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Michael was well aware of the fact he was a shitty brother. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Which was good because Michael Afton was an idiot. Everyone agreed on that too. All he was good for was making sure his siblings didn’t starve to death and terrorising his baby brother. But he loved Lizzie and Evan. Or, that’s what he told himself. Mike wasn’t exactly sure what qualified as love. He kept them fed and clean. Father sort of did that for Michael when he was young. He let Evan sleep in his room when the boy had nightmares. Though, that may just be considered fair with how much Mike probably added to the nightmares. In the end, Michael knew that it didn’t actually matter. He was a shitty brother, a horrible student, and a terrible son. Father told him every chance he got.
Despite being the sort of fourteen year old parenting books warn about, Michael was at his brother’s seventh birthday party. He leaned against a wall with his friends. All of them had themed masks. All of them watched Evan sob under a table. The diner was smaller than the pizzeria Uncle Henry recently opened in Hurricane. AKA the reason he wasn’t coming to Evan’s birthday party. The balloons reflected weird colours in the multi-coloured light. The floor was covered in confetti and streamers. All of this was for Evan, and he was under a table sobbing. No one at the party cared that the birthday boy was nowhere to be found. Mike sighed. Father was in the back rooms doing work. Lizzie was with her mom this week. Michael banged the back of his head against the wall. This was so lame. The golden animatronics were starting their next show. The lights ruined their colours too.
“Mike,” said his friend, Stan, in the Bonnie mask. “You know what your brother needs?”
Mike snorted. The red foxy mask narrowed his vision, so he turned his head to face Stan. “To grow up and get out from under the table?”
Stan laughed, and the other two followed. It was nice to make them laugh. Mike liked to make them laugh. “No.” Stan pressed on. “I think he needs some quality time with the robots.”
His friends laughed. Mike bit the inside of his cheek. The kid in the Freddy mask, Bradley, added on, “Yeah. Maybe Evan should give Freddy a big ol’ kiss.” Everyone laughed again. Mike knew the bear on stage was Fredbear, not Freddy. He kept that to himself.
The generic music Mike learned to tune out long ago floated from the stage. Bonnie’s predecessor danced, if it could be called dancing, and Fredbear sang, if it could be considered singing. It was just moving its jaws up and down with the occasional twitch of its microphone hand. They were springlock suits. Primitive, but dangerous. That was what Father and Uncle Henry always drilled into his head.
“No, that’s stupid,” Mike said after a long pause. Everyone stopped laughing. Mike puffed out his chest. It was supposed to make him look confident. He felt like a stick figure PSA about dealing with bears. “It’s the little man’s birthday, and you’re not supposed to go on stage, let alone touch the animatronics. So yeah. Dumb.”
“Oh come on.” Bradley threw an arm over Mike’s shoulder. “What is the worst that can happen? He cries harder? He ends up more afraid of the dumb robots?” More laughter. Mike joined in. He wasn’t sure what was so funny about Bradley’s plan. He rolled out of Bradley’s grasp.
“Seriously guys, my dad’ll be pissed and we all will be in so much trouble.” Mike tried to keep his voice light, but he could hear the panic slipping in. Hopefully they didn’t. Mike looked back at the table with his brother. He could only make out the back of Evan’s shirt and some brown hair. When he turned back to look at his friends, the holes of the masks accentuated the unhappy stares. “It’ll be stupid.”
“No it won’t,” Stan argued. Michael knew Stan the longest. Their mothers were friends back when Michael had a mother. “It will be funny. And he’ll only be up there for, like a second. Why are you being so damn lame about this? You scare Evan all the time.”
If Mike was smarter, he could have figured out how to explain the uneasiness the thought of Evan in an animatronic’s mouth brought him.
But he wasn’t smart.
And he wasn’t a good brother.
So he nodded through the tense muscles in his neck, and swallowed down the nausea in the back of his throat. “Ok, yeah,” He said for someone’s benefit. Mostly his own. “It’s just fun. It’ll be funny.”
Luis, who was in the chica mask and had been fairly quiet until now, jumped off of the wall. “Hell yeah, it’ll be dope. Come on.” Michael watched his friends surround his brother’s table. Mike walked over too as if a man possessed. Michael couldn’t shake the dread, but he squatted down. He pulled the table cloth over his head. He grabbed Evan and pulled his baby brother, kicking and sobbing, out from under the table.
The feeling of reality being off was one that Mike had dealt with before. Everything was too overwhelming or loud or painful and then: Boom. Everything was just a little less real. Like Michael was the star of a sitcom or soap opera he’d watch on the television. Sure, Mike was saying something, but it was scripted. The words weren’t his, even though they were coming from his mouth. Everyone had one of Evan’s limbs. They were walking him over to Fredbear. Even with the tight grip, Michael could feel his hands shaking. Or Evan was shaking. Maybe they both were. The yellow bear had never seemed so sinister before. Should Mike stop it? This was the way shows say something bad is about to happen. But if he was an actor, wasn’t it his job to see the scene through? What about the director?
The moment for calling an objection passed in front of Michael’s eyes. They were on the stage. Laughter filled the spaces between the animatronic’s old song. The lights were on Mike’s friends and brother and him. The bear had to be big to fit a person in it. It fit Evan’s head. Fit too well. Like the climax of a war movie, the world snapped into a single, vivid shot. Evan was crying and pleading. Stan, Bradley, and Luis were off the stage. Michael still held a vice grip on Evan’s arm. Oh god. Fredbear’s head barely twitched at its predetermined intervals. But Evan’s head was in Freadbear’s mouth. He wasn’t supposed to play with the springlock suits. They–
Michael yanked Evan towards him. All that happened was a pained whimper. Michael warped his arms around Evan’s midsection and pulled again. Evan didn’t budge. He was stuck.
Oh god.
Oh fuck.
Tears stung at the corners of Mike’s eyes but there was no time for that. Switching to holding Evan with one arm, Michael tried to pry Fredbear’s upper jaw higher. His hands were slick with cold sweat. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working. Evan was squirming more, arms uselessly pushing against the animatronic’s fur covered casing. There was no clock but Mike could hear every tick in his head. Time ran in slow motion. The dread from the start threatened to burst through Michael’s chest and devour Evan whole. The next time Fredbear made a pitiful attempt at opening his jaw, Mike forced his right arm into Fredbear’s mouth, elbow on the bottom jaw, hand on the top. He felt a tooth dig into his upper arm, but Mike had never not given a shit about something more in his life. Because, with the slightest groan, the head moved, and Michael yanked Evan out with the arm around his waist. Time slowed to almost a stop. Michael couldn’t see Evan. The foxy mask took away his peripheral vision. He had to turn to see Evan land. As he did, he heard a snap. All he could think was his baby brother’s head dashed open on the confetti cover carpet. But when Michael faced out, saw his friends and a few bystanders, he saw Evan in Stan’s arms. Had he caught Evan?
If he caught Evan, where did the snapping sound come from?
The ache of the tooth digging into Michael’s right arm was worse now. He felt the panicked sweat continue to roll off his body. Especially his arm. It tickled, almost. But in a bad way. Mike found himself still not caring. Evan looked horrified, but mostly unharmed. He’d probably have some nasty bruises where Fredbear had dug into his skin, but those would fade. Hopefully, in a month or two, this would just be a bad memory to laugh about. Didn’t explain why Stan’s eyes flickered with their own horror through the mask. Bonnie mask? In fact, everyone was staring at Mike with mortified expressions. Was it because he put his brother’s head in Fredbear’s mouth? Michael got Evan out. No harm no foul, right?
Michael swallowed, embarrassment and shame mixing in his adrenaline filled brain. The tears he held back for Evan threatened to spill again. He sniffled, glancing between his friends with guilty eyes. Wait. Didn’t he have three friends? Where did Bradley go? Stan still held Evan, who had his face buried in the older kid’s shirt. Did Stan and Mike trade masks? When did that happen? Luis had taken his mask off, his jaw slack. One of the bystanders looked like they were trying to say something. The man’s mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. Or maybe that was just Michael. All he heard was his own breathing. The dull ache of his right arm had sharpened quite a bit. Less ache, more pain. The nausea from earlier also came back with a vengeance. Mike hadn’t put too much thought on how he was going to get it out when he shoved it in. Right as he was going to turn back and pull, movement from the back hallway grabbed his attention.
Father. With Bradely a footstep behind. So that was where he went. Michael was sweaty, crying, and had never been more embarrassed in his life. The world wasn’t staying still anymore. It swayed and swam and made the nausea worse. With any luck, Father would take pity and his punishment wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe Father would only take Mike’s walkman rather than breaking all his tapes again. The closer Father came, the harder Michael found it to breathe. He tried to stop crying, he really did. He knew Father hated it when he whined. Michael attempted a deep breath, but none of his breaths felt deep enough. He could feel his heart in his chest beating like a rabbit’s. Father was so close now and his arm really hurt. It was still in Fredbear’s mouth too. Mike hoped he didn’t break the animatronic. If he did, both Father and Uncle Henry would be cross with him.
At least Father would know how to get his arm out of the animatronic’s mouth. Michael turned to survey the damage he’d caused the poor bear, only for Father to press a hand against the side of his head before he got a look. When had he gotten to the stage? The touch was far away but warm. He looked up at Father, who looked down at him. Father said something. Michael definitely saw his lips make words, but Michael didn’t hear it. Or didn’t understand it. His ears still held his breaths, but there was rushing water too. Mike made a valiant effort at lip reading, but he was too stupid to make any of the words out. Maybe a better son would have understood what Father was trying to say. After some time, Michael honestly had no clue how much, his father pulled him, crying and gasping and utterly disgusting, into a hug. Sort of. Mostly Father was pushing Mike’s face into his chest, which had to be uncomfortable due to the mask. Father was warm and Mike hadn’t realised how cold he was. Father’s other hand slipped around Michael’s back. Michael took this as an invitation to lean into him. Father just hugged him tighter. Overall, it was weird behaviour for Michael’s father, but Michael didn’t care. He especially didn’t care when Father was there to keep him upright as his legs started to give out. Mike was so tired. He felt like he ran a marathon and his arm got hit by a train. But his dad was holding him. He was safe and warm. And Michael was so tired. It would just be a little nap. A little nap so Mike wouldn’t be tired when Father inevitably drug him to a more private area to yell. Just a warm, little nap.
Maybe, if he was smarter, he would have known to try and stay awake. And if he had been a better brother, he wouldn’t have needed to know to stay awake. But it didn’t matter at the end.