation from Michael, his grip on his arm tightened. “Really, Michael, I don't have any choice, but I trust you to take care of them. Is that understood?”
His fond gaze became one of exasperation. Not just that, but the warmth was gone, only ice left in its place. “Yes, Father, it is understood,” he responds almost automatically.
Any other answer wouldn't lead anywhere. If anything, Father would take his anger out on Michael again until he relented and agreed, and… Michael doesn't feel like putting up a fight tonight. It's already late, anyway.
Eight in the evening and Michael saw his siblings for the third time today. The only other times were when he made food for them. Every other time, the three of them were each in their separate rooms. They weren't exactly the most social of siblings.
It was now that he was sitting on the couch in the living room, eyes focused on the television as he tried to ignore the other children slowly creeping up into the corner of his vision. Eventually, they both took their respective seats. Elizabeth sat down on the chair adjacent to the couch and Evan took a seat on the edge of the couch, as far from Michael as he could sit.
At first, Michael was simply going to ignore their presence. However, it began to be difficult when he noticed in his peripheral vision that Elizabeth was staring a bit too intently at him. He didn't know why–until, that is, he remembered a recent encounter with Father that left him bruised all over. Even with their father constantly gone, he still finds time to hurt him in the dead of night, sometimes even waking him up from his sleep on the nights he comes back extra late.
It didn't help that his wardrobe lately only consisted of tank tops, muscle shirts, and the occasional T-shirt. Sure, he had a sweater or two, but it was a hot summer in July, so he usually opted for a sleeveless cut.
Like today.
When his arms are bruised and on display.
Michael's face is quick to heat up in shame. He's not exactly sure why he feels ashamed. It's not necessarily his fault that Father decides to hurt him, though sometimes he feels like it is. Even still, he feels like something about it makes him appear weak, damaged, or worse yet, vulnerable.
He crosses his arms, defensively, though that only covers about a fourth of what he had visible. He tends to get used to the feeling of soreness and pain, but when he is reminded of it, the awareness of the sensation returns.
“What are you looking at?” He responds, glaring back to her. It's not exactly a creative comeback, but he feels insecure about this, and he just wishes that nobody were to look at him. He wants himself to go unnoticed by all, to exist without the perception of his family, especially his little brother and sister's.
Elizabeth was hesitant to answer. She shifted her gaze back to the TV, too uncomfortable to look Michael in the eyes whilst she spoke these next words. “I… Heard Father. Yesterday. With you.”
Her explanation was awkward, but Michael knew what she meant. She was telling him that she heard their father giving him the bruises that she is currently inquiring about. To be fair, yesterday was a particularly lengthy run-in with Father. It would've been hard not to hear it, even when jamming pillows on either side of your head to muffle the noise.
Still, Michael tensed up even further. Evan was silent, but he was watching this whole interaction go down. Of course he must have heard too, but he wasn't about to add anything to the discussion. No, Elizabeth was the bother of the two. Maybe even of the three.
“...Okay,” Michael huffed, dismissively. He sounded annoyed, responding to her as though it were something obvious. To him, it was obvious. His vulnerabilities were all out there for his siblings to hear. He didn't want to seem affected, though, desperately clinging to that same veil of indifference he always wears, the same one he uses for Father.
This only succeeded in frustrating Elizabeth. She looked back at him. “Michael, quit acting like it doesn't matter, quit acting like you don't care! You're always like this…” She grumbled.
Something bristled in Michael after hearing the words so similar to his father's. He does care, but he has to protect himself from letting others know. They can't be let in. Suddenly, he stood up.
“Oh, so now I'm the one who doesn't care when I am being beaten for your mistakes?” He asked her, a new rage on his face that only scares Elizabeth more. She shrinks down in surprise. He continues. “When I take the hits so you can be his favorite? You're the worst one, Elizabeth, but at least Father loves you!” At this point, he's already shouting.
“He never even bothered to love me!” He finally yelled before running back into his room and slamming the door. He didn't have to be careful when his father wasn't home. Frankly, it didn't even matter right now. How dare she act like she actually cares about him? When she's the one putting him in this situation in the first place?
He crouches down near the door again. Just now, he shouted at her. Just now, he reminded himself of his father. Looking back on it, most of the things that Elizabeth does that gets him in trouble are honest mistakes. Genuinely, they shouldn't even be something that Father could get so angry over. It wasn't her fault…
But it wasn't his either! Everything was unfair! It was all so unfair! And he made it worse by yelling at her like he does to him.
For what must be the dozenth time this week, he tucks his head into his knees and cries harder than last time.
Michael has never known a more intricate fear. No, not when it is only ten at night and he hears footsteps outside the door. His siblings are already asleep, but it's still earlier than he expected their father to get home. There wasn't necessarily any issue with his return, but…
His father's return, for the past week or two at least, had been a late one. Michael has grown to expect him around eleven thirty, midnight, even later, but not ten. It wasn't terrifying because of any particular reason, other than the fact that it was unexpected. He liked to know his father's location, the general time he'd come home, the sound his footsteps made when they entered the home.
When he heard that sound early, it just didn't feel right. He couldn't explain it, but it felt like his heart dropped out of his body. Following this, he felt stupid for even getting so startled for something that shouldn't matter. But it did matter. Unknown prompted anticipation, and anticipation was something Michael has come to resent.
His eyes narrowed in the direction of the door, despite not seeing anything. Michael was in his room right now, his door propped open only halfway.
His body reacted before he did. As he heard his father's footsteps resonate against the floor, his hand involuntarily twitched out of nervousness. They were like taps, yet much heavier, carrying a deadly weight with each step.
Sure, some might assume that such a situation could imply that an intruder is stepping into the house, since Michael never actually went to go look to make sure it was indeed his father. That was never an issue, however. Even just from the echo of footsteps, the sound was so identifiable. Perhaps it was because he was so used to his father. Perhaps he was always on edge when he heard that noise. Michael forced himself not to think about it too much.
Like the rise of a rollercoaster ride, his anxiety grew as his father neared. Step, step, step. He didn't even know why he was so uneasy– Not just uneasy, but terrified. He was terrified of Father. Again, he forced the thoughts down, holding his breath as the footsteps were closer than ever.
Step, step, step, step, step…
…
The fear faded away instantly when Michael heard his father enter his own room, decidedly turning in for the night. He let out his breath at last, relieved that nothing happened.
But, why should he be relieved?
Why should he be relieved when this should be the normal? For the Aftons, it never was normal, was it?
And, just like that, Michael yet again was trapped in that broken record that always spun in his head.
It's all so unfair.
Just as Michael was berating himself for feeling so afraid over nothing, his relief was immediately drowned out by the sound of his father leaving his room. He wasn't done, no, and now he was coming to Michael's room.
Surely to take everything out on him, all over again, just like any other night.
Step, step, step.
Michael felt like naïve for, even for a second, thinking this wouldn't be the outcome of tonight. The same thought consumed his head as the door was pushed open.
Unfair, unfair, unfair.