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Someone who first met William and saw him in a professional environment would likely assume that he was very immaculate.
Michael would be willing to bet that had Henry not experienced living with William, he too would assume that William was organized and tidy.
And that could not be farther from the truth.
For example, William’s home office was decorated with crumpled notes and papers. There were broken pens and pencils littering the floor.
Likely from when William had gotten mad and Michael wasn’t there for him to harass.
(Oh, what a terrible son that he was for attending school, instead of dropping out so he could be his father’s verbal punching bag 24/7. )
Various stains littered the top of the desk in William’s office. Rings from cups and mugs, coffee spills, wine spills, ink spills, and little marks from where the ink would leak through the paper and onto the desk.
None of the stains would last too long. Each one would be carefully scrubbed away by Michael.
But, at least the office was not completely disgusting nor unsanitary. His father, at the very least, did have some standards. Coffee was allowed in his office, but never food.
It was one of the few things that Michael liked about his father. William was not unhygienic and kept areas important - his bathroom, and bedroom- mostly clean.
William’s room and bathroom were the only two rooms that Michael did not have to worry about keeping clean. Well, for the most part. He still had to come in now and then to keep things looking perfect.
Michael would call it his parents room, but, really, when was his mother ever around? Always on some kind of business trip or staying with a sibling.
But, that was a whole bag of worms that Michael was decidedly not opening now. Or ever for that matter. It didn’t matter whether the woman who gave birth to him -and then instantly ditched him, only to come back years later, and act as though she hadn’t been missing for years- was around.
All Michael had to worry about right now was cleaning his father’s office.
One of the first things that Michael did when he cleaned up his father’s office was glare at the door. The door that had been slammed shut in his face, so often.
Unable to stop himself, Michael chuckled slightly and rolled his eyes.
Slamming the door in his face had worked right up until he had two more children and Michael was appointed as their caretaker. Since mommy dearest decided she had better things to do than to raise her damn children.
Past that point, though, if it had something to do with his siblings it was deemed as important. And because it was deemed as important, Michael would not hesitate in picking the lock, opening the door, and marching his little ass into the office.
The next thing Michael did was enter the office. Obviously. And from there, it would be looking at just how bad the mess was. Sometimes, during William’s calmer days, it wasn’t so bad. But, other times, when William was manic, it looked like a tornado had gone through.
He started by gathering all of the empty mugs and empty water bottles. Each mug was carefully placed into the sink with a little warm water in each. Then the water bottles were properly disposed of.
Then came the most time-consuming part. Picking up each piece of paper and straightening it out. After that, each paper was neatly stacked and placed in a bin off to the side.
Why was it that none of the papers could be thrown away? Why did Michael have to spend so much time picking each sheet of paper and every sticky note?
Because now and then, William will remember an idea. And then, he will remember that he wrote something about the said idea. After that, he would look for the notes, and when he couldn’t find the notes, he would then accuse anyone and everyone of stealing them from him.
Mainly Michael. He mainly accused Michael, and mainly tormented Michael.
Even if it was him who threw the damn paper away.
And so, the tedious process must be done. Because even though he, mostly, doesn’t care about how William likes to scream at him, he knows that it takes a toll on his siblings.
Michael hoped that his siblings never had to get used to William’s breakdowns or get used to his craziness. With him around at least he could usher his siblings into another room.
One of the things that Michael had long since accepted about this job, was that William would never thank him nor acknowledge him for his work.
Which was fine, most of the time if he and William talked they were arguing, or William was -as previously stated- using his son as a verbal punching bag.
The next step was cleaning off the desk. The papers were carefully removed from the desk, writing utensils were placed back into a little bin that was tucked away in the top right drawer, and then the desk was carefully wiped off. Making sure that each and every stain was wiped away.
The papers were placed back on the desk, somewhat neatly, Michael had long ago realized that there was a method to William’s chaos, not that he fully understood it, but he knew enough to arrange everything in a way that wouldn’t make his father explode.
And then he got to cleaning the floor. There wasn’t much trash, but the few pieces that were trash were disposed of. The plant was watered, and the floor was swept and mopped.
Once the job was finished, Michael would stand back and gaze at the room. Something within him ached, it always did. He knew why it ached, and he knew that the ache would never go away. So, he did his best to distract himself from the ache. Always cleaning, always doing something.
He cleaned the office, he cleaned the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the bedrooms, the hallway, and the foyer. He figured out the shopping list, prepared dinner, watched the kids, he did the laundry.
Michael did everything that he could to not dwell on the ache.
It was easier and simpler to just ignore the ache. It was easier and simpler to just ignore the fact that his father didn’t love him. Not that his father particularly loved anything.
But, that was okay. Michael loved his siblings and they loved him, and that was enough for Michael. As long as he had his babies, things would be okay.
~
Once the office was completely finished, the floor clean and dry, it was time to move onto the mugs into the sink.
Michael quietly sighed as he saw more dishes in the sink. It was an awful habit of William's. It always had been. It was something that Henry and Michael could laugh and joke about the rare times they had the time to.
Although, in Henry’s experience, William would begin to wash his dish and would then be struck with an idea that he had to write down so that it didn’t get forgotten. Meanwhile, in Michael’s experience, he knew that it was because William just didn’t care.
Perhaps it was Michael’s fault. William would set his dirty dishes in the sink, the kids following his example, and Michael would be left to clean up all of the dishes.
As much as Michael hated having to clean up after every single person who lived there, there was nothing that he could do.
William was a lost cause. Michael knew his father, and he knew that the day his father cleaned it would be because Michael was dead and therefore couldn’t clean the mess.
Norman and Elizabeth were not quite trustworthy. Don’t misunderstand him, though. Michael loved the two of them, and Michael knew that if he asked they would certainly try their best. Well, at least Norman would. It was hard to tell with Elizabeth.
But, Michael had far too many concerns. What if they thought bleach was appropriate to clean dishes and they didn’t rinse them properly and then they got poisoned? What if the glass shattered and cut their little hands?
A glass shattering is not fun. It had happened to Michael once. But, thank goodness his father was there to tell him that he expected another, replacement, mug before the end of the week. And that while he was out he should restock the first aid kit.
Truthfully, Michael does not know what he would do without his father.
Lost in his musings, Michael didn’t hear any of the noise in the living room.
A small smile was on Michael’s face as he hummed a small tune. His smile only grew when he felt a small hand grab at his sweatpants. He looked down, about to greet Norman when he heard a crash, thud, and a loud yell.
“GODDAMNIT, ELIZABETH!”
Michael hurriedly rinsed the mug before placing the mug on the drying rack. He dried his hands off on his shirt as he rushed into the living room.
“Look at what you did!”
Michael entered and scanned the room. Trying to find out what had happened without having to ask. He only ever asked ‘what happened?’ to get his father’s attention off of his babies.
Elizabeth was crying as William pointed to the shattered coffee mug. There was coffee spilled both on the floor and onto the rug.
Michael ignored his internal sobbing and screeching, he had just cleaned that carpet and that fucking floor. And it certainly didn’t help that it was a new mug.
His mind was focused as William began complaining, again.
“I work all fucking day. All-day I deal with entitled brats and then I come home, ready to finally get some peace and FUCKING quiet. But, no, instead, I have to deal with yet another spoiled, entitled brat!”
Michael cringed, how was he going to go about this? Carefully stepping into the living room, and into William’s line of sight. Michael felt a shiver run down his spine as the two of them locked eyes.
He knew that look in William’s eyes. It usually meant that Michael was in danger.
“Don’t,” William spoke in a low tone.
Michael swallowed and questioningly tilted his head slightly. Enough to get the point across, but not overly so that would send William into a fit.
“Don’t come in here and undermine me. It’s about fucking time someone put her in her place.”
Michael took a slight step forward, “I would never undermine you.”
“Shut up, turn around, and get the fuck out of here.”
Michael suppressed a wince, “Did something happen at the pizzeria today? You seem to be tense.”
William scoffed, “Maybe I’m tense because my annoying child jumped me and knocked over my coffee!”
Michael raised his hands in a surrender motion, “Okay, I’m sorry. Would you like me to make you another coffee?”
William clenched his fists as his scowl deepened. “No, I’d like you to shut the fuck up and let me discipline my child.”
Michael swallowed and resisted the urge to reach back and pat Elizabeth and Norman’s heads. Both of them had made their way behind his legs unnoticed by William.
Well, until now.
“Elizabeth! Get over here.” William called.
Only succeeding in Elizabeth clutching onto Michael’s leg even harder.
“Father, please. Perhaps you’re being too harsh? I can make you another coffee and clean this mess up. Elizabeth won’t do this again, she knows better and I’m sure that she is sorry.”
William huffed and stepped closer until he towered over his son. “This is what I’m talking about. You come in here and you undermine me.”
Michael shook his head, “I’m not undermining you. You’ve made your point. Elizabeth knows better now, she’s been punished enough.”
William’s eyes widened, “Punished enough? PUNISHED ENOUGH?! She hasn’t been punished at all!”
“I think her father calling her annoying, spoiled, entitled, a brat and yelling at her was punishment enough. Especially for something she did as an accident.”
Michael knew that he was playing with fire.
So, he wasn’t too surprised when he got burned.
The shove wasn’t strong enough to knock him off his feet, and he was grateful that Elizabeth and Norman had vacated the area and retreated to their rooms.
They didn’t need to see this.
-
By the time William finally ran out of steam, Michael had little to no energy left.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself off of the carpet. Glaring at the coffee spill. It would be a pain to clean.
He started the process of trying to soak up the coffee with a dry towel. But, it had already been an hour. Possibly two. Michael tended to lose track of time when fighting with his father.
Getting stains out of a carpet was a hassle and a half, but it wasn’t his first time getting something out of a carpet. And, he doubted that this would be his last.
After cleaning up the carpet, cleaning the floor was easy enough. Still just as time-consuming. Made sure there was no more glass left and then made sure that the floor wasn’t sticky from the coffee.
It especially sucked that the coffee was dried. Or maybe that was a good thing? Because then he didn’t need to dry it up.
“Michael?”
Michael turned from where he was getting a coffee ready for his father.
“Elizabeth? Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Michael asked softly. Ditching the coffee to crouch in front of Elizabeth, making a soft sound when he saw her tears.
She sniffled, “I’m sorry, Mikey.”
Michael frowned and pulled her in for a hug. “No, baby. You didn’t do anything wrong. Father is just in one of his moods, right now. That’s all.”
“You got hurt.” Elizabeth sobbed into his neck, her tiny hands gripped the back of his shirt.
Michael sighed. “Why don’t we get you in bed? I’ll tuck you guys in and everything, okay?”
Elizabeth made a small noise and snuggled closer.
Michael took his time walking to their room, glancing at the door of the closed office. He’d deal with William in a moment.
-
In a moment happened to be nearly half of an hour later.
Michael poured the coffee into the mug, the cream and sugar added at the beginning, and made his way to his father’s office.
He knocked lightly once before he opened the door, revealing William sitting with his head in his hands.
Michael was no stranger to William’s breakdowns and episodes.
And so, like many other times, Michael stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. Ignoring his body protests, he gently set the coffee on the desk in front of his father, before walking behind him.
Carefully, Michael placed two hands on William’s shoulders. After waiting a moment, giving William time to shrug his hands off of his shoulders, he slowly began to rub. Adding gentle pressure every now and then.
“Henry and I got into a fight today.”
Michael hummed, short and quiet.
“It was something about the business. I don’t really remember, but he-” William paused. He hesitated. Something that Michael was not used to.
“Nevermind,” William mumbled into his coffee.
Michael made an acknowledging sound but otherwise stayed quiet.
Michael jolted when he felt his father spin the chair suddenly. He would have taken a step back if not for the two firm hands gripping his hips.
There wasn’t much time for Michael to do anything before he was pulled forward and a face was pressed into his chest. Michael could hear his father saying something into his shirt, but it was far too muffled and quiet for him to make out.
Michael breathed slowly before resting his hands on William’s shoulders.
Just another night.
~
The routine continues.
Once again Michael was in his father’s office.
Cleaning.
Michael huffed a laugh to himself, partially amused by his own thoughts. With a sigh, he combed his fingers through his messy, and dirty, hair. He could really use a shower. Preferably a shower where he had enough time and energy to wash his hair.
Despite the heavy exhaustion that made his body feel as though it was made of lead, Michael resumed his previous position. On his knees, picking up each and every paper. Carefully sorting through them, before deciding where to place them.
Hastily scribbled notes, scratched ideas, possible upgrades, and nonsensical ramblings that Michael refused to read for the sake of his own mind were the usual papers that Michael saw.
Very rarely did blueprints, regardless of their status (unfinished, scrapped, or finished), end up thrown on the floor.
This is why, when Michael saw a blueprint for an animatronic, a dog animatronic, something in him froze. There was a sticky note attached, with some basic information: dimensions, accessories, purpose, etc.
Michael set the paper down and glanced around. Quickly spotting sticky notes in various places.
Michael began to reach for the closest sticky note when a loud slam startled him. He jerked upright, still kneeling on the floor.
“Hello, Michael.” His father greeted. Michael noted that there was a slight edge to his voice.
Michael lifted his gaze from the bottle clenched in his father’s hand and returned the greeting. “Welcome home, Father. You’re back late. How was work?”
The grip on the bottle tightened, something Michael immediately noted. Ah, so it was not a good day. Noted.
“Why do you ask?” His father grumbled as he stepped farther into the office. If that was even the right word. Stepping was far too put together. His father stumbled into the office. Ah, that was much more accurate.
“Because that is the polite thing to do?” Michael tried, his tone as neutral as possible. He ignored the urge to resume his task.
Disappointment rose within him at the task not being done before William got home. That was usually the goal, but there was an essay due tomorrow.
“Since when do you care about being polite?” William grumbled.
Michael resisted the urge to squint his eyes. Knowing that would only anger his father. “I’m sorry?”
“You fucking should be.” William sneered. Either not realizing that the “I’m sorry” was one of confusion, not remorse. Or perhaps William did not care. Either answer is possible in this case.
Michael blinked up at his father. Realizing now how stupid it was of him to have stayed this low, yet also realizing that if he were to get up now his father would take that as a challenge.
Michael pursed his lips, staring up at his father, “Is everything alright, Father?”
William paused, then chuckled as he leaned on the desk. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a hefty swig.
Michael used that time to stand up and back away slightly. Adding just the littlest bit of distance. His father’s episodes were hard enough to deal with. But his father having an episode while intoxicated? That could go anywhere, and it could go there fast.
“No. No, Michael. Nothing is alright. I’ve got two worthless children and a good-for-nothing wife that I do not even care for, never have if we’re being honest.”
Michael kept his mouth shut and face clear. He resisted the urge to glance behind William. To peer outside and make sure that the children were still in bed and unable to hear what had just been said.
“And I know that you’re the same.” In the quiet house, the whisper was almost like a shout.
Michael felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop slightly. “Excuse me?”
“I can see it in your eyes. The way that you look at her. Hatred, mixed in with some envy. Tell me, what are you envious about?”
Michael did not hate his mother. Sure, he didn’t particularly care for her, but that didn’t mean that he hated her. And he certainly was not envious of her. What would he even envy? Her getting to leave whenever she wanted? He could never do that. Because that would mean leaving his siblings. Being Norman and Elizabeth’s mom? No, thanks. Of course, he loved his siblings; they were his babies. They meant everything to him, he didn’t know if he would be able to cope if something had happened to one of them… but that didn’t mean he wanted to be their parent.
Michael stepped back. Feeling a little dizzy at how close his father had gotten in such a short amount of time. “You’re drunk, you have no idea what you’re saying.”
William grinned as he stepped even closer. Rising to his full height and allowing himself to tower over his son. “It doesn’t matter if I’m drunk, sober, or high when I say that. Because it’s the truth. And you know it is.”
Michael flinched as his back hit the wall. Something that hadn’t happened since he was a child. He had thought that he was over letting his father back him into a corner. Guess he was wrong.
“It’s really not.” Michael squeezed his eyes shut. Hating the way that his voice wavered. Hating how powerless and scared he felt as a hand settled on his hip.
The sound of a bottle hitting the wall and shattering was the only warning Michael got before another hand came up to grip his cheek.
“What were you doing when I came in here?” William asked. His breath was hot against Michael’s ear.
“I was cleaning,” Michael mumbled. Fighting the urge to lean away from his father’s touch. Mainly because there was nowhere to lean except into him.
“Cleaning?”
“Yes, Father.”
“I hope you weren’t looking through them.”
“I would- would never read your notes, Father.” Michael stumbled as he felt the hand on his hip slip under his shirt. Not doing anything other than gripping.
“Do you promise?”
Michael opened his eyes. Blankly staring off into the distance. “I promise, Father. I would never lie to you.”
William pressed closer and Michael could feel his mouth stretch into a smile. “I know, my boy. And that is why you’re my favorite.”
Michael breathed a soft ‘thank you’, unknowing what else to say or do to make this torture end.
William pulled him close into a hug. The hand on his hip slid around his waist, and the hand on his cheek slid into his hair. William tucked his face into Michael’s neck.
“I really do love you, Michael. I love you in a way that I have never loved anyone else.”
Biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. He leaned into the hug, “I love you, too. Thank you.”
He hated himself and felt so pathetic for being so weak. He dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, not allowing himself to clutch onto his father. Not allowing himself to seek comfort from him.
With a small kiss on his neck, William pulled away. William stared at his son for a moment before he turned and walked away. Only pausing in the doorway to say: “Michael, finish cleaning up this mess and then get to bed. It’s late.”
Taking in a shaky breath, “Yes, Father.”
And with that, William finally left, and once he heard the sound of the bedroom door shutting, Michael allowed himself to collapse onto the floor.
With shaky fingers and blurry vision, Michael resumed his task.
There was no time to waste.