Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mike hadn’t slept well after the events of the last week. Who could expect him to? He’d just started being.. normal again, and now he was checking over his own shoulder all day everyday.

And the words Cassidy had said before he’d disappeared echoed in his mind. Who would be back? Michael? William?

He didn’t know, but he sure as hell hoped it wouldn’t be William. But now, Vanessa was out of his life too, so he was almost back to being stuck in that same hole he’d clawed himself and Abby out of.

Abby was spending the next few days… or weeks, at her friends house while Mike tried to sort out the mess that was their house.

So here Mike was, laid in his bed trying his damn best trying to sleep even though it was impossible.

But one thing stuck on his mind. Or should he say person.

Michael Afton.

He was still out there, probably still plotting. Plus, Charlotte was still out there, so there was just another thing to add to his growing arsenal of things to worry about.

At some point, Mike gave up on sleeping and made his way to the kitchen, hunger gnawing through his bones. He opened the fridge to find almost nothing, until he spotted two slices of leftover pizza. How fitting.

He grabbed the plate of pizza and an armful of beers - Abby wasn’t here, so he didn’t have to worry about her disdain for his drinking habits - and went to sit on the couch.

Thinking he might as well stay up, he flicked the TV on, and flicked through the late night channels until he found a shitty soap opera to barely pay attention to as his thoughts ran wild.

-

Mike was half asleep and drunker than he wanted to be when he heard it. The clinking and crushing of glass from somewhere nearby.

Eyes fluttering open, he turned to look behind him, and realised he should infact be much more afraid of this than he was.

So he jumped to his feet, stumbling forward and almost sending the TV crashing to the floor, and span on his heel towards the kitchen, feet almost failing him the whole way.

He yanked a knife from the knife block, hands trembling and adrenaline rushing through his systems as heard quiet footsteps inching toward his living room.

Slowly he matched them, but towards the side of the opening where the intruder would have to walk through.

He could hear his own ragged, frightened breathing in the almost dead silent house.

The footsteps got louder, until a tall, lean figure emerged through the doorway.

Mike threw himself forward, the two of them crashing clumsily to the floor.

Mike scrambled for the upper hand, knife held amateurly in one hand, knees awkwardly pressed against the other man’s thighs, other hand pressed to his shoulder.

He blinked quickly as he took in the face.

Of fucking course.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Mike slurred, staring down at Michael Afton below him, eyes narrowed.

Michael simply smirked, before using his free arm to send an unusually strong punch to Mike's jaw, sending him sideways and onto his back, and like he was trained to, Michael pounced on top of him.

“You could guess,” he snarled, face pressed to Mike’s ear, breath warm and weirdly calm as his hands snaked around the back of his neck, fighting to get underneath.

Mike suddenly realised he was in fact laid underneath a murderer, who wanted him dead, with a knife in very close reach.

He threw an elbow upwards behind him, catching Michael’s shoulder, who fell forwards, losing his balance and laying flat on Mike’s back, his jaw cracking as it hit the back of Mike’s skull, who quickly shoved backwards and sent them both scrambling to their feet.

“What do you want?” Mike almost shouted, walking backwards, knife still clenched in his hand.

“Preferably you dead,” Michael smirked, his lip curled up in a way that made Mike’s skin crawl as he walked closer, seemingly not worried by the knife, “But right now, just to talk.”

Mike’s confusion was clearly displayed on his face, but Michael stepped closer - and Mike had reached the back of the couch.

Nowhere to run he thought, as Michael reached him, and who was he kidding. He couldn’t actually kill anyone.

“We both know you’re not gonna use that knife, Schmidt,” Mike scoffed as a long bony hand wrapped around his, and grabbed the knife from him.

Oh fuck.

It was quickly pressed to his throat, as he pushed his head further back until he was almost bending backwards over the couch, hands now pressed against it, clenched in anticipation.

“But I might,” Michael hissed, his eyes glowing with intent as his body moved closer, with his arm steady.

“You couldn’t even kill me without your own two hands, I don’t think you will-“ Mike slurred and immediately regretted his drunken attempt at calling his bluff, as the knife pressed closer to his throat.

His breath hitched, as he felt Michael’s lean figure pressing completely against him.

“Aren’t you feeling brave today?” Michael taunted, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and Mike knew his eyes dipped down despite the predicament.

He saw the slight twitch in Michael’s expression, eyes following him like a hawk despite his prey position.

“Not really, just drunk,” the words spilled out of his mouth before his brain caught up, and Michael now looked confused more than lunatic.

But still, he leant forward, free hand landing on top of Mike’s, knife taunting him beneath his head.

There was a beat before Michael casually said, “You spoken to Vanessa recently?”

Mike's jaw tensed - how the fuck is he just making conversation like he isn’t threatening my life?

“Why would I? She kept you and Charlotte hidden and almost got Abby killed.” Mike answered, voice audibly shaking as he did.

Michael squinted at him, grip tightening around the knife and Mike’s hand.

His hand. It felt too intimate for the moment, but as a drip of blood slid down Mike’s neck he was brought back to his senses.

“You should be very careful about all that. Are you sure Abby’s safe?”

CRACK.

That sounded like a threat to Mike, so he yanked his fist up and sent it straight into the centre of Mike’s face.

Michael seemed genuinely caught off guard, as he stumbled back and dropped the knife to clutch his nose.

Mike used the chance to throw himself forward, grab Michael by the wrists, spin him and press his back against the head of the couch, almost at a backbend.

Michael pulled his head up, blood dripping down from his nose as he stared daggers into Mike's eyes.

“The dogs got some bite in him after all, hm?” he snarled, his voice nasally with his injured nose.

Mike simply pushed himself closer, and had to force himself not to start pummelling the other man’s face.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, Michael glaring up at him, Mike seething above him.

That was until Mike shifted his legs to try and wake them up, making Michael let out an unconsciously given moan.

Mike tensed immediately, as Michael blinked at him.

“Do you plan to keep me like this for the next year?” he hissed, his cheeks clearly tinged with a pink unnatural on his pale complexion.

Mike let go of his wrists, letting him reposition to tower over Mike.

In their close proximity, Mike could hear a quicken in Michael’s breathing as they continued to glare at one another.

But then, Michael moved forward in a quick motion, pushing Mike up against the breakfast counter with his hands wrapped around Mike's which were braced against it.

“I hate you,” Michael growled, face closer than it needed to be against Mike’s.

“Didn’t sound like it a second ago-“ Mike paused as he yet again realised he’d spoken before thinking, and he watched as Michael’s face turned from white, to pink, to red.

It was at that moment he felt something pressed against him that hadn’t been there a minute ago.

He’s INTO this? Was all that Mike could hear in his head.

Yet another standstill ensued, as the air between them began to gain an unfathomable amount of warmth, causing Mike to breathe more heavily through his mouth.

When Mike started to feel like it was becoming unbearable, Michael pushed forward crashing straight into Mike’s open mouth.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Mike’s head screamed logic at him, but God did it feel good, tongues and teeth crashing together and lips intertwining as Michael seemed to overwhelm his good senses.

And evidently his moral compass too, since he definitely was kissing back just as aggressively.

He guessed he was bisexual now.

He felt long thin fingers begin snaking up his back towards his hair, and felt as they grasped the strands.

With a free hand, he began to return the favour, pressing his hand into the space between Michael’s loose belt and shirt.

He felt Michael twitch as he did, before seemingly melting into the touch.

Mike pulled away for a moment and gasped, “I need air.”

He saw as Michael’s face realised what he’d actually just done, going through shock, to anger, to confusion, to what seemed like hunger.

How his pupils were blown and lips were plump and kiss-bruised, he could tell it was hunger.

He was sure his face was going down a similar emotional roller coaster, but he could always blame this on being drunk.

Still, he pushed straight back in, wrenching his second hand up to fist in the unnaturally long hairs at the back of Michael’s head, pulling him closer and into another aggressive kiss, which he then used to push Michael backwards and out of the kitchen.

He didn’t have a plan, but eventually ended up on top of Michael on his own bed, pushing him down against the mattress as his hand was clenched in greasy hair and halfway past his belt.

Michael moaned into his mouth and Mike almost lost all the feelings in his body, as their tongues fought for dominance.

Michael’s hand was fisted in the back of Mike's shirt, the other clutching his hair hard to the point it almost hurt.

Mike pulled his hand out of Michael’s belt and he shivered, as Mike began working to pull his jacket off his arms.

Michael helped him out by pushing off the mattress into a sitting position and momentarily moving his arms to shove the shoulders off, while Mike began working on the shirt after freeing both hands.

Their faces stayed interlocked, close enough to breathe in each other's air.

Once Michael’s shirt was off, he began almost tearing Mike’s off, hands tangled in the fabric as he pulled it off his head during a momentary pause of the kissing.

They ended up staring deep into the others eyes for a second, both really considering their options and decisions to end up here.

But then Michael pushed forward, both hands intertwined in Mike’s short hair, and began seriously seeming like he was trying to eat Mike's face.

“I hate you so much,” he grumbled into Mike’s open mouth, the noise reverberating around his brain.

-

He didn’t mean it, not at this current moment at least. But goddamn was it true for every other moment Mike Schmidt had reared his head in any aspect of his life.

But for right now, Michael really did not hate him. He just wanted to devour every inch of him until there was nothing left but a man in ruin.

He felt as Mike’s hands snaked towards his belt, undoing it as best he could in their current position.

God Father would be so displeased if he knew what Michael was doing right now. Quite literally sleeping with the enemy.

And suddenly his belt was discarded and Mike began working on his pants.

One thing he could be thankful for was Mike's complete lack of attention to the scars littering his arms, and he doubted that in their predicament he would notice now.

He moved his own arms down to Mike’s pants, which were a good deal looser than his.

That’s the point of no return then, for both of them.

-

Mike woke up with a hangover, confused and bleary in his bed. He sat upright, and noticed he was in fact naked.

He looked to his left and saw Michael.

Oh. Oh no.

His head started spinning recalling the night, and oh no was chanting around his head.

Michael.

Afton.

In his bed. Naked. Asleep.

But my God did he look insanely peaceful laying there, features softened, a calm expression.

How anyone could sleep peacefully after the fact he’d just slept with the person he’d almost killed twice in the same week, Mike didn’t know.

Mike certainly didn’t think he himself slept that peacefully.

What the fuck was he going to do?

-

When Michael woke up, he realised that he was in fact not in his own bed.

But the minute he questioned it he realised what he’d done.

Oh God. Father would be so angry. He would be furious. Michael is so done for.

There was no Mike sitting in the bed with him, unsurprisingly. Michael was pretty sure if he stepped out of the bedroom he’d just see Mike hanging by a noose.

But he couldn’t just stay here, he had things to do.

So he stood, and picked his clothes off of the floor and got himself changed.

Then he cautiously walked out of the room, and a smell of pancakes filled his nostrils.

At least he’s not hanging. Was all he could think.

As Michael stepped into the kitchen, he saw Mike, shoulders hunched tensely over the stove, looking to be shaking.

“Morning,” Michael said, sounding more nervous than he meant to. At that Mike's head snapped up and around, much more obviously shaking.

“You’re fucked you know that?” Mike replied, eyes narrowed as he turned back to the pancakes, “I must be insane. Try to kill me twice and now I’m making you fucking pancakes.”

Michael’s eyes scanned the room as he walked over, and Mike spoke again, quickly, “I’ve hidden anything sharp so don’t get any ideas. And why are you still in that shitty uniform? I left you spare clothes on the chair.”

“You say a lot when you’re nervous, hm?” Michael smirked, leaning backwards against the counter. Almost an invitation if you squinted.

“I’m not fucking nervous, go change, those clothes stink,” Mike sighed, attempting and failing to flip a pancake, “Fuck sake.”

Michael’s grin only grew, “So you took them off me because they stank?”

Seething, Mike turned on his heel and held the spatula like a weapon against Michael, “Go change or I swear to God that will be the reason.”

Michael held his hands up in false surrender, “I’m not complaining-“

WHAP.

The spatula hit his head before he was ready for it, and Mike spoke again, “Go. Change.”

Michael smirked, before making his way back to the bedroom.

The minute he stepped into the room he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Michael found the clothes Mike left on the chair and began putting them on, chucking his belt on the floor next to the bed.

But this was weird. Not only did Mike sleep with him, he was now making him pancakes and lending him clothes. He was right that he was probably insane though.

Looking in the tiny mirror Mike kept in his room, Michael groaned at the fact the sleeves were short, so he pulled the lent shirt off again and put his purple one on underneath, to cover his arms.

Mike didn’t need that level of detail about Michael’s life.

Once he returned to the kitchen, there was a small stack of pancakes on a plate.

“You realise this wasn’t necessary right?” Michael taunted as he sat down on the chair closest to Mike.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t have done it for you if I wasn’t stre-“ Mike started, before shouting out again, “Fuck off!” at a failed flip.

“Wasn’t what?” Michael pushed, before ripping off a tiny bit of pancake off the edge and putting it in his mouth.

“Nothing, eat your pancakes,” Mike sighed, before dumping what seemed like the last one onto another plate and sitting across from Michael.

“What, are you too nervous to sit too near me?” Michael grinned, his teeth glinting in the morning light.

Mike shovelled down the pancakes like a man on a mission, and it made Michael slightly jealous.

He simply ripped off another small piece and ate it, not taking his eyes off Mike, who seemed intent on doing the exact opposite.

-

Mike avoided eye contact as much as humanly possible.

He’s sat eating pancakes with an actual murderer. And Michael doesn’t seem phased at all.

While his pancakes are gone in almost no time, Michael’s still not even a full bite through the first.

It’s strange, and as Mike looks up he notices the purple shirt underneath the black one he’d given him.

“I told you to change,” Mike hissed, finally making eye contact. Michael looked almost confused, but it was definitely fake to Mike.

“I did.” he replied, the voice he tried to put on only inclinating more that he knew exactly what Mike meant and simply ignored him.

“I meant take that stupid shirt off too, you idiot,” Mike furrowed his brow, pushing off his chair and moving over to Michael to try and get that damn shirt off himself.

Mike tangled his hands in the bottom of both shirts and began pulling upwards, which earnt him a shove backwards as Michael stood and stepped backwards.

“Get the fuck off-“ Michael started, until Mike pushed forward again and managed to get both shirts almost off with a firm grip.

“I said get off!” Michael yelled, fighting against Mike as well as he could until the shirts both landed on the floor along with them, with Mike yelling as he hit the floor and Michael heaving above him.

Mike's face was a mix of confusion and slight anger as he panted below him, “What the hell’s your problem?” he asked, as he looked across Michael’s frame above him.

His arms were placed either side of Mike’s head, and he watched as his chest heaved in large and angry breaths, ribs poking out like sharp daggers. Mike darted his eyes to look at Michael’s arms, which gained him hands around his throat and a deadly look in Michael’s eyes.

Mike felt his breath leaving him and stared down the culprits on his throat, and noticed deep indents of scars all over the pale, stretched skin.

He could feel his facial expressions change completely, his eyes softening and reached his hands up to grab Michael’s hands.

But that was the moment the angry hold on his throat turned into clenching, taking all of his breath with it, with Michael’s teeth clenched and fury lighting a fire in his blue eyes.

All he could muster was a small, “Michael-“ before it all went black.

-

For fucks sake. Of course Mike wouldn’t back down, and look where that got him now.

Michael pulled off, trembling as he reached his fingers down to check for a pulse.

There was definitely one, and it thumped loudly against his skin.

Michael stood, pulling his hands over his face and grabbing the purple shirt off of the floor, pulling it back over his head.

“You just don’t back down,” Michael hissed, hands snaking below Mike’s shoulders, and pulling him up into a sitting position. He looked at him, features soft as ever, with the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Fuck.

He dragged the shorter man to his feet, and pulled him out of the kitchen towards the bedroom. He dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, before sitting down next to his unconscious body.

Fuck.

Michael wouldn’t lie. Mike was a pretty guy. Which was very annoying when it was the guy you were meant to hate.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

He did hate him. Right?

But the look Mike had on his face when he’d looked at Michael’s arms made his mind weak. It was a look he’d never seen in his life before, pity mixed with… maybe something close to care. Or worry. It made him scratch at his arms in annoyance.

Stupid Mike, with his stupid love for Michael’s stupid sister and Abby. Stupid Mike with his stupid hands and stupid doe eyes. His stupidly gorgeous face and body-

No. Michael wasn’t going down that route now. Michael shouldn’t have gone down that route in the first place.

God, his Father would hate him if he saw him right now. He would kill him.

It would be so easy to kill Mike now, just two hands around the throat and it would be over.

His hands snaked over to wrap gently around Mike’s throat. Considering, debating if this would make it all easier.

Eye for eye, tooth for tooth, life for life. That was always Father’s motto. Do something wrong and you’d get equal punishment. Fight with Vanessa and you get a fight yourself. Drop something and you get a fight. Do anything minorly wrong and you get a fight. Which totally never ended in Michael black and blue and half dead.

Michael groaned, fingers slowly pulling away from Mike’s neck.

“What am I doing with my life?” he asked no-one in particular, and no-one replied.

But then he heard a knock at the door, before he heard it open.

“Mike? Are you home?” a sweet sing-song voice echoed through the hallway, far too close for Michael’s liking.

“Mike?” It echoed, getting awfully close to the bedroom door, and Michael scrambled off the bed to hide behind the door.

He watched as a lock of blonde hair entered the bedroom, and pushed further into his hiding place, as he recognised the voice.

Vanessa.

“Oh?” She said quietly, looking down at Mike unconscious in the bed, as tendrils snaked from her arms.

Oh shit, Michael thought. It was Charlotte, clearly possessing Vanessa. Michael slowly inched around the corner of the door.

Fuck, he didn’t know what to do, jump out? Tackle her and use something to tie her wrists together.

His belt.

Michael leaped out, sending Vanessa down to the floor, as he flipped her over, a look of surprise crossed her face, before tendrils snaked around Michael’s neck and one of his wrists, holding them in place.

“What, you want the kill?” she snarled, eyes glowing a bright yellow with purple tears dripping down her face, as Michael launched his free wrist to grab the belt and snake it around Vanessa’s wrists in a way only taught by his Father.

“Really, Mike?” she laughed, “That’s just not going to work,” an unnatural smile crossing her face as the tendrils began tightening around his throat and tied his wrists together.

“Charlie- you need- to leave-“ Michael spluttered, voice laced with venom as he fought hard against the tendrils. Vanessa launched up, bringing Michael with her, her voice thick with hatred as she screamed, “Don’t call me Charlie!” before slamming him into the cupboard, feet off of the ground and kicking.

He could feel as his airways struggled to do their job, as he began starting to kick Vanessa’s legs, who laughed and spoke, “Michael, I don’t hate you, but you need to stay out of my way.” The tone was taunting, like a warning, and Michael began fighting harder, legs kicking violently and yanking his wrists apart as hard as he could.

“What- do-“ he coughed, pulling in as much as air humanly possible in his situation, “you- want?” he tried ending it in a yell, but failed as it came out whiny and breathy.

“You know what I want,” Vanessa said, as she began pulling Michael back and slamming the back of his head against the cupboard, the pounding reverberating through his skull and body as black spots began forming in his vision.

“Fuck- fuc-“ Michael cried out, his eyes rolling back into his head and legs failing to kick.

But suddenly, he heard a scuffle and a loud metallic clang, and he was falling to the floor, breath coming back to him.

“Fuck- what-“ Michael gasped, as he felt a small stream of blood flowing down the back of his neck.

Mike stood over Vanessa, looking wild and confused, breathing heavy and ragged.

Michael stared up, still dizzy from lack of oxygen and head injury, and their eyes locked.

Snapping away first, Michael started to his feet, before stumbling backwards into the cupboard again, as Mike launched forward to grab him.

Michael immediately jerked away, eyes full of contempt towards Mike, and spoke, “Don’t think this makes you better than me,” he started, “This doesn’t make us even.”

The words shook as they left his mouth, as Mike stared at him, hand still outstretched, incredulously, “I didn’t do it for you,” he hissed, bat in hand like a warning that Michael would be the next victim.

Michael narrowed his eyes, “Good, because you shouldn’t have,” he snarled, before letting his shoulders relax slightly as they both stood in a standstill over Vanessa.

“Well I did,” Mike shrugged, moving away to place the bat underneath his bed again, “So get over yourself.”

Michael grimaced behind him, “What do you want, then?” he spat, leaning back against the cupboard as he did, and watching as Mike turned around with a look of confusion lacing his face.

“What?” Mike questioned, eyebrow quirked up as he sat down on the bed, the mattress sinking around his form.

Michael scoffed, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt, “You saved my life, what do you want in return?” Mike's face somehow managed to look even more confused as he replied, “Nothing? What?”

Cautiously, Michael continued slowly, “You saved my life, now I owe you. That’s how this works,” Did he genuinely not understand?

“I told you I didn’t do it for you, I-” Mike hesitated, letting out a sigh, “I just didn’t want a body in my house.” Michael’s face clearly went through a few emotions as he settled on a glare.

“Well good, because I don’t need saving,” Michael started, before thinking, “Why’d you hesitate?” he pushed off of the cupboard, stepping forward, as Mike quickly replied, “I didn’t-“ to which Michael replied, “Yeah, you did.”

“Don’t start reading into it” Mike snarled, pulling himself to his feet as he spoke.

“You absolutely did-“

A groan that wasn’t from either of them echoed in the room.

Michael scrambled back and hit the cupboard, eyes flitting around the room as Vanessa seemingly started to wake up, breathing increasingly incessantly as he realised she would most definitely kill both of them once she woke up.

But Mike had scrambled into his bedside drawer, pulling out a pair of handcuffs as he did and throwing himself at Vanessa, and swiftly clicking them into place behind her back.

He stepped back, before deciding to grab a second larger pair to put around her ankles, then slowly moved closer to the door, nodding to Michael to follow him out of the room.

Once they got into the hallway, Mike slammed the door behind him, now obviously shaking.

Michael stood behind him, closer to the door, staring him down.

“…Why do you own those?” he asked, tone giving away the fact he was in fact intrigued instead of just asking a normal question.

“They’re not for you, don’t get excited,” Mike hissed, turning as he did to walk towards the kitchen.

Michael felt his face heat up and was in fact very glad Mike had turned around, “I wasn’t,” he scoffed, as he started to follow him in.

He watched as Mike gripped the kitchen counter, knuckles white and shoulders hunched together, clearly not as brave as his deal with the handcuffs had made him out to be.

There was a strange silence as Michael leant on the doorframe, just watching.

He noticed hickeys he didn’t know he’d left littering the back of Mike’s neck, and bruising marks in the shape of his hands across his arms. The back of his shirt was riding up, displaying his boxers as his sweatpants dipped down, and his hair seemed to stick to his neck and sides of his face more than normal.

He saw the way his hands clenched and unclenched the counter, and the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed as heavily as Michael had ever seen another person breathe.

Michael blinked out of his stupor, reminding himself that he’d just had his scars put on display for this guy, and that he should in fact be more angry with him.

With that realisation, Michael looked back to the bedroom, wondering about Vanessa. When had the Marionette gained control over her? Where was that stupid music box? Was she okay?

No. No, Vanessa always got what she wanted, and they were destined to live this life, their purpose was to serve Father and she was serving him by… trying to kill the man who’d killed him. And Michael had stopped her.

He’d stopped his sister who he’d been so desperate to convince her of her purpose from rejoining him.

He’d stopped her.

No, Mike had. He was the one who’d woken up and hurt her, his sister… Who’d just tried to kill Michael. But, he still hurt her, and saved Michael’s life. Two things that contradicted the entire story Mike seemed to be living, with Vanessa as his closest friend and Michael his sworn enemy.

The tables were turned on Michael and he’d only just realised the weight of the past 24 hours. He looked down at his hands, so pale and thin, littered with the fact he’d only ever had a purpose to serve Father.

Life for life. Vanessa had taken his life and he’d taken hers, but not in the way he’d assumed.

He heard the pounding of his heart in his ears before he realised his breathing was shallow and scratched, as his hands started to feel like they were miles away from his head.

The sound of a crash from the bedroom made his head snap up instantly, as he heard an ear splitting sound of wood creaking .

It really didn’t help his already racing heart and the panic settling deep in his bones, he stumbled backwards, closer into the kitchen, head beginning to pound harder due to the injury.

He felt so far away, mind racing and his Father’s mantra echoing in his head, as he realised that he had in fact fought with Vanessa and a punishment always came.

When he looked up, he felt compelled to rush forward towards the door, so he did just that.

There Vanessa was, sat up on the floor, tendrils snaking across the floor, eyes glowing, inviting him closer.

He stopped at the thrown open door, knuckles gripping the frame, eyes snapping straight to Vanessa’s.

Heavy breathing was all he heard behind him, Mike, just far enough to be sure he was safe.

“Michael,” she smiled, voice sweet and gentle, as her smile grew unnaturally, “What are you doing? You failed us,”

His eyes were locked on her, as he felt his expression falter into one of a childlike trance, something like finding treasure in the rubble.

He didn’t speak, just watched as the tendrils trembled, floating far away from him, reaching for him. Like a hand offering salvation.

Heart still echoing in his brain, blood dripping down his neck, he stepped an inch closer, as his breathing synced to the mantra echoing through his brain.

Vanessa spoke again, “You know we’re his, Michael,” her voice sounded like honey, “You know we have a purpose.” The word sang through his brain, pulling his senses further from his body as he stepped forward again.

He felt a hand wrap around his bicep, and he jerked it away unknowingly as he took another step forward, the tendril a mere inch away from him, before one snapped forward to wrap around his hand, trembling and weak, not tight and murderous like before, like a parent leading its child back to the light.

For a moment, Vanessa’s form turned into Father’s, and Michael almost threw himself at her, before he took in the yellow eyes once more.

“You weren’t supposed to stop me,” she continued, her tone turning almost disappointed, still with that soft edge that Father never had for him, “Father would punish you. He’d hate you.”

Michael stepped straight into the reach of the tendrils, eyes glazed over and teary when suddenly he felt hands on his shoulders ripping him backwards.

-

Mike ripped him out of the bedroom, spinning him and slamming him against the hallway wall, before shouting, “She just tried to kill you!”

Michael blinked, heart still racing, but seemingly out of his stupor. He looked up at Vanessa and down at Mike, who was glaring up at him with an unconscious twinge of fright in his eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he spat, slamming him back against the wall, as Michael’s head snapped to hold eye contact with Mike, who was panting like he had just ran a marathon, “Michael!”

“Michael,” Vanessa’s voice overlapped with Mike’s, as Michael's breath seemed to get trapped in his throat. His expression looked more scared than anything, as Mike swung his head around and yelled, “You, shut up!” before, with his hands still clenching Mike’s shoulders, dragged him down the hall and into a bathroom.

He sat Michael down on the toilet, before letting go, and locking the bathroom door.

“Michael?” he questioned, standing up, hands crossed over his chest, “What was that?”

Michael stayed silent, eyes not meeting Mike’s, his hands unsteadily moving to scratch at his wrist. His breathing was slowly returning to normal.

After an uncomfortably tense silence, Michael finally spoke.

“Don’t play hero with me,” Michael hissed, leaning his elbows on his thighs and holding his face.

Mike’s eyebrows furrowed, as he scoffed, “I’m not,” he leant backwards onto the sink, “You looked like you were hypnotised.”

Michael finally lifted his head up, eyes narrowed and full of anger, but didn’t say anything.

“Were you going to let her take you?” he asked, yet again, no reply. Mike sighed, standing up before slumping down onto the floor, back against the sink, “I’m sorry about earlier.” His voice was softer than before, an apologetic look etched into his face.

“What?” Michael snarled, leaning back away from him, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders tensed.

Hands in his hair, Mike gave him a pitying look before nervously speaking, “When I took your shirt off,” he started, almost sounding like that was where he would stop, before doubling down, “I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

Even though it didn’t seem possible, Michael’s shoulders rose more, almost a defensive barrier. He almost didn’t seem like he would reply, but replied, “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to…” he paused, an uncomfortable sound escaping his throat close to a ‘hmm’ and a whine, “…choke you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Mike smiled weakly, but his eyes conveyed that he still wasn’t completely convinced.

An incredibly small but seemingly genuine smile seemed to grace Michael’s face for just a moment, before he snapped back to uncomfortability.

Mike cleared his throat, before lifting himself off of his feet, and Michael followed his movements like a hawk, as Mike spoke, “I’m gonna go see what she’s doing. You stay here for now, please.”

Michael’s eyebrows quivered in annoyance, his face returning to a scowl, as he replied, “Fine, sure.”

Mike nodded, and unlocked the door, stepping out into the hallway. He guessed an apology was unusual to Michael but what he’d said was enough. Kind of.

Making his way down the hall, he noticed a tendril reaching out of the door. He stood in front of the door, much further than probably necessary, and looked at Vanessa.

Blood seemed to be dripping down the front of her face, mirroring the purple tears she sported.

“You,” she snarled, her soft tone completely dissipated as she glared at Mike.

“Yeah, me, hey,” Mike replied, tone nervous and worried, “You need to let her go, Charlotte, isn’t she your friend?”

Vanessa let out an unpleasant giggle, head rearing backwards and shaking tendrils snapping around her, one reaching straight out for Mike.

Flinching backwards, Mike glared at her, when she spoke again, “She’s an adult, just like you. You’re all the same, all stupid and never doing enough. You especially. Don’t you care about Abby? You’ve sent her away when she needs you the most. She needs you and you’ve dumped her, again.”

Mike’s jaw clenched along with his fists, before biting out a reply, “She’s safer. Safer away from you and all this mess.”

“I saw inside her head, you know. She thinks she’s a burden to you, and she’ll only think that more when she sees your neck, all marked up. What will she think when she finds out you’ve slept in the same bed as the man who tried to kill her.. and you, and Vanessa?” She continued, every word a push to send Mike over the edge, “You know she really liked Vanessa, and Vanessa sees her as her child. Maybe they’d both be better off without you, hm?”

Mike felt that deep in his bones. He knew it was probably true but he refused to listen, she was just trying to get a rise out of him, just get him to do something stupid, as if the last day hadn’t already been full of stupid decisions. But his palms were beginning to hurt with the nails digging so deep they’d leave marks.

“Vanessa loved you. So did Abby. Now they both just wish they’d never been born-“

Mike lunged forwards.

A mere step before he’s through the door he feels a hard weight pushing him to the floor, landing with a yell.

Michael is atop him, hands clenched in his shirt, as Vanessa continues.

“You couldn’t protect either of them, and you know it. You know you’re pathetic and you know you’re nothing without them.” Mike scrambles to fight Michael off of him, his mind hyper focused on getting to Vanessa and beating the life out of her.

His ears ring, bleeding out the noises around him, Michael clearly speaking above him as he wrestles to keep Mike stable, but failing, as Mike kicks his knee out, and shoving him off, scrambling to his feet as he feels thin arms wrap around his waist.

He feels himself spun around and held against a wall as Michael’s voice re-enters his ears.

“You sound just like Father,” he snarls, face turned to Vanessa, whose hum of a voice is cut off.

Clarity reenters Mike’s brain, as he begins to understand his surroundings.

Michael’s hands are clenched in his shirt, the sleeves of his shirt falling down his thin wrists, the scars evident, as Mike takes them in one by one.

One long one stretching the length of his wrist to his elbow. Tons of smaller ones spread along the canvas of his pale skin. It looks terribly uncomfortable and sends worry through Mike’s heart - a worry he didn’t want to feel for Michael - as Michael turns back to face him, hands falling down as he does.

“Isn’t that what you wanted, Michael?” Vanessa finishes, a snarl gracing her lips.

Michael spun on his heel, and almost shouted, “I wanted my sister back.”

Vanessa let out an ear-splitting scream, and the tendrils began slamming around the room, knocking the mirror off of the desk, and slamming the doors of the cupboards, violently clawing out of the doorframe as much as was humanely possible.

Then she stopped, eyes zoned in straight on Michael, “Then come get her,” she cried, softness returning into her voice.

Michael’s face contorted into a mixture of fear and familiarity.

“I can’t,” he replied, tone even and unnatural on him. Then he turned to the door and grabbed Mike, pulling him along with him.

-

When Mike stepped into Michael’s apartment, he was surprised at the cluttered and uncomfortably crowded nature of the place.

He couldn’t be too shocked, looking at Michael already told him he didn’t take good care of himself, but the takeout boxes and alcohol bottles littering the corners of the room spoke volumes. Still, the room was barren in every other aspect, white walls, a simple couch with a TV as the living space, and a seemingly untouched kitchen area.

Michael seemed more uncomfortable in his own home than he was at any point they’d been together before, as he began organising and stuffing garbage into a large black bag, before unceremoniously tossing it into the kitchen space.

Then, he turned to Mike with a sour expression on his face, but a faux smirk along with it, “I don’t have people around often,” he paused, “I guess make yourself comfortable?”

Giving a small nod, Mike made his way to the couch and slumped into it. It was surprisingly comfortable for a couch, and felt somewhat new in a good way. It perfectly sunk around him until he felt he could sleep peacefully on it.

The room felt awkward, as Michael rummaged through a drawer for something - Mike wasn’t sure what - until he pulled out a television remote from deep in the drawer. He held it up, like a question, and Mike nodded in reply.

Michael walked over, handing it to him before standing uncomfortably next to him, not sitting, just seemingly observing.

Mike tried his best not to think about it and flicked on a news channel, where a broadcast about the incident with the animatronics the past week was being shown. He saw Michael physically tense before walking away to a room off the main room. He sighed, flicking to a different channel.

Of course, he wasn’t really interested in any of the things he saw, more so the way Michael lived. It seemed like he didn’t spend much time there at all, but looking around you could tell he was definitely around. The clutter on some shelves told you that.

A photo of him and Vanessa sat on a shelf, with an assortment of Freddy’s toys next to it, and then one with William and him. Mike squinted, standing up and walking over to it to see.

William wasn’t smiling, seemingly trying to remove contact from Michael, who was standing, a small boy, no more than 6 or 7, grinning wide. Mike noticed a gap in his teeth, before looking down to the rest of him, and saw where his sleeve had lifted, a nasty bruise poking out.

Then his eyes drifted to William, looking at the lack of love in his eyes, the evil shown no matter what era he was living in. And then his eyes were drawn to his hands, held together in front of him, he could see red raw knuckles, and his heart dropped slightly.

He lifted his hand to pick up the photo. The sight of that bruise from the smiling boy standing right next to the man who was supposed to love and care for him just felt wrong to look at, so Mike put it down and reached for the photo of Vanessa and Michael instead.

Again, they both looked young, but not as young. Vanessa’s smile was small and sweet, while Michael’s was again the brightest and biggest. He could see in both of their eyes that something was wrong. Vanessa, however, looked completely untouched despite being in a short sleeved blue dress. In comparison, Michael didn’t. The tooth still missing, despite clearly being years apart, was the first sign.

The arm in the cast was the second. It could’ve always been a childhood accident, but from Michael’s still pale as ever complexion in comparison to Vanessa’s tanned skin, Mike assumed he didn’t get out much.

“What are you looking at?” Michael asked, and Mike turned to see him standing in the doorway of what he assumed was his bedroom.

Feeling like a trapped animal, Mike didn’t say anything, photo still clasped in his hand.

“Put that down,” Michael commanded, and Mike turned and did, as Michael walked over next to him. Mike looked back at the photo of Michael and William, before crossing his arms and speaking, “He didn’t even try to hide it.”

Grabbing the photo, Michael scowled and walked away, “Don’t.” He walked back into his bedroom, before coming out without the photo, “You know that’s an invasion of privacy, right?”

Mike scoffed, “I think you breaking into my house was an invasion of privacy.” To which Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, “Not that privacy, smartass,” he leant back on the wall before grumbling quietly, almost at a whisper, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You mean him?” Mike asked, eyebrows furrowed, stepping forward. Michael stiffened, hands clenched at his sides as he held out on the eye contact. There was a pause, before he spoke, definitive and defensive, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Sighing, Mike shot back, “You had a cast and a knocked out tooth in the same photo, I think that is a big deal.”

He watched as Michael’s jaw clenched, his fists turning white as he explained, “It was discipline, correction,” he paused, “Don’t look at me like that.”

Mike stepped closer again, in Michael’s space, not breaking eye contact, “So what, that’s what Vanessa was talking about?” Michael looked like a bomb about to explode, “It was just discipline.” His tone was clear, so Michael shot back, “You sound like her the way you’re defending it.”

He crossed his arms, his sleeves yet again slipping to show the scars.

“That wasn’t him,” Mike stated, colder than he meant to be, and Michael’s face paled, something Mike didn’t think was possible, as he noticed nails digging straight into the skin on his wrists.

“It worked.” Michael’s voice sounded distant and uncomfortable, as his nails began to draw blood from how deep they were indented.

Mike slowly moved his hand forward, gently prying the hand away from the skin, looking straight into Michael’s eyes, which now looked glazed over and straight through him.

“I don’t think it did,” Mike replied softly, as Michael blinked and seemed to come back into the moment, trying to pull his hand back, with Mike staying latched on, gently, which pulled Mike a step closer.

Mike echoed Michael, “It didn’t work.”

“You don’t understand me,” Michael hissed, whether in anger or pain, Mike couldn’t tell, “You can’t.”

Mike slowly let Michael have his hand back, but didn’t step back, as he spoke, “I can try.”

Michael looked him up and down, clearly not sure in the situation, before pulling away.

“You trying is the problem,” he finished, before turning into his bedroom and Mike watched as he threw on a black jacket, before turning on his heel and almost shoving past Mike.

Michael had grabbed his keys and was halfway to the door when Mike realised what was going on, and out of the door by the time he turned and spoke.

“I’ll be back.”

-

Michael’s quickened breath crystallised in the cold mist of the night, as he made his way down to the little shop down the road. He looked down to his hands, trying to ground himself before he had another emotional moment and spotted crusting blood on his fingernails.

He grimaced before licking it off of his finger, wincing at the metallic taste it left in his mouth before shoving his hands in his pockets. God, why did Mike seem to be so inclined to get into his head and find out what was inside.

That was the last thing Michael needed as of right now, with everything that had happened in the past day and a half. All he knew was that he needed a drink and he needed it now.

The warm burst of air the shop rewarded him with when he walked in was a blessing, as he pulled his hands out of his pockets and made a beeline straight for the alcohol. He knew what he needed at the current moment in time, and it was a bottle of vodka.

He quickly grabbed it, and made his way to pay, before wondering if he should get something for Mike too, before pushing the thought out of his head because what the fuck.

The cashier looked just as tired as he felt, smiling weakly at him before saying, “Rough night?” - evidently he also looked tired too. Michael nodded and smirked, paying and leaving as quickly as possible.

With that comment, he realised he hadn’t properly looked at his face in… a while.

He probably looked an absolute wreck. He sighed and stopped down an alleyway beside his apartment building. No way was he letting Mike watch him drown his thoughts in alcohol, he’d do that part himself.

The burn as the drink went down sent a grounding sensation down his throat. Pain was good, pain meant he was still here.

He shut his eyes as he felt the alcohol begin to take his edge off, minorly, but enough to make a difference in the moment.

“BOO!” someone shouted in front of him, and as his eyes snapped open he was met with blonde hair, with purple tears falling down a white face, and almost sent a punch straight through a teenage girl. The girl just giggled and smiled, before speaking, “Happy late Faz-Fest! I love your costume, I’m glad someone else is still on theme!”

Her voice was sweet, and reminded him wholly of Vanessa. He simply smirked, and replied, “I almost punched you, kid. Run along, it’s not safe this late.”

The girl smiled up at him, softly, and spoke once more, “I know, my friends are just up ahead! Have a good night, sir!” And then she was gone. But Michael refused to acknowledge the pounding in his heart. Instead, he started chugging more of his drink.

-

Mike sat on the couch, foot tapping as he watched the news, half expecting a report that Michael had just thrown himself into oncoming traffic, but instead he was met with the sound of keys turning in a lock and the opening of the door.

Head snapping sideways, he first spotted a half empty bottle of vodka in Michael’s hand, then he looked at his face and was sure of the fact that Michael had just left to go and drink.

And honestly what the fuck.

Michael stumbled in, clearly too drunk for his own body weight, before clearly focusing in on Mike, and slurring about as much as one man could, “What are you still doing here?”

Confused, Mike stood up and started walking towards him, to which Michael almost stumbled back through the door.

Mike quickly pushed forwards and shut the door over his shoulder, pulling the bottle and keys from his hands, and pushing past to lock the door.

“Wha-“ was all Michael could say before Mike spun around and grabbed him by the bicep, dragging him along and sitting him down on the couch.

Then, he walked to the kitchen, placing the bottle on the countertop, before looking back at Michael and seeing truly how wasted he must be.

Mike sighed, before heading straight for his bedroom and grabbing a purple short sleeved shirt, and making a beeline straight for Michael.

He stood in front of him, holding out the shirt, and Michael just looked up at him confused.

“Take your jacket off, please. Your face is completely red,” Mike asked, with Michael still looking dumbfounded.

Mike sighed, deciding to do it himself, pulling his arms out of the jacket, to which he was met with a confused, slurred, “We’re doing this again?” Mike froze, before replying, “No, Michael. You just need to cool down.”

Michael almost looked disappointed, before he pulled his own shirt off of his head, and they worked together to pull the other shirt on.

To Mike, Michael looked far too casual than he’d ever seen him before, and as he stood over him he felt a hand reach up for his back and drag him down to the couch, almost falling completely on top of Michael if it weren’t for his reflexes reaching out to hold the head of the couch.

Michael looked up at him, eyes looking strangely similar to a dog kicked to the curb.

Then, Mike felt the hand on his back retreat and he stood back up once again. He stepped back, and Michael’s eyes followed his every move.

Mike really didn’t know what he was meant to do in this situation, seeing the man who he’d despised just a mere two days before completely vulnerable and anew in front of him.

The only thing he could think to do was sit down next to him instead, as he slowly slumped down onto the couch.

The television was still droning on about some stupid news report, leaving Mike thinking.

“Do you think Vanessa’s out?” he asked quietly, and Michael’s head snapped drunkenly to look at him.

“I don't want to talk about that shit right now,” he scowled, eyes seeming slightly clearer before they went glazed again.

Mike sighed, watching his face. He looked softer when drunk, more human. And had he really wanted to pull the same shenanigans they had at the start of this whole ordeal? Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but opened his mouth anyways, “Michael, you do know you’re insanely wasted right now?”

Michael hummed in response, his body slowly turning towards Mike as he stared at him.

“Right. You… What are you doing?” Mike asked, as Michael sat to face him completely, one leg hanging off the side of the couch, the other pulled into a crisscross position on it, his body slowly slumping down towards Mikes.

In a few moments, Michael’s tall figure had found its place on Mike’s, head thumping against his shoulder and legs uncomfortably positioned underneath him.

Mike quickly moved to accommodate him, not even noticing what he was doing until Michael’s head was on his chest and his arms were wrapped around Mike’s waist.

Oh shit.

This was way too tender for them. Too domestic.

Mike sighed and asked, “Are you good?” To which he felt a mumbling vibration against his chest. He clenched his teeth as he pushed his leg out, sending Michael’s both backwards to lay on the couch, removing the leverage he had to sit up and sending Michael crashing down until his head was laid on Mike’s hip.

The couch was a bit small for the both of them, but Mike didn’t really stress in comparison to his worry for Michael.

There was a very likely chance Michael wouldn’t even remember this when he woke up.

But then he heard the vibrations of a groan against his hip as Michael lifted his head up, “You stink like laundry detergent,” he slurred, a dumb smile across his face.

Mike squinted at him. God this guy was weird. But not a bad weird, as Mike responded, “Right, that doesn’t make sense Michael.” Michael simply snorted out a laugh and flipped onto his back, arms falling down on his chest, staring at Mike upside down, head now laid right between Mike’s legs.

They stayed like that for a moment, just looking at each other, and Mike took in how actually pretty his eyes were when he wasn’t glaring.

“I almost hit that girl,” he suddenly slurred, eyes pinching closed as he seemingly tried to remember something. Mike didn’t know what, so he pushed, “What girl?”

Michael tilted his head slightly, eyebrow raised like he thought Michael knew, “The blonde girl, she was- had- she looked like,” he groaned, head lolling to the side, eyes shut, “Faz-Fest thing- looked like…” he seemingly lost his track, eyes flickering back open and head turning to focus on Mike.

Mike thought it best not to pry, his logic telling him if he did Michael might snap, with the way he’d reacted to the Faz-Fest shit on the television earlier.

“It’s weird when you look at me like that,” he admitted. It was now Mike’s turn to look and feel confused. He didn’t realise he’d looked at him differently at all, so asked, “Like what?”

Michael paused at that, fog clearing for a moment as he said, “Like I’m normal… fixable.”

Watching as he blanked again, Mike really wondered if any of this would mean anything tomorrow. If he’d be murdered in his sleep. He kept eye contact with Michael, not replying for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Sighing, Michael slurred again, “You shouldn’t be here.” He sounded almost disappointed in himself, pulling an arm up to his face, before looking down at it and yanking it back away from his vision. Instead he began fiddling with a loose thread on Mike’s sweatpants.

Mike’s own hand moved before he noticed, beginning to twirl Michael’s hair in his finger as he queried, “How come?” Watching as Michael’s eyes left his, instead choosing to stare at the ceiling.

“Because you’ll stay.”

It was a scary confession from someone who seemed so desperate to hold onto people, like Vanessa and William, but it sure made sense. The problem was, could Mike stay? Could Mike endanger the life he’d built with Abby for Michael Afton? Would they even survive with the Marionette loose? Mike didn’t know, he just kept teasing the hair in his hand.

Michael had strangely gelled hair, and Mike began to wonder what it would look like naturally. Would it even sit the same way? So many questions wrapped around his head took his mind off of the strange confession-like statement, until Michael spoke again.

“You didn’t flinch,” his voice was more distant now, almost tired, but the slur remained. Mike looked down to find him still staring holes into the ceiling. Mike gently said, “At what?” and Michael’s eyes returned to connect with his, his voice sounding more clear when he said, “When you saw them.”

Mike furrowed his brow, “Saw what?” and Michael stopped fiddling with the thread. He seemed unresponsive for a moment, before sighing out a, “These,” lifting his arms limply, before dropping them like dead weights.

Mike kept teasing his hair, almost trying to lull him to sleep before he had to give a reply to that, but he knew that he had to make an effort to show that they didn’t make him see him differently - well, they did. They made him seem more human, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Why would I?” he settled on, a safe bet that didn’t truly need an answer, but of course Michael’s drunk brain decided to try, “Because they’re ugly and make me look weak.”

Mike paused his teasing, worried he’d just dug himself into a corner he didn’t know how to get out of, but still he slid his hand down to Michael’s wrist, and simply said, “This doesn’t make you weak, you’re still here.”

Michael’s eyes seemed to look right through him for a moment, blinking slowly, before refocusing and looking like he was studying every inch of Mike’s face, memorising and learning before saying, “You’re gonna ruin me.”

With that sentence running full speed in circles around his head, Mike watched as his eyes fluttered shut, like a final, fatal blow of the night, with his breathing evening out until it became a steady rhythm.

He didn’t think he’d ever forget that sentence. But slid down slightly, holding Michael up momentarily before letting his head rest on his chest, and shutting his eyes.

-

Michael woke with a pounding headache, a stiff neck and a dry mouth. He groaned lightly as he realised this was absolutely not his bed, and that there was a leg entangled with his.

Oh shit.

Did he say something? Did he ask something? Did Mike answer? Did he do anything he was about to regret? His breathing picked up as he began trying to gently untangle himself from Mike’s body. He was not dealing with the aftermath with this hangover.

Once he stood up, he looked straight at Mike, snoring slightly, and was much more aware of the fact they were both asleep, fully clothed, on the couch. So no sex, that was good. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with that revelation.

But the word he recalled in his head made him realise that sex might’ve been a better thing.

Weak. He’d said something about being weak. He wasn’t weak, so what was he talking about? He looked down at himself and quickly realised he was in a completely different shirt, short sleeved at that.

Right, well there’s his answer. He moved away quickly to his bedroom to try and grab whatever long sleeved shirt he could find, when he recalled the image of Mike’s hand on his scars. He didn’t know what to do with that one, so he instead simply dropped the shirt he’d grabbed and moved back into the main room.

Breathing in heavily through his nose, he noticed the half empty bottle of vodka on the kitchen counter. No wonder his hangover sucked so much. Maybe a shower would help. Time alone, no background sounds of the man he’d probably just poured his pathetic little heart out to.

So he turned to the bathroom, and finally looked at himself for the first time in two days.

Jesus H. Christ. A wreck was an understatement. There was dried blood around the ring of his nose, some dripping down the side of his neck where what looked like rope marks sat, his hair more separated than ever, and his eyes sunken.

He almost had the urge to pummel his fists into the stupid reflection, just to show that he was more than what he looked like. He could ruin it if he wanted to.

You’re gonna ruin me.

Oh for fucks sake. Of course he’d said some ambiguous thing to Mike, just to leave him wondering what the fuck he’d meant. Michael didn’t even really know what he’d meant by it.

He turned to switch the shower on, as hot as humanely possible, and started to remove his clothes, spotting slightly fading hand shaped bruises along his back and shoulders. And even he had hickeys. God, a wreck was an understatement.

Stepping into the warm air, flashes of Mike’s face above him ran through his mind.

Why was he so attached to him? What about him was pulling Michael in?

He dropped his head under the spray and onto the wall tiles in front of him, having the sick urge to slam his head into them until his skull broke open. The headache he was sporting didn’t help with that.

He watched as blood ran down his body, and used the feeling of boiling water crashing against his earlier head injury to soften his thoughts and bring him back. His hair dripped in front of his eyes as he pulled his hands across his face, flipping it behind him as he reached for his shampoo, lathering it throughout his hair.

Eventually he was done with his shower and stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist and sighing at the cold air in his apartment.

He headed straight to his room, towelling off his hair and drying his body, before grabbing boxers, pulling them on, finding sweatpants that weren’t Mikes, and giving up on finding a shirt.

Walking back into the main room, he saw Mike still peacefully sleeping on the couch. He seemed like he was shivering, so Michael went back into his room and pulled out a blanket from the depths of his cupboard.

Once back in the main room, he gently placed it over Mike’s frame, listening to his breathing before feeling intensely creepy and walking over to his cupboards. He reminded himself that Mike hadn’t eaten since the pancakes, and he seemed like he could actually stomach food.

Michael found some plain cereal in the cupboard, and found one of the only bowls he owned, setting it all down on the counter with a spoon.

Then he ended up leaning against the counter, wracking his brain to remember anything more of what he’d said or done last night, while watching for the slightest movement from Mike.

-

When Mike did wake up, Michael was no further in his fight to remember anything whatsoever. His hangover had certainly lessened thanks to the ibuprofen he’d dry swallowed, but he was still terrified by what he was going to learn.

Mike sat up, wiping his eyes, and looking down at the blanket, before swivelling his head around frantically, almost looking like he was worried he’d lost Michael.

But when their eyes met, Mike didn’t seem to calm down as much as he seemed unsure.

Like one wrong move would set off a bomb both of them had armed.

“Morning,” Michael said, once more sounding just as nervous as he had the first time they’d woken up together.

Mike replied in turn this time, however, as he stood up, “Morning,” he still seemed worried about his words, slowly walking forward to the counter, with Mike standing one one side, Michael on the other.

Michael sighed, looking towards the bottle and waving an arm at it, trying to act unphased, “How much did I say?”

Mike squinted, leaning forward against the counter, eyes darting from the bottle, to Michael, to the bottle again, before replying, “How much do you remember?”

Feeling like he was being put on the spot, Michael tensed, “A bit.” He felt his face flush with embarrassment as Mike seemingly studied him, before Mike replied, “You know it wasn’t that bad, really.”

Michael scoffed at him, “From what I do remember and the fact you’ve just said it’s ’not that bad’, I think I could disagree,” Mike seemed somewhat caught off guard by that, as Michael continued, “That’s for you, by the way,” gesturing to the cereal.

Raising an eyebrow, Mike grabbed the cereal and started pouring a lot more than average into the bowl, and asked, “You got any milk?”

Michael faltered momentarily. He forgot people did that, he turned to his fridge, opening it to find quite literally only milk in there. He checked the expiration date, and thank God for him it was in date.

When he turned back to Mike, he saw in his eyes that he’d seen the barren fridge, but to Michael’s benefit, he didn’t say anything and simply poured his milk and began eating.

Michael contemplated for a minute, before deciding to speak, “Don’t read into last night.”

Mike's eyes looked up from his food at that, a mix of worry evident in his face, as he finished the food in his mouth he spoke, “I wasn’t planning on it,” he ate another spoonful before continuing, “But you can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

Freezing for a moment, Michael folds his arms defensively, “I was drunk,” was his muttered defence, and as Michael finished his last spoonful, he looked up, “Yeah, you were. But you meant it, did you not?” He seemed unsure about the last sentence.

Michael stayed silent, breathing out a sigh, and giving him a look that he hoped conveyed that he probably did mean it.

“You said they made you weak,” Mike continued, leaning off of the counter to stand up straight, as Michael’s jaw tensed. The marks did and he knew it. But Mike didn’t stop, “They don’t.”

Those two words made Michael’s jaw relax and shoulders sag slightly. He looked from Mike’s left eye to his right one, searching for the sign of a lie. The sign he was about to burst out laughing and leave. But there was none.

“You seriously don’t flinch at the sight of them?” Michael asked, his brain recalling yet another thing he realised he said last night, but now he didn’t have the safety net of drunkenness to blame it on.

Mike began to walk around the counter, Michael’s eyes following him as he did and causing him to stand upright against the counter instead of leaning on it. Once he reached him, he looked him dead in the eyes and said one word, “No.”

A silence stretched over them, and Michael could sense the change in his breathing, at the fact Mike was again insanely close to him, but this time it didn’t feel like an interrogation, or something he wouldn’t remember.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he settled on, eyes searching for a way to tell him to get out while he still could. To tell him that Michael wasn’t worth all of this. But Mike stepped closer into his space, looking right back into his eyes and replied, “Probably.”

With that, Michael lent closer in, eyes darting between Mike’s, completely unsure. Mike returned the favour before slowly reaching a hand into Michael’s now softened hair, and pulling him into a kiss.

It was completely different from their first one. Slower, deliberate, annoyingly more tender and purposeful. How Mike could see the worst parts of Michael and still have it in him to do this baffled him. But he was absolutely not complaining in his current position.

He found his hand snaking down to Mike’s waist, not grabbing, just holding.

Michael pulled back, pupils blown wide and mouth still parted, as he spoke, “You know this is a terrible idea, right?” Mike looked at him, his eyes a very clear mirror, pupils blown so wide his eyes almost looked fully black, “Yeah,” was his reply before he dragged Michael back in.

-

They broke apart when they heard the news broadcast still on giving a report.

“Breaking News -“ it said, “Reports of a humanoid creature with long tendrils roaming the streets have been confirmed by police, suspect is blonde, and reportedly has been seen floating. Keep your children inside, and stay inside yourselves.”

Mike’s face dropped - Abby. He needed to be with her right now, so turned to Michael, whose head was facing the television.

“You got a phone?” he asked, as Michael replied quickly, “Yeah, it’s in my bedroom- wait why?”, his head spinning back to Mike.

Incredulously, he replied “I need to speak to Abby,” then a look of realisation crossed his face, “I’ll explain it all to her.”

Michael raised an eyebrow, watching Mike head into the bedroom and return with a landline, stood by the bedroom door, pressing an array of buttons.

“Hello? Mrs-“ he started, before a voice seemed to cry out in relief, “Mike! Where are you? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours, we went to your house and it was wrecked. Abby suggested you were with your friend - Jeremy, I believe - but when we went to his, no one was in! Where are you? Abby’s been terrified ever since they were sent back from school.”

Mike’s face dropped, as he replied, “I’m so sorry, Lisa, I saw Jeremiah was out and went to a different friend. The house wasn’t safe for me to stay in - uhm, it’s just not safe right now.”

The woman on the phone - Lisa - let out a sigh, “It’s quite alright Mike, but where are you now? I’ll bring Abby to you. I’m sure she’ll be much happier once she sees you.”

A smile crossing Mike’s face, he replied, “Sure, I’m at-“ he held a hand over the phone as he asked Michael, "Address?", who gave it to him, as he turned back to the phone and repeated the address.

“Alright, I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail,” Lisa finished, the line going dead.

Mike dropped his arm to his side, stress evident on his face.

“So what the hell are you gonna tell her?” Michael asked, gesturing at himself.

-

The doorbell rang as Mike was still pacing throughout the room, Michael now in his bedroom with the door shut.

He rushed to the door, opening it to see Abby stood in front of Lisa and her daughter. Abby screamed in happiness, rushing forward into Mike’s arms.

Mike looked up apologetically at Lisa, an expression on her face showing that she had questions, but wouldn’t ask, before Mike spoke, voice slightly strained due to the tightness Abby hugged him with, “I’m so sorry I didn’t call earlier-“ Lisa cut him off, a smile on her face, “Please, it’s no bother. Abby’s such a sweet girl, I’m just glad you’re alright. Stay safe, and bye Abby!”

The little girl stood next to her mom and squealed, “Bye Abby!” before they shut the door and the room went silent.

Abby let go, eyes wide as she looked to Mike, “Who’s house even is this, Mike?”

Mouth open to say something, Mike faltered, before sighing and crouching slightly to her level, “Listen, first I need to tell you what’s been going on, and I need you to not freak out on me, okay?”

Abby nodded, eyes curious but skeptical, as Mike continued, “You remember when Charlotte was in your head? And I got her out with that music box? Well she managed to get her way into Vanessa’s head-“

Face dropping, Abby cut in, “So she’s who the news is talking about?”

Mike nodded, before continuing, “Vanessa- no, Charlotte tried hurting me, but the friend whose house we’re in now saved me- saved my life. Now it’s not who you’d expect at all, but I need you to just hear me out.”

Abby again looked insanely skeptical, “I didn’t know you even had friends other than Jeremiah and Vanessa…” Mike laughed slightly, as he spoke again, “Well this person wasn’t a friend until very recently. He’s really not what you’re going to expect but I promise he wants to help.”

“Who is it?” Abby questioned, looking around the room, before looking back to Mike.

Mike grimaced, before speaking once more, “You cannot freak out,” he finished before turning back to the bedroom and calling, “Uh, come out I guess.”

As Michael stepped out of the room, arms raised slightly like he was approaching a caged animal, Abby screamed in fear, “What?! Michael Afton?”

She scrambled backwards as Mike rushed forward to her, “Listen, Abby-“ she tried to pull backwards from him, but reaching the door quicker than she expected, “Abby- no- he saved me-“

Michael cut in, voice slightly more tender than usual, “I’m not going to hurt you.” Was all he said, voice quiet. Mike continued, “He doesn’t want me or you or Vanessa dead, okay?”

Eyes still wide with fear, darting between Mike and Michael stood far behind him, still and looking nervous, Abby spoke, “Why is he here?”

Mike slowly exhaled, before composing himself, “He lives here, he invited me here because Vanessa was in our house, trying to hurt us.”

“Is Charlotte in him too?” she asked, voice small and shaking, “Are you sure he isn’t going to hurt us?”

Mike nodded, hold on Abby’s shoulders softening as she stopped fighting, and spoke, “I thought he was evil.”

Michael winced, before speaking again, “Things have changed,” and shrugging slightly, “We just need to figure out how to stop Charlotte.”

Mike stood to his full height again, wracking his brain to try and think, eyes pinched shut.

“The music box,” Abby whispered, small and quiet, before getting louder, “Mike you used that music box to get her out of my head! What if that works for Vanessa too?”

Eyes lighting up, Mike spoke, “Abby you’re a genius, but I don’t remember where I put it.”

A smile spread across Abby’s face, “It’s in my room! I thought it was pretty so I took it.” Mike threw his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off her feet as he did.

Michael looked away as Mike lifted her, his jaw clenching imperceptibly.

Mike turned back to him after putting Abby down, and spoke, “Right, so back to the house?”

Michael nodded, moving to grab his keys and watching as Abby flinched away from him. He pretended not to notice, before letting her step back and unlocking the door.

“I’ll drive.”

-

The ride there was slightly tense and awkward, but once they’d pulled up and parked, Abby flew out of the car.

The house looked the same. Broken windows, just as they’d left it.

Mike quickly followed after her, shouting, “Abby- wait!”

But she was already standing at the door, pushing it open to see wreckage across the floor.

She sucked in a breath, as Mike reached behind her, looking back at him before running forward into her bedroom, Mike on her tail.

Michael followed slowly after, reaching the doorway and pausing. Things were still strewn about the floor, cracks through the walls and Mike's bedroom door half off its hinges, he turned and shut the door behind him, listening for any sound of something off.

Mike watched as Abby rummaged through her drawer, before pulling out the music box, smiling up at him, proud of herself.

Michael had stepped more into the house now, inspecting the hallway around them when Abby shot out of the bedroom, holding the music box up like a trophy and giving Michael a big grin before clearly realising who she was looking at and faltering.

Michael gave her a small smile back, then he heard it.

The soft click of the door opening.

A creak.

Then, it shut.

He spun on his heel, moving back slowly as he did. Mike stepped out of the bedroom, behind Abby.

There stood Vanessa, in front of the door, eyes still that bright yellow.

She smiled, unnaturally soft, the lack of tendrils around her a confusing sight.

She started forward, and Michael spoke, a barrier between her and Abby.

“Turn it on,” was all he said, a command, as Abby looked down at the box, opening it quickly.

The melody began, and Vanessa froze mid step, her smile dropping completely, body going still.

A tendril snapped out of her arm, reaching for Abby as Michael threw himself in the way, tendril throwing him sideways, hitting the wall hard as it began tightening around his neck, as Vanessa began to levitate slightly, body twitching.

More tendrils snapped out, wildly, shaking like live wires, as one threw itself directly towards Abby.

It stopped, mere inches before her face, Vanessa staggered in the air, before convulsing as the melody swelled.

Tendrils snapped back into her body as she let out a cry. Vanessa collapsed on the floor as the jingle of the music box rang through the air, coughing and convulsing. Michael threw himself off of the floor, breathing shallow as he crouched next to her, hand grabbing for her shoulder, eyes full of concern and fear.

As she looked up, her eyes were her usual beautiful blue, mirroring Michael’s. He let out a sigh of relief as his head rested against hers.

Concern and worry lacing her face, she spoke, voice back to its usual tone, “Michael?”, then her eyes shut, seemingly searching for how she ended up there. Once she’d opened them again, he saw it in her eyes.

Relief and pure sadness. “I’m sorry, Michael, I’m so, so sorry,” her eyes darted back to Abby and Mike, standing behind him, “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I would’ve never- I’m, I didn’t mean to hurt you all,” her eyes welled with tears as Michael helped her to her feet.

The music box’s jingle rang through the silence, as Mike and Abby moved closer, fear plastered across Abby’s, Mike’s concerned.

Mike held a hand out to her, a weak smile gracing his face, “We know, you’re okay. I’m sorry for cutting you off,” he sighed, “I know how much Abby means to you, and I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Vanessa cried out, throwing herself into his arms and a hug, before pulling back slightly, and turning to Abby, “I promise I’ll never hurt either of you ever again, or hide anything else.” Abby’s eyes softened, her mouth quirking up into a massive smile, as she threw herself towards Vanessa.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she cried, tears beginning to stream down her face, squeezing Vanessa so tight she looked like she’d pop.

Abby let go, and Vanessa scuffed her hair up, a real smiling stretching across her face.

Then she turned back to Michael, as Abby moved back.

“So, Michael,” she started, looking slightly unsure of herself, voice shaking, “You wanna tell me what’s happened around here?” Her arm gesturing vaguely to Mike.

Michael saw Mike’s face redden, as he felt his own, “Well, uh. That’s a good question,” he scratched at his wrist nervously, before continuing, “Listen I think that’s the part of the story for when Abby’s not around.”

Abby, now stood inspecting the music box, looked back at them, “I’m not a kid, Michael, I’m 11, I can listen!”

Spinning on his heel, Mike spoke, “No, Abby, you heard what you needed to, I’ll tell you more when it’s time.” Abby’s face transformed into a frown, as she looked back to the music box, and Mike turned back to the others.

Vanessa raised her eyebrow at Michael, who sighed, “Whatever, long story short, I broke in, uhm, we… bonded you could say, you wigged out, we ran off, bonded some more and came here and stopped yo- Charlotte. It’s nothing official so don’t start-“

Scoffing, Vanessa spoke again, “I meant that less than a week ago you were obsessed with killing him for Father. Not… God. What happened to that?” Michael tensed, feeling his face flush even redder.

“Call it an epiphany,” Michael huffed, and as the room went silent, he realised he couldn’t hear the music anymore.

The room seemed smaller, as they suddenly stood frozen.

Vanessa and Mike seemed to notice as well, as their heads span to find Abby stood with her hand over the button.

“Abby, turn that back on!” Mike yelled, stepping towards where Abby stood, who stepped closer to Mike replied, “What? Charlotte’s better now, isn’t she?”

Mouth agape, Vanessa followed, speaking more softly, “No, no Abby, she’s just asleep, she’ll wake back up if you don’t turn it back on.”

Michael spoke, “Abby- please” before stiffening, feet lifting from the floor.

“Abby, you need to turn that back on right now,” Mike commanded, before noticing Abby’s switch in expression from confusion to horror, “What?” he asked, before watching a tendril shoot out and sweep Abby away, against the wall by her neck.

Mike yelled, “Abby!”, rushing forward towards her, hand almost clutching hers, before a tendril wrapped around his leg, sending him face planting to the floor with a groan.

Vanessa’s head snapped back, fear lacing her face as she did, as a wave of tendrils snaked around her body, holding her against the floor.

More tendrils snaked throughout the room, clutching at broken window frames, anchoring into every crevice they could reach, the amount of them seeming impossible.

There was Michael, eyes a golden yellow, as Mike scrambled onto his back, eyes darting from Vanessa to Michael with an expression of pure terror etched across his face.

“You’re always too late,” Michael hissed, his voice laced with venom, sounding exactly as he had during their first fight, as more tendrils wrapped around Mike's arms and legs, pulling him closer and upwards as he wrestled against them.

As he did, the tendrils simply tightened, and Abby cried out, tears again in her eyes, “Michael! Stop! You’re scaring-“, a second tendril wrapped its way around her mouth, cries muffled out, loosening slightly around her before tightening once more.

Mike pulled as hard as he could, screaming, “Abby!” Head snapping back to her, breath heaving as he looked at his sister, eyes wide and full of tears.

But then, a tendril wrapped around his own face, pulling it back to face Michael, who cried out, devastatingly sad, “Don’t look at-“ before the venom laced voice overlapped his, finishing the sentence, “Look at me.”

Mike’s eyes were full of hate and fright as he spoke, his voice mirroring them, “You’re not him-“ before a tendril wrapped its way around his mouth, silencing him.

“I told you you’d ruin me,” Michael snarled, pulling Mike closer than ever, before readjusting to slam him against the wall, hands trembling and attempting to jerk away, landing on Mike’s shoulders before they found their way around his neck. The tendril around Mike’s mouth trembling as he continued, “Now look at what’s happened. Everyone you love is ruined.”

Mike attempted to shout something, muffled completely by the tendril, wrestling harder than ever against the binds, as the tendrils began to snap at the house around them, knocking over a lamp, and smashing through a wall.

“You should have let me die.”

The voice was slightly less cold and venomous, almost a cry, before snapping back to venom, “You stole that from me,” he snarled, hands shaking as they tightened, a cry ripping out of Michael, “Stop-“ before he snarled, “-fighting.” Tendrils began sliding back towards Michael as they pushed down against Mike’s body, jerking around as they began to crush him, a muffled, air starved scream ripping out of his throat.

There was a scuffle behind Michael, who snapped his head back to see the tendrils around Vanessa sliding back to him before she started clambering to her feet, suddenly free. A tendril shot towards her as she dove for the music box, dodging the suddenly much less controlled tendril.

There was a click.

The melody began.

Michael arched violently, tendrils snapping back into him like barbed wire being ripped free. Purple tears burned brighter. His voice broke.

Then, everything dropped.

Vanessa rushed forward to grab Abby in her arms, shaking as they locked eyes, tears flowing down Abby’s face.

Mike slumped down against the wall, shaking.

Michael lay crumpled, body contorting angrily as he half coughed half screamed, before going still.

Mike’s arm snapped forward immediately, clutching at his shoulder, and pulling him upwards.

Eyes filled with tears and teeth clenched, Michael locked eyes with Mike, before he whispered “I meant it.”

“You should’ve let me die,” he finished, knees reaching the floor as he shook violently.

“I didn’t,” Mike replied, before putting both his arms underneath Michael, and dragging him forward in a hug.

Michael’s eyes widened, breathing shallow, quick, arms limp at his side, staring down the wall, whole body trembling.

Abby stepped forward, pulling away from Vanessa still shaking, grasp, “It’s okay,” she said, a small smile on her face.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said, tone soft and gentle, her childlike innocence strange in the situation.

Vanessa stood close behind her, “I’m impressed, you fought her,” her tone slightly shaky but kind, “You’re stronger than me.” The last sentence almost a scoff, but an unserious one.

There was a beat, before she spoke again, “Well?” She pulled Abby under her arm, into a half hug. “Aren’t you gonna hug him back?”, a joking tone only matched by the lopsided smile on her face.

Michael stared forward a moment longer, his hands fisted in the back of Mike’s shirt, gripping like he might fall through the floor otherwise.

He let his head drop into Mike’s shoulder, shoulders sagging.

-

A week later, Vanessa was sitting with Abby unpacking, Abby reached in and grabbed her Chica plush, a sweet grin plastered across her face.

“Don’t you agree that Chica’s the best character?” she asked, waving the toy in front of Vanessa’s face, who smiled, “She’s up there, but Bonnie’s so much cooler.”

Abby’s head tilted slightly in agreement, before rushing off to her bedroom and disappearing into her new room.

Vanessa looked up to Michael, who still seemed to be studying the walls, now bare of photos, with only frames littering the walls.

“You alive over there?” she joked, picking the box up as she stood, turning to almost smack straight into Abby, before speaking again, “This is all your stuff, wanna take it into your room?”

Abby nodded, arms outstretched as the box landed in them, before rushing back off.

Michael was looking at her as she turned back, “I had a photo you could put up here, Van.”

Raising her eyebrow, Vanessa walked over, when Michael pulled out the framed photo of them when they were younger from a box.

“I remember that,” she said softly, eyes reaching Michael’s as she did, “You always looked so happy.”

Michael scoffed slightly, before handing it to her, “You don’t have to put it up if you don’t want to. It’s just one of the only things I thought to bring.”

A smile stretched across Vanessa’s face, “You thought a picture of us was important enough to bring?” her tone was slightly teasing, “You’re such a softy.”

Michael flicked the side of her head at that, a slight frown tugging at his lips, “Don’t start,” he scoffed, walking upstairs towards his room.

Shouting after him, Vanessa clearly had a smile on her face as she continued, “It’s going front and centre! Right where everyone can see it!”

“Shut up!” he yelled back, obviously smiling too.

When he reached the doorway of his and Mike’s room, Mike was fiddling around the cupboard.

“Why the fuck do you own so much purple?” he scowled, head turning to face him, and Michael let out a small chuckle.

The music box sat on a dresser down the hall, playing softly.

No one turned it off.