Work Text:
1 day until the party.
his brothers birthday. it was everything good you could imagine - cake, laughter, confetti.
but then the laughter stopped. confetti was replaced with crimson splatters which coated the yellow robot's fur. suddenly, his crybaby brother wasn't squirming in his arms anymore, but lifeless and hanging limply from those large metal jaws.
"your brother's kind of a baby isn't he?"
-
the red alarm clock on his bedside table read 2AM , but he was no longer kept awake by the quiet wails of his brother in the next room, or the sound of footsteps even if no one was awake. it was silent, eerily silent, like there was a chunk missing from the world.
he could still feel the blood on his hands, in every crease and fingernail. no matter how hard he would scrub it would never be gone.
his father wasn't home, he could be at the diner, maybe mourning his son's loss, but michael doubted it. his father was probably driving and smoking, or drinking, he didn't care about that.
there was a constant hum rattling around his brain, similar to the electrical buzz at fredbear's. michael tossed and turned under his duvet, the buzzing in his head preventing him from even thinking about a good night's sleep.
every time he closed his eyes, images of his brothers unconscious body and the yellow bear's prosthetic white teeth smeared in a thick , gooey red liquid flashed before him. the agonising screams from his baby brother, his kin, the repulsing sound of crunching and squelching, all of it was his fault.
it was his fault his father was working so hard, unable to supervise as michael was never going to be good enough to inherit the company after him. it was his fault that he wanted to pull a prank on his brother, he never meant to kill him, it was meant to be funny.
michael snapped out of his thoughts, realising that his breathing had become rapid and he was helplessly clawing at his arms. his skin had turned an angry red colour, small pricks of blood oozed from his skin, he could never slice or burn or scratch or snort enough to make up for his sibling's pain, so he left itto throb.
he didn't care that he left scars on his arm, his father had seen them only once, but never brought it up. maybe that was for the best, there was truly no good excuse that would get him out of trouble.
hot tears had soaked into his pillow, he hadn't even noticed he was crying.
"stop crying you little fucking bitch!"
those words had been directed towards his brother, but it made him tense up. father would never have beat evan, but he would michael. he ensured he became numb, an emotionless corpse, around his father from that moment on.
michael never found himself dreading a beating, after a few years you sort of get used to it. in school, no one mentioned the purple blobs dotted around his body, or the black eyes, or the cuts. monachopsis crept up on him, he never quite felt ... right. those who noticed him simply stared, stared like he was some fucking freak show.
michael afton, the weirdo with scars and bruises, who murdered his little brother for the sake of a laugh.