Chapter Text
Michael has never been one to lose his composure easily; like his father, he has everything planned out and always seems to be two steps ahead. But now? He's starting to crack
No one has seen Vanessa in almost a month, none of her friends have been able to contact her, her workplace says she hasn't shown up, and no one in town seems to know anything, which makes him more anxious than ever. At least before, he could check on her from afar, see that she was doing well living her shiny new life, but now... what is he supposed to do?
As usual, Michael woke up at 7am sharp, the alarm blaring loudly on his nightstand
"stupid alarm..."
he hit the alarm to turn it off as he sat grumbling. He knows he should stop hitting the alarm, because if it breaks, he's too cheap to buy another one, but it's a habit he can't break. Still half asleep, he got up to go to his closet and find something to wear, the same as always: a purple polo shirt, black pants, and his jacket with the Freddy's badge, because God forbid he wear something different for once...
His footsteps echoed through his house—his father's house—as he descended the stairs toward the kitchen. The kitchen table was a mess, blueprints and maps scattered across its surface, but Michael ignored the chaos for now as he went to make himself a coffee sweeter than a block of pure sugar. While the coffee brewed, Michael began to think…
He really needed to find Vanessa, needed to know she was okay, and if not, to rescue her. But what other options did he have? again, His sister's entire social circle knew nothing, his workplace knew even less, and it wasn't as if he himself knew anyone who could help him… His only resource was that Schmidt guy, but… how could he get the guy to help him? That guy undoubtedly hated him. I mean, Michael had tried to kill him and his little sister, so he had every right to hate him with a passion, but… he really needed Mike's help. There was no one else who seemed to know Vanessa besides him...
Michael was pulled from his thoughts by a soft beep from the coffee maker, indicating it was ready. He sat down at the table, coffee in hand, checking all the blueprints on the surface—old blueprints he'd "borrowed" from his father's office without telling him. Before going to find Vanessa, he needed to know more about Puppet. That stupid puppet was definitely with Vanessa, and Michael didn't want to risk getting his ass kicked again. But the blueprints were nearly illegible. The combination of William's terrible cursive and his cheap Spanglish made it almost impossible to understand the blueprints beyond the drawings.
"'Springs...mechanical...music caja'... nah, inchequeable esta bosta."
Michael sighed before setting the blueprints aside, glancing at the calendar on the wall.
It's Sunday. Mike Schmidt doesn't work on Sundays. Maybe he could go to his house and try to convince him to help him? It's a really stupid idea, but it's the only chance he has for now...
With a resigned sound, Michael gulped down his coffee and left it in the sink—he'd wash it later along with the dishes from a week ago, he swore—before going to put on his shoes by the door...
The drive to the Schmidts' house was easy; after all, he had the route memorized after weeks of going there to... "investigate," as he called it. He made sure to park far from the house, because otherwise he'd look really suspicious, and that's the last thing he wants right now.
As he walked the remaining distance to the residence, he suddenly began to feel something in his stomach, something almost like... nerves? Nah, he doesn't get nervous, Aftons don't get nervous.
Before he could think any further, he found himself on the porch of the house.
The lights were on, he could hear the TV faintly, that was a good sign... the Schmidts were home.
With a long sigh, Michael knocked surprisingly softly on the door, and after a few moments, it opened.
And there was Mike Schmidt, disheveled and looking like he hadn't slept in ages, but his eyes lost all their weariness when he saw Michael on his porch.
"What... what the hell are you doing here?"
He asked, already starting to close the door, but Michael quickly stopped it with his foot.
"No, no, wait! I just want to talk, it's... it's about Vanessa."
Mike stopped trying to close the door when he heard Vanessa's name and Afton's almost pleading tone, but he still felt very uneasy about having a killer on his porch.
"Okay... what about her?"
He said, leaning against the doorframe.
Michael breathed a sigh of relief at Mike's reaction; at least he wasn't being kicked out.
"Look... no one has heard from Vanessa in almost a month, and I really need to find her."
Schmidt's eyes widened in surprise at Michael's words, suddenly looking more worried.
"What? In a month?..."
"Yeah, and... look, I really need you to help me find her, okay? No one seems to know anything..."
Mike was silent for a few moments, debating what to do. On one hand, the idea of having to help the same guy who almost killed him and Abby didn't appeal to him at all, but on the other hand, Michael seemed genuine, genuinely concerned, and even though Mike had told Vanessa to stay away from him the last time he saw her... he still cared about her.
"Okay... come in, but don't try anything weird, Afton. I know your tricks."