Chapter Text
Max Hatter is 4 years old in his best memory with his father.
He was in his father’s basement workshop, standing on a chair so he could see the table where Maddox was building something from scrap metal and bent wires. It was rare to find metal intact enough for some of the more complex machines in the workshop, and Max was overjoyed that his father trusted him to be in the workshop during this rare crafting time.
He watched with big curious eyes as his father patiently explained every gear, every welded edge, until a perfect windup mouse was sitting on the table.
“Go on Max, give it a wind.” Maddox smiled softly at his son as Max’s little fingers grabbed the key and twisted. He laughed as the mouse sprung out of Max’s hands and began racing around the workshop, Max clumsily chasing after it.
It was a good day, a day where Maddox didn’t have that gleam in his eye, where he was here and now, with Max in their home on the Isle of the Lost. It was one of Max’s best memories with his dad, the mouse a firm reminder that maybe his dad could be there for him, that maybe they could be a proper little family.
When Max Hatter turned 6 years old, he realized his father might be beyond saving. He had spent every waking moment for 2 weeks straight combing every scrap heap and junkyard on the Isle so his father could build something for his upcoming birthday. But when the morning came around and he jumped out of bed, racing to the kitchen expecting a birthday breakfast with a new toy, he found nothing. No breakfast, no toy, no dad. Clutching the mechanical mouse he brought with him everywhere, he slowly turned to the basement door.
Max descended the basement steps, finally picking up the frantic muttering coming from the workshop. Pushing the door open, he found his father desperately rushing in circles, picking up and putting down random pieces of metal and bits of wire.
“...Dad?”
It was barely a whisper, but Maddox Hatter spun around instantly, pinning Max with a wild-eyed stare, hair a mess and hat barely balanced on his head.
“It’s not right Max…the days…red…the queen…off with her head…her head my head your head…”
It was fast and rambling and nonsensical, and he was off again, grabbing a pair of scissors and hurling them at the window. Max turned and ran.
It was the first time Max Hatter ran from his father, but it wouldn't be the last.
Years later, while moving into their new Auradon dorm room, Felix Facilier would comment on the mechanical mouse Max had left sitting on the windowsill. Max would shove it into a desk drawer with a scowl, Felix awkwardly rubbing his neck and looking away. Bringing that stupid mouse was such a bad idea. Auradon was about escaping his father’s madness, which meant abandoning any hope that he would ever get better.