Chapter Text
Michael got on the bus before Henry could catch up to him, absolutely furious.
Henry wouldn’t let him visit his father? Fine. Michael would just visit him himself.
Henry was still at work when Michael arrived home after school. Michael had been counting on it. Taking the privacy to his advantage, Michael fished around the house until he could find a map. He sprawled the map on the floor and located the prison he knew his father was held in.
Michael frowned. It was really far away. There was no way he would be able to make it by foot.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t drive there.
In spite of his young age, Michael did know how to drive. One, it wasn’t that complicated, and two, in a fit of pure rebellion one day, Michael had taken his father’s car and practiced driving in an empty parking lot with one of his friends.
Michael didn’t like to think about that day, but Michael was grateful for the experience.
That night, Michael pretended to be apologetic as Henry apologized again for their argument.
“I’m sorry for running out on you,” Michael said, trying to look appropriately ashamed.
“It’s alright Michael,” Henry said. “I’m sorry too. Let’s just… try to sort things out more calmly next time.”
Michael nodded.
“And about William—”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Michael said. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t know what I was thinking before.”
Henry looked surprised, and, more importantly, suspicious. “Really?”
Michael nodded and put on a smile. “I was just rattled from my dream. Sorry for making a fuss.”
“We can try to work something out,” Henry said in a tone that meant he really would rather avoid it altogether.
“It’s fine,” Michael said slightly more forcefully. “Please don’t worry about it.”
Henry dropped it, still looking somewhat doubtful about Michael’s intentions. That was fine. As long as he didn’t know what Michael was planning, Michael didn’t particularly care what Henry thought about him.
Michael did his homework and spent the rest of his evening in his bedroom. It wasn’t until four in the morning, after Michael confirmed that Henry and Arnold were sound asleep, that Michael made his move.
Holding his breath and walking as quietly as possible, Michael crept out of his bedroom. He already had the map half-folded in his pocket, so he crept to the hook Henry kept his keys on.
Michael carefully grabbed the keys and moved them as slowly as possible. They rattled against each other ever so slightly, and Michael froze waiting for Henry to come out in a raging fury.
The only other sound in the house was the clock, ticking away as it always did.
Michael released a silent breath of relief and tightened his hold around the keys. The metal dug into his palms, but he didn’t care.
Michael made his way to the back door and slowly opened the door. It creaked, but this time Michael didn’t freeze. He jumped outside as though the floor of the house was lava and closed the door behind him silently. He knew he made more noise than was ideal, but these next few minutes would be the most critical when it came to making his escape.
Michael ran around the house to Henry’s car, which was parked in the driveway. He opened the door and slid inside the driver’s seat. His heart hammered against his chest as Michael glanced at the window of Henry’s room. The light was on. He must have heard Michael slipping outside.
Sweat formed on Michael’s palms and fingers. He fumbled with the keys and shoved them into the ignition. The car roared to life, and the headlights came on like floodlights during a prison break. Michael barely remembered how the stick shift worked as he began to back out of the driveway.
The front door opened, and Michael saw Henry running toward him. Blood rushing in his ears, Michael pressed his foot against the gas, haphazardly shooting out of the driveway and into the street. Michael changed gears and drove away without another moment’s thought.
He pretended he couldn’t hear Henry shouting behind him, panic and desperation laced in his tone.
Hannah Fitzgerald woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of her phone ringing. Her husband made a noise of confusion beside her, but otherwise made no indication of an intent to get up.
Hannah was exhausted, but she hated to ignore phone calls. Even if it turned out to be nothing in the end, what if it was an emergency? Especially since it was the middle of the night.
Hannah reluctantly climbed out of bed and started walking to the phone. The ringing stopped, and Hannah stepped out of her bedroom in confusion. She jogged to the living room as she heard her son’s voice whisper through the house.
“Mr. Henry, sir?” Jeremy asked, his voice surprised. “Why are you calling? Oh, um…”
Hannah entered the living room, and Jeremy glanced at her guiltily. He looked wide awake, which as funny, since he was meant to be asleep at least an hour ago.
“Yeah, she’s right here,” Jeremy said. “Here.”
Jeremy reluctantly handed the phone to Hannah. Lecturing him on the importance of sleep could wait. She held the device to her ear.
“Henry?” she asked, trying to keep the yawn out of her voice.
“Hannah, thank god,” Henry said. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but Michael has just run away, and I need a car.”
Run away? Car?
“What happened to your car?” Hannah asked.
“Michael just took off with it,” Henry said, his voice a mixture of panic and frustration. Mostly panic. “And I think I know where he’s going.”
Hannah swore, ignoring her son standing right next to her. Jeremy’s eyes widened as though he witnessed a crime.
“I’ll be right there,” she said. “Just a minute.”
She hung up the phone and gave Jeremy a severe look. “Tell your father I’ll be gone for the rest of the night,” she said. “And then go straight back to sleep. Didn’t you say you had a test tomorrow?”
Jeremy nodded, clearly understanding that things were more serious than Hannah was letting on. He ran to her bedroom, and Hannah shoved her shoes on and grabbed her keys.
Why did these things always happen in the middle of the night?
The prison was really far away, and Michael only sort of knew where he was going.
He had done his best to memorize his course, and Michael was ninety percent sure he had made it onto the correct highway. Since it was the middle of the night, there were barely any other cars on the road, which was good. Otherwise, Michael might have crashed into them.
Michael’s hands were still slick with sweat as he looked for the right exit. He had been driving for hours, and the sun was going to start rising any second now. He had been going at breakneck speed, but the fact remained that there weren’t many high-security prisons in Utah.
What was Henry doing right now? Was he looking for Michael? Was he waiting at home for Michael to return? Did he not care?
Michael pushed away the guilt twisting its way into his gut when he saw the correct exit appear. He yanked his steering wheel to the right and skidded off the highway and onto the exit ramp.
If Henry was chasing him, Michael had to hurry. Visiting hours should start around the time Michael finally got there, especially considering that Michael was doomed to make a few more wrong turns before he arrived. He just had to hope that Henry didn’t get there before him.
He didn’t.
Luckily for Michael, he didn’t need parental consent to visit his own father in prison.
And before he knew it, Michael sat on one side of a glass barrier, holding a phone in his hand and trying not to feel sick.
William Afton sat on the other side, wearing an orange jumpsuit that was so unlike the purple suits he always favored. There was a bruise on his cheek, and he was even thinner than usual. His normally well-kept hair was overgrown and uneven.
He looked nothing like the man in Michael’s nightmares.
Except.
William’s eyes were as sharp as they had always been. Cold and hard and furious. Prison had done nothing to tamper the pure hate that William used as a power source. Hate for Michael.
Michael swallowed back the bile that was trying to force its way back up his throat. Why did he want to come here again? What was he trying to prove? William didn’t love him. William didn’t give a crap about him. So why was he here?
“I thought you’d never come,” William said, his voice as cold as it always had been. If Michael closed his eyes, he could pretend that he was back in his old house, on the phone with his father. “What’s the grand occasion?”
Closure. Confrontation. William was a terrible father. An evil man. A murderer. Michael was going to put him in his place and get him out of his mind once and for all.
“Where did you get that bruise?” Michael asked instead, unable to control the words coming out of his mouth.
William stared at Michael with his lips pursed for an entire second. Michael refused to shrink away from his ire.
And then William started to laugh.
It was a cold, mean sound. Nothing like Henry’s warm laugh. It was heartless and cruel, and it somehow reflected the gray despair the entire building gave off.
“Don’t tell me you came here out of concern,” William said. The laughter left as soon as it came, and now his voice came out as a sharp bite. “You were the one who put me in here. I’d sooner assume that you would come to gloat.”
“I didn’t come to gloat,” Michael said, his voice ringing hollow to his own ears.
Closure was slipping further and further from his grasp.
“Then you have no business here,” William said. “It’s obvious that loyalty means nothing to you. If you don’t intend to shove your freedom into my face, I’m sure I have no idea why you came.”
“Why did you do it?” Michael asked.
“You came here for answers?” William’s expression twisted even further. Disgust.
“You loved Elizabeth,” Michael said. His voice was becoming pleading. “You adored her. How could you kill her like that? How could you?”
“I didn’t intend for her to die,” William said. A cruel grin formed on his face. “I was rather hoping Circus Baby might take care of you, the rebellious one, but you were too old, and Elizabeth was disobedient.”
He was lying. He was trying to get underneath Michael’s skin. There was no way that William had wanted to kill Michael.
Right?
Right?
“And the others?” Michael asked. “Why did you do any of it? I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t,” William said. And he didn’t say more.
Michael supposed he should have known better than to reason with a serial killer.
“You’re a monster,” he spat.
“I’m the monster?” William asked. “I never intentionally killed one of my own family. And what did you do—”
“Don’t—”
“Kill your own brother,” William said. “I thought you were meant to take care of him—”
“You were meant to take care of me!” Michael shouted, unable to contain himself. His entire body was shaking.
“I did take care of you,” William said, not missing a beat. “Who paid the bills? Who fed you? Who made sure you stayed in line?”
“You hate me. You've always hated me,” Michael said with dawning realization. He wasn’t sure when he realized it, but he knew it in his core to be true. He slammed his hand against the counter. “What did I do? Why—why do you hate me so much?”
“Do you really have to ask?” William demanded, exasperated.
“I hope you rot,” Michael hissed. “I hope you die in here. I hope you feel the same pain that all those children felt when you murdered them—”
“You shouldn’t say those things to your own father,” William said.
“You don’t deserve to be my father.”
“Don’t I?” William was still grinning. “You snuck away, didn’t you? That’s why your dress is so appalling and you look so exhausted. You lied and took matters into your own hands to do what needed to be done. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re the spitting image of me…” William’s grin turned to an expression of revulsion. “That is, if I were an uncultured buffoon.”
Michael slammed the phone into the receiver. He couldn’t do this anymore. He said his piece. He was done.
Michael let security lead him out into the lobby, and his stomach sank when he saw who was waiting for him there.
Henry was pacing, his arms crossed and his face exhausted. Jeremy’s mom was also there, still wearing plaid pajama pants and looking wrecked with worry.
Michael tensed instinctively and waited for Henry to start yelling.
“Well?” Henry sighed. His tone reeked of disappointment. “Did you find what you were looking for?”