Work Text:
*✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ The monsters gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here.*
…
There was really nothing left here for him.
Michael was entirely and utterly alone at last, atop a wobbly throne of sticks and bones, he had finally eaten his way to the top of the food chain. The remains were visceral and sticky, leaving his tongue dry, and body trembling with sweat, yet, sweet all the same, ironic bliss. Sweet bliss. Absolute Ecstasy. It made him feel sick; then again lots of things made him feel sick these days, merely looking at the man, no longer a boy, in the mirror would make his stomach lurch hopelessly, and he would spew the contents of his stomach onto the linoleum floor. He supposed he was always spilling his guts one way or another.
Man. Not. Boy.
Such a title was meant for a responsible adult, not Michael.
Michaels empty vessel drifted from room to room in the empty house of cards. He hated the room of the King, it was only suited for a King and Michael did not belong, he was simply a jester, a joke, frothing his way through empty rooms like a phantom that longed to haunt the next proprietor of this place that was once considered a functional home. Yet, the King no longer remained, torn away from the deck, and thus the cards came tumbling down, and by some miracle, the Jester of all cards remained standing. In tact. And now that the king was gone, sometimes the Jester would crawl into his bed and cry because he had nobody left to entertain with cruel tricks. The Jester would pray to a god he didn’t believe in to give him mercy that he did not deserve, and God wouldn’t answer.
It was only then that the Jester realized he was all alone in the universe.
Father was long gone, even after promising to stay by his side, he was gone. Jeremy was gone as well, he supposed it was deserved especially after snapping at him.
“GET OUT!”
He’d roared with such ferocity, claws as sharp and dangerous as wolves, tearing apart whatever even dared to breathe in his direction, not because he was angry, but because he was tired, and broken, and there was nothing left, and Jeremy was kind. And Jeremy was sweet, and Jeremy was undeserving of what came next.
So here he lay, in a tub full of cold water staring up at the molding, and the peeling paint, and god, he had nothing left.
He was a clusterfuck of mistakes compiled into the shape of a person, hell, less than a person, all that remained was this pathetic creature, and the ceiling. And it was glowing. Tunneling its way up above into another plane of existence, but Michael felt like he was sinking, the tunnel drawing further and pit nearer. down down down into the pits of hell where he would be met with the face of the monster that bred him into this cruel world, and that monster would say he loved him more than fucking anything.
“Fuck you.”
He said, because the monster wasn't there, only his daddy. The same one that held his hand when he was small, and walked him through his first few steps, the same one that pressed kisses against scraped knees and held him underwater during bath time until the bubbles would no longer rush to the surface, and then kiss him, dress him, tuck him into bed like a good daddy should.
“Fuck you”
He said again to the nothing, he screamed at the nothing, he wanted to spit and stick up his middle finger and stomp his feet and roll around, but he didn’t want to get any water on the floor, so the rage stayed inside where it belong, deep seated in the cold water, and the nothing smiled at him, and ran its fingers through his hair, and said goodnight. It promised to come back the next morning, it promised to watch old home videos with him, and wrap him in blankets when he was cold and numb.
An empty pill bottle bobbed at the surface of the water.
There was nothing left for him.
*The monster’s gone.*
*He’s on the run.*
*And you’re daddy’s here.*