Chapter Text
Elizabeth shouldn't have listened in.
She'd been in her room, under the covers with a book strangled in her hands, crumpling the paper as she tried her best to pretend she couldn't hear Dad and Mike. Granted, she couldn't hear what they were talking about exactly, but she heard enough to know that she did not envy him.
Not that she ever did, really, because Mike was such a dummy for running off and getting himself in trouble. Except she did envy him, because Mike was the eldest and Dad loved him first, and Mike remembered Mum.
Not that any of that mattered now, and it certainly didn't seem to be doing Mike any favours.
Cassidy was curled up at the end of her bed like a dog with his Fredbear plush in his arms, shaking, a large wet mark tainting the sheets where he was still somehow crying. He'd flinched when they'd heard Mike's door slam closed, but Elizabeth had merely blinked.
It had gone quiet before she could've sworn that she'd heard Mike shout the one thing that you should never say to Dad. STOP.
Stupid.
When the muffled voices continued, and Elizabeth could hardly resist her curiosity any longer, she sat up and pulled her sheets off of her head. She looked at Cassidy, something twisting hideously in her chest and in her face as she observed Dad's blazer being soiled by her brother's weeping. He was still wearing it, of course. She wondered if any of Dad's warmth was left on it after so long. Unlikely. Even more so because she couldn't imagine Dad making anything warm.
"Did Mikey actually lock you in the storage room?" She asked.
When Cassidy didn't respond with anything more than a whimper - and really , what was she supposed to glean from that? - Elizabeth poked him in the rib.
Cassidy slapped her hand away, and she scowled. "Hey, I'm talking to you, Cass."
"I know ," he muttered angrily, turning his face away from her and burying it in Fredbear's fur.
Sometimes she wanted to burn that thing. No- she wanted to rip its plastic eyes off and twist its neck around until the stitching frayed and its head tumbled to the floor, take her favourite pair of bedazzled scissors and stab it until the stuffing was bursting through the gashes, and then burn it.
She thought about snatching it from him, throwing it up somewhere high and not letting Cassidy get it until he told her what happened. Then she thought better of it. She wouldn't be able to get it back down after, either. Besides, best not to draw Dad's attention at the moment, and Cassidy would no doubt put up a fuss. He was good at that, kicking up a fuss over everything.
She poked him again, and he kicked a leg out at her. "Stop it, Lizzy," he mumbled faintly.
"Not until you tell me if Mikey really did that to you." She didn't know why, but she found it hard to believe.
Not because Mike wouldn't do such a thing, but because it didn't make sense, even for him. He'd run off, successfully, and presumably left the building before they'd even noticed he was gone. Cassidy had been running around for a while, so why would Mike have hung around that long?
"He hates me," Cassidy grumbled, sniffling wetly.
"Don't be dumb."
Cassidy turned around then, glaring at her. She glared right back because this whole situation could've been avoided if her brothers weren't such idiots. Michael should've done as he was told, and Cassidy should've listened to her when she said he shouldn't go look for him. Christ - ladies ought not use the lord's name in vain, Elizabeth - is it really that hard to just think before you do things?
The burn on her hand throbbed.
"He h-hates me," Cassidy said again, as though she hadn't bloody heard him already.
"He doesn't," she rolled her eyes. "He's just a teenager, they're all grumpy, remember?"
"I hate him, too."
Elizabeth paused. Hate is a strong word, right? Stronger than many others. What others? Maybe loathe. But that was just a fancy way of saying hate, anyway.
She'd never thought that Cassidy could ever hate someone. Especially Mike. Considering that Mike was always going into his room and comforting him. Doing a poor job of it, likely, but still trying. Mike made them breakfast and lunch and dinner, he took their clothes and brought them back all cleaned, he sat and drew with them, took them to the park when they were bored, stole lollies from the chemist to share with them-
These things were everyday occurrences now, Elizabeth rarely even thought about them. What she did think about was how things had been when Mike was cruel to them more often than other kids his age.
She faintly recalled playing outside with Cassidy when she was much smaller. They'd been on the lawn, Cassidy was making grass bracelets for her, and Mike had been drawing in the dirt. Then, something happened (the memory really was a hazy one) and suddenly her brothers were fighting. Fighting wasn't a fair word though, because Mike had always been so much bigger.
He'd wrenched the toy from Cassidy's hand (not Frebear yet, a circus elephant that Cass had named Ellie ) and thrown it out onto the road. Cassidy had cried, asked him to give it back, and Mike had pointed to the road, a mean smile on his lips. "Go get it, little man ," he'd said. "If you're not a crybaby, then go get it."
Cassidy had looked both ways like Dad had taught them, to his credit, but God or the Universe or Random Chance had always seemed to despise the Afton family in particular. Because as Cassidy had stepped out onto the road, a car came tearing down towards him. And Cassidy, the dolt, had frozen. Mike had too. And Elizabeth had squealed with her mouth not even full of teeth yet, "Cassy!"
Thankfully, the car managed to skirt around her brother, but it ended up careening into a post instead. It wasn't head-on, so the car had spun and then flipped.
Elizabeth didn't recall much about Mum, but she knew that she'd cried for a long time. It hadn't made sense to her, since they didn't know the person.
They hadn't even died, but Dad had said they'd needed to learn how to walk again.
Mike didn't bully Cassidy for a while, after that. But then something else happened, and it continued.
Hate is a strong word. So is Love, she supposed. The two aren't wholly separate, are they?
"What happened?" She settled for asking.
Cassidy was silent for a long moment, before his eyes shut tightly, as though the memory was enough to cause him physical pain. He rubbed the back of his head, and she wondered if it actually did . "You know what happened-"
"No, I don't. I heard Uncle Henry on the stairs earlier, and Mike told him he didn't do it."
"So?"
Elizabeth huffed, " So , dummy why would he lie? It'd just get him into even more trouble."
Cassidy bit his lip and sat up, fiddling with the hems of Dad's crumpled, tainted blazer. "I d-don't want to talk about him anymore Lizzy, p-please just leave me alone-"
She scoffed. "You're in my room, Cass. You leave me alone if you're going to be snotty."
Elizabeth wasn't sure if she meant to be cruel. She often did , but rarely to Cassidy. He'd just been so clingy lately, so annoying and whiny. Mikey this, Mikey that- It was ridiculous. Embarrassing, even.
Cassidy sniffled again, with an angry pinch between his brows. "Why are you being so mean?"
"Because you sit and you cry, and you don't do anything about it," she answered, factually. "If Mikey actually did that to you, it's because you make it so easy. You're asking for it".
"Am not," Cassidy murmured, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and leaving a trail of snot on his cheek.
Elizabeth tutted, leaning over to her bedside and retrieving a tissue. "You're going to be as big as him someday, Cass," she said as she handed it to him. "He can't push you around forever."
Cassidy wiped his face sluggishly, and Elizabeth snatched it from him before doing a proper job of cleaning his face herself. Really, anyone would think she was the older sibling.
A brilliant idea came to her, and she grinned, shooting up from the bed. "Come on."
Cassidy blinked at her with his wide, bloodshot eyes and simpering frown, "Why?"
She took his hand, wincing when the ache of her burn flared in reprimand. "Doesn't matter yet. Just come on. And be quiet ."
She led him to the door, and Cassidy pulled back. "No, Lizzy. W-we shouldn't go out there yet."
Elizabeth grabbed him again, then put her ear to the door. Dad and Mike were still talking, faintly. "It'll be fine," she whispered. "We're just going to your room."
"Why?! I don't like it in there!" Her brother whined, much too loudly. She slapped his arm, and he yelped, flinching back from her.
"Stop fussing, Cass," she snapped. "We're going to do something, and it's going to make you feel better. Isn't that what you want?"
Cassidy went to shake his head, the idiot, stopping after Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. He sniffled, and yet another tear rolled down his cheek. Then, he nodded.
Appeased, Elizabeth reached for her door handle, turning it ever so slowly. She wasn't very good at being quiet, because Mike was the one who was always sneaking around, not her. But it couldn't have been too loud, because she didn't hear a pause in whatever 'conversation' Dad and Mike were having. She grinned, shut her door with just as much care, and pulled Cassidy down the hallway with her.
She thought she might've heard a few words as they crept past Mike's door. Her brother was saying "Sorry, I'm sorry," like he always did. Always sorry, Mike. Never enough to change, though. No matter how good Dad was.
She frowned, and when she and Cassidy reached his door they both jolted at the sound of Dad's voice. Not quite a yell, but so harsh and loud that it felt like one. Cassidy whimpered, and darted inside, tugging her along with him.
They stood in silence for a while, listening for any further signs of Dad's anger. When the voices grew quiet again, they relaxed. As much as possible, anyway.
Elizabeth turned, surveilling Cassidy's room and smirking at the sight of Cassidy's toys propped up on his bed. They stood sentry in here while he was out in the world, and she'd seen him station them in different corners of his room sometimes, as though covering all the bases.
Fredbear was his favourite, but he loved the others too. The close second was Foxy.
Her eyes were drawn inevitably to the scribbles he had plastered along his walls, noting keenly that, whenever Cass drew them as a family, Dad and Mike were never human.
She was always too small in each picture, like a baby, and Cassidy seemed to think her hair was more red than blonde (obviously wrong, it was a mixture of both). He drew himself haphazardly, carelessly, never spending much time laying out any clear details of his appearance. Just a vaguely human blob, really.
But Dad was always Bonnie, and Mike was always Foxy.
She saw the picture that Cassidy drew a few days ago, and her stomach twisted.
"What are we doing in here, Lizzy?" he asked, rubbing his arms. "We should go back-"
Elizabeth faced him and put her hands on her hips. " You are going to prove to me that you're not a crybaby."
Cassidy's glare returned, because he hated being called a crybaby, even when he never did anything to suggest that he wasn't. "How?"
Elizabeth strutted over to his bed, grabbing the foxy plush by its hook. Cassidy made a faint noise of protest, and she just held out her finger to shut him up. "Mikey got you this one, right?"
Cassidy nodded, his face falling like the walls of Jericho in that story Uncle Henry told her.
Mike was really good at games. He'd ought to be, considering how much time they used to spend at the diner with Dad, and the fact that they got to play as much as they wanted, being the owner's children. But he had been really proud, for some reason, when he'd taught Cassidy how to play Fast Food Invader and they'd earned enough tickets for a toy from the prize counter.
It was the same as every other Foxy plush on display, and hardly special, but Mike had gotten hold of it and grinned so brightly he might've replaced the sun. And then he'd given it to Cassidy, and he'd smiled too.
It was the happiest she'd ever seen the two of them, together. All she'd felt was jealousy.
She was really good at games now. She won prizes all the time. Mike didn't care enough to notice.
Cassidy reached out for his Foxy plush, and Elizabeth held it away from him. "If you want him to stop picking on you, Cass, you've got to show him that you can be nasty too."
"But I'm not nasty," her brother protested.
"That's why he bullies you , and not me ," she retorted. "You don't have to be so sad all the time, you can be angry too."
"I know that," he snapped, beginning to pick at the bandages on his wrists. "I am angry."
"Prove it," Elizabeth taunted, wondering if he'd actually do anything. If Cassidy wasn't truly as pathetic as she'd always known him to be.
As though he could somehow read her mind, Cassidy glowered and stormed over to his bed. Of course, he couldn't just drop Fredbear on the floor, so he propped him up against his headboard with the others, then stomped back toward her and snatched Foxy away.
Startled, Elizabeth watched curiously as Cassidy carried the plush over to his desk, pulling out one of the drawers and rummaging through it until he found the object he sought. Her pretty pink scissors, funnily enough. She'd been wondering where those went.
Rather than calling him out for "borrowing" her favourite stationery, Elizabeth sat down on the edge of his bed and waited.
Cassidy stood facing her, and she saw the hesitation in his eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by an expression that made Elizabeth's heart hurt . Her brother looked at her, as though needing her approval, and she shrugged, unsure what exactly he was planning on doing. Maybe cut Mike out of all of his drawings? That might be a good idea. Mike probably wouldn't notice though.
She was about to make a better suggestion, when Cassidy adjusted his hold on the plushie, and positioned the scissors so that they were clamped around Foxy's left ear. Elizabeth paused, something churning in her stomach before she stifled it. What did it matter? It's just a toy-
SNnniiipPP
Huh. Not too bad. Foxy only had one eye, after all. Only one ear now, too. It kind of suited him.
SSNNIIIIIPP
Oh. Without two ears now. It made him look like a derpy seal or something.
SSSNNNIIIIIIIPPPP
Without his eyepatch. There was nothing behind it, just red fabric.
SSHhSHNNnNIiiiiIIPPpP
Earless, and eyeless.
SSSHhSHNShNSHnShNiIiiiiIIpPpSNhNiP
Headless.
Cassidy crying the whole time, and shaking so violently she thought he might slip up and cut himself. With that thought, she stood up and took the scissors from him. He let her, his whole body going limp and continuing to tremble as she put them down on his desk and pulled him into a hug.
He sobbed wetly in her ear, and she grimaced, patting his back as he convulsed. His hands were curled into fists, and he didn't hug her back, but that was fine. She didn't want him to.
They stayed like that for a while, and Cassidy was squeezing his headless foxy and throttling him. He threw the plush against the wall, and Elizabeth just led him over to the bed and told him to lie down. He didn't protest, weeping into his pillow and crushing all of his other toys in a furious embrace that Elizabeth was glad she hadn't been subjected to.
"Do you feel better?"
Cassidy's eyes flicked briefly toward the mutilated plush.
"No."
"Hmph."
As she sat next to him, continuing to stroke over his shoulder, she thought she might've heard Dad crooning from the room across the hall. But that was impossible. Dad didn't sing anymore. And that was Mike's fault too, wasn't it?
"I forgot Dad could sing good," Cassidy murmured, his voice muffled.
He'd heard it too, then. It wasn't just in her head.
"Well," she corrected. "And me too," she lied.
"I thought he was... um-"
Elizabeth tore her gaze away from the door, pursing her lips. "Disciplining him?" She questioned, her lips fumbling around the word.
Cassidy didn't lift his head to respond, merely to nod.
It was strange because Elizabeth had assumed the same. "Dad's too easy on him," she muttered, even though the words seared her tongue with how wrong they felt.
Cassidy didn't say anything.
They both jolted when the door across the hall slammed closed again. Louder than before, shaking the walls.
Heavy footsteps started down the hallway, and Elizabeth wasn't thinking right. If she had been, she wouldn't have scrambled off the bed to the door, wouldn't have thrown it open with such reckless curiousity. She heard Cassidy's faint noise of discouragement and promptly ignored it.
She popped her head out from behind the doorframe quickly enough to catch Dad before he made it to his room. Though he was moving his body seemed eerily still, only functioning with the mechanic rotation of his arms and legs in their sockets. Even reaching for the door handle, his fingers splayed with the stiff resistance of a bear trap being pried open. She called out to him, "Daddy?"
He paused, and his neck twisted jaggedly toward her, "Yes, sweetheart ?"
Elizabeth felt something swim in her stomach.
Dad's face was vacant of anything. The whites of his eyes and his teeth seemed to glow against the shadows cast over him, his lips pulled so she could see his too-pale gums. His hair was loose and clumped together, as though he'd run his hands through it and forgotten that it was still tied. Even his lavender shirt, Dad always prided himself on keeping his attire ironed and fresh, had wet marks around his collar and in the pits of his arms.
He looked... kind of gross . Elizabeth was quick to shake that thought from her head.
She'd taken too long to respond, and Dad didn't seem to be in the mood to even pretend at not being irritated by it. His lips pulled downward, and Elizabeth felt herself flinch at the sight.
"Elizabeth."
She knew better, yet still had to bite her tongue. Stopping herself from reflexively saying, 'sorry.'
"Are you okay?" She asked, being sure to make her voice seem gentle and unafraid, purely doting.
Dad's face didn't change, but he beckoned her closer.
Elizabeth didn't hesitate in stepping forward, she'd trained that out of herself a while ago.
Standing in front of him, she felt like a little toddler again. Stumbling around on stumpy little legs, arms outstretched and ready to catch herself if she fell. Frowning and following Mike around the house. Hoping he'd have pity, pick her up and take her far away.
Dad didn't kneel down to her like he usually did, and Elizabeth's neck was already starting to hurt from craning it back so far. He appreciated eye contact though, so she ignored it.
His hands were twitching as he leaned over just enough that he could rest them on her shoulders, and they stank like bile. Elizabeth couldn't stop herself from wrinkling her nose, twisting her face into an ugly grimace. Dad seemed to think it was funny, thankfully.
Grinning faintly, with his gums still looking too grey to be normal, Dad answered; "Yes, darling. I'm brilliant."
She wasn't about to contradict him.
That was always Mike's thing.
She attempted a smile in return. "Is Mikey okay, Daddy?"
Much to her relief, he didn't seem angry that she'd asked. Merely amused. He stood straight again and ruffled her hair with his putrid palm. "He will be, don't you fret."
She nodded and found herself subconsciously smoothing the wrinkles in her dress, clawing her hands through her curls only for them to snag in the knots.
"I'll shower, and then I have a few things to take care of at the Diner," Dad said, assisting in detangling her fingers with a patient expression that made Elizabeth glad she was the favourite. "I'm trusting you to watch your brothers, Elizabeth. Can you do that, for me?"
"Yes Daddy," she answered obediently, even though her body tensed at the memory of how Mike had reacted the last time she'd tried to keep him here. "But Mikey's a lot bigger than me, what if he tries to sneak out again?"
"Again?" Dad cocked a brow, his eyes narrowing. Bemused.
Elizabeth bit her cheek. "Like he did at Fredbear's."
" Right, " he droned. It made her feel stupid, even though she wasn't . "I've taken care of that. Just make sure he stays in his room, yes? He'll be allowed out when I get back."
Huh. "Yes, Daddy."
"You're a good girl, Lizzie," Dad said with a smile. He tilted her head up with a finger beneath her chin, and she ignored her neck's stabbing protest. "I love you."
Elizabeth blinked. Her heart might have melted, if the words weren't so cold. "I love you too."
He grinned in approval, then turned back to his room.
Elizabeth caught a glimpse of it, in the few seconds it took for Dad to shut himself away. She couldn't see much of what was in there other than the drawn, perfectly still curtains and the looming bedframe. It was dark. No rainbows on the walls.
The door was shut, and locked.
Elizabeth stared for a long, dumb moment, then shook herself. She turned back to the hallway, intending on going back to Cassidy, to make sure he hadn't somehow managed to hurt himself when she heard low, pitiful sounds coming from behind Mike's door.
Not quite cries, more like the sounds a feral cat makes in the late hours of the night when you're supposed to be asleep. Low, angry, desperate.
Elizabeth waited until she could hear the shower in Dad's room, before turning the handle and pushing it open. She wasn't surprised that it hadn't been locked. Dad had gone down to the basement as soon as they'd gotten home, and she'd watched as he carried several tools and a new handle up the staircase.
Upon unveiling Mike's room, Elizabeth was immediately assaulted with the vile smell of vomit, her hand coming up and over her nose, pinching it tightly with a disgusted grunt. Mike was sitting in it, hunched over like some kind of bog monster. It was all over the sheets, and all across his lap, and he was completely still, his terrible whining the only indication that he was still awake.
Her eyes could hardly comprehend the sight. "Mikey?"
His head snapped up, eyes red and bulging, lashes crusted together and dried tears trailing down to his jaw. There was a weird imprinted redness around the lower half of his face that made Elizabeth's hands tremble.
She stepped closer, and Mike didn't move. He didn't flinch away, or curl in on himself like she might've expected. He wasn't stiff, or tense. He looked... She couldn't really describe it. "What happened?" She asked, her stomach flipping at the potency of the smell, and the sight of the wet chunks clinging to her brother's pants.
He scoffed. He tried to, at least. It came out more of a cough. "Get out," he croaked.
Elizabeth frowned. "No. Let me help-"
Mike snarled, his fists uncurling from where they'd been clasped to his chest. He jabbed a finger at the hallway, the other hand twisted in the bedding like he was restraining himself. "I said get the fuck out."
"I heard you," she snapped, feeling her anger rise to boil. She was only trying to figure out what was wrong, and no one ever wanted to tell her anything! "And do not curse at me!"
One second, Elizabeth was staring down her brother, and the next there was something hurled in her direction. Her brain took half a second to recognise the object as Mike's beloved Walkman, and then another to tell her body that it ought to move.
Elizabeth shrunk back into the hallway, flinching when it crashed against the doorframe, the plastic casing cracking and sending a few projectile shards back into the room.
Breathing heavily, Elizabeth thought she might've seen something like pain or regret flash in Mike's feral gaze, but then he was standing from his bed and stalking closer. Instinctually, and it had to be instinct because Elizabeth never would have done this voluntarily, she curled in on herself, raising her arms to protect her face and torso. Her eyes snapped shut, only to open when no strike came.
The slam of Mike's door was a familiar one.
She unfurled herself, her heart thundering inside her ribcage.
Elizabeth had seen a rabid fox before. She'd been at school, playing in the yard with her friends when a fox snuck through a hole in the fence. It approached them calmly, eyes glazed and empty. Elizabeth's friends had giggled with glee, thinking that it was friendly. Too many Disney movies, in her opinion.
Her teacher threw a rock at its head, just before the fox rushed forward, jaws wide. Its last breath was spent feverishly trying to latch its teeth into Elizabeth's arm.
That's what Mike had looked like. Sick.
Why wouldn't he just let her help? That's all she wanted to do, right? She was always helping him, keeping secrets from Dad, trying to help him understand Dad like she did, but Mike just wouldn't listen. And he didn't even notice.
Well, she was done trying. Dad was the only one who ever rewarded her for trying.
Mike didn't make any sense, anyway. No one did.
Dad's shower was still running, thankfully.
Returning to Cassidy's room, Elizabeth was surprised to see that he had moved. He was perched on the edge of his bed, with his headless foxy loosely held in his limp fingers. He didn't look up when she entered his room and closed the door behind her, merely continuing to feel sorry for himself.
Elizabeth sat down on the rug, picking at the threads. Cassidy's room was really cool, in her opinion. She liked her pink bed and butterfly stickers, but she liked Cassidy's rocket lamp more. And the rug was a print of the solar system. The stars were really pretty, and Mike had made sure Cass got one where the planets were to scale. She wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she knew it had something to do with comparison. Elizabeth traced her fingers over the tiny little circle of Earth. So small, in comparison to the others. And to the sun.
The Earth doesn't revolve around you, Liz. Mike had said that to her once.
In the comfort and safety of her own mind, Elizabeth thought she could perhaps admit that she sometimes felt like she was the only real person in the world. The only one who really existed . Dad was the exception. She had to have come from somewhere . But Mike? Cass? Henry and Charlie, and all of her schoolmates?
She wasn't so sure they were real. Not like she was.
She knew English, she could hear perfectly well, could read body language and people's expressions. But she didn't understand them. Everyone else was so reactionary. Like a toy needing to be wound up before it can spring into motion.
Not her. She was rational. Real. She could hear her voice inside her head. She couldn't hear anyone else.
Except Dad. Sometimes, she heard him . His voice, telling her he was proud that she was a little monster, like him.
Monster.
Dad wasn't a monster. Neither was she.
Mike was. Like in movies. He was the bully, the dangerous one who all the parents didn't want to leave their children alone with when he started getting bigger. Mike threw things, and he beat up bigger kids than him. Mike snuck around during the night, climbing through windows and hiding under beds so he could scare his little brother. Mike probably did lock Cass in that room, to impress his horrid friends or whatever.
"Are you okay, Lizzy?" She heard Cassidy ask.
Before she could answer, they heard the door to Dad's room open. He didn't linger, didn't stop to check on any of them, not even Mike.
His keys rattled in his hand as he descended the stairs, his hard shoes clicking against the wooden flooring. The front door let out a faint squeal, and then shut again.
Dad's car rumbled and pulled out of the driveway, and Cassidy yawned, then sniffled loudly, the wet sound causing Elizabeth's eye to twitch.
"You should sleep," she stated, stiffly.
Cassidy's head twisted toward her, panicked. "I can't- Mikey won't wanna -"
"It's still daytime, right?" She interrupted, standing up and sitting next to him on the bed. "It can't get you. And I'll stay right here."
Cassidy seemed to appreciate the offer, but there was something hesitant and unconvinced in his eyes that made her angry. She growled, shoving him hard enough that Cassidy fell off the bed. He landed with a pained yelp, his elbow taking the brunt of his weight. Elizabeth leaned over, stopping to push her hair away as it fell into her eyes, then seething down at him, " What? Only Mike can scare away your imaginary monsters?"
Cassidy gaped up at her like a fish, his eyes wide and dumb. "What?!"
"You heard me," she spat. "It's always about Mike with you. Mikey this- Mikey that- When will you get the hint, Cass?! He doesn't care about you! He hates you!"
She didn't know exactly why she was saying any of it, other than that it felt good. It felt like letting her hair down after a long day at school, like coming inside to the air conditioner. It was relieving. Freeing.
Maybe Cassidy didn't have any tears left, finally, because instead of breaking down into a pathetic heap, he actually fought back . " You said he didn't!" He exclaimed, rising to his feet again.
She rolled her eyes. If he'd believed her, then it should've stopped him from destroying his Foxy. Elizabeth would've taken it since he didn't want it anymore- "I was lying ; I thought that was obvious ."
If she'd sincerely thought she was going to get the fight that she was itching for out of Cassidy, she was sorely disappointed. Just as quickly as he'd challenged her, he backed down.
Crossing his arms protectively over his chest, he whimpered, "Stop it, Lizzy, Mikey doesn't-" his throat interrupted him with a sob.
She wasn't about to let him start crying again and poked him harshly in the chest. "Don't be daft, Cass. He wants you dead ."
" Don't say that- " he whispered.
Elizabeth laughed. She knew it wasn't funny, but it felt like it could be, and that was enough for her. "He's always wanted you dead. How many times does he have to try before you finally get it!"
The anger returned, finally, and Cassidy shouted, "Yeah? Well, he hates you too!"
Elizabeth felt her face twist into a sneer, "I know! But you don't see me whining about it, do you? I don't cry like a little bitch for him to come save me from the boogeyman!"
She cursed. Good thing Dad wasn't home. Good thing he'd put her in charge.
Cassidy, to his credit, barely even blinked at the insult. "No, you just follow Dad around like a puppy!"
Elizabeth bristled, hissing. "He told me to watch you and Mike, you know? I'm the youngest, I'm a girl, and I'm the only one he can trust! You're both that pathetic!"
"BOTH OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" Mike hollered from across the hall, and if Elizabeth wasn't so bloody angry it might've been harder to resist flinching. Cassidy didn't manage it, because of course he didn't. He couldn't manage anything other than making everyone else around him feel miserable.
Fuming, Elizabeth stormed over to Cassidy's door and kicked it open, screaming back, "You're in trouble, Mike! If you don't want to stay that way then STOP CURSING AT ME!!"
"PISS OFF!!", came the furious reply.
With the lack of anything solid to kick again, Elizabeth stamped her foot harshly enough that it sent pain shooting up her leg. "You think I won't tell Dad what you did?! I will! And then you'll have to sit in your chuck for a week !! "
Normally Mike would've said something stupid like, 'Do it,' but this time he went silent. Good. He should think about that. If he was even capable of thinking.
She turned back to Cassidy, narrowing her eyes in response to his disgusted expression.
"Is he sick?"
Huffing, Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do you care?"
Instead of answering, Cassidy dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking. "Does he really have to stay in there? In his vomit?" he murmured into his palms.
Elizabeth might've liked to think that maybe he wasn't asking because he felt sorry for Mike, but because he realised how angry Mike would be after all of this. Maybe dreading the moment Mike was allowed near him again.
If Cassidy was smart, he'd be worried about that .
"Yeah. He does," she answered him.
But Elizabeth knew he was asking because he felt guilty. She wasn't about to bother correcting him on that, though. He'd have to figure it out himself. Learn. The hard way.
"Because he... tried to - because he p-pranked me?"
Elizabeth's hands formed trembling fists. Before she did anything stupid, like start yelling at Cassidy again, she took a few deep breaths. It was something her friend Suzie said her councillor advised. For moments when you need to take control again. She opened her eyes, staring at her brother with what she considered a reasonable amount of animosity. As much as you are really permitted to have for a sibling, in any case.
"I hope you're happy, Cass. Next time, just bloody listen to me. That's all you have to do."
-------------------
Cassidy's eyes darted around the Arcade, his focus catching on every enormous detail. Every flashing screen and buzzing sound, every win and failure of the children around him. The colours and music overwhelmed him, sometimes. But holding Mike's hand helped.
"HA! See? I told you no one can beat me."
The boy Mike was playing against kicked the arcade machine with a ratty sneaker. "You cheated!"
"Did not," Mike drawled, poking the kid in the forehead with a mean grin. "I beat you, fair and square," he pulled his arm upward and shook it, Cassidy was still latched onto his hand and he was jostled about by the action. "I even did it one-handed! So, it wasn't fair, really."
"Pft, it wasn't fair because your Daddy owns this place!"
Mike's eyes narrowed, all enjoyment gone from his face. He stepped forward, yanking Cassidy with him, and glared down at the other boy. Mike was way bigger than him. "That doesn't even make any sense, and you know it. Don't be such a sore loser, carrot top ."
"Don't call me that!" He snorted, angrily wiping at his eyes.
It made Cassidy feel really bad because he didn't like it when Mike was mean to him, and he didn't like it when he was mean to other kids too. But when he reached out to comfort the boy, his hand was harshly slapped away.
It didn't even hurt that much, not nearly as much as it hurt when Mike hit him.
But his brother immediately pulled Cassidy back and behind him, now snarling at the cowering boy pressed against the machine. "You got a problem with him? Huh, fire crotch ?!"
"No-" he immediately answered, his hands out by his sides in surrender.
Mike huffed, like a dragon snorting smoke out of its nostrils. "Tell him you're sorry then."
The boy blinked, his lips twisting. "What?"
Mike leant closer, practically spitting in his face. "You bloody well heard me, didn't you?"
Stammering, the other kid struggled for a response. Cassidy winced, hiding himself behind Mike's legs.
"Apologise. Now."
"Mikey, it's okay-" he tried to say.
"Shut the hell up, Cass," Mike snapped, not taking his eyes away. "NOW."
The boy seemed to gulp around nothing, and he turned his head away. "I-I'm sorry-"
Mike stayed there, staring at him for a good long while. Anxiously, because the other children in the Arcade had begun observing the spectacle, Cassidy tugged on his brother's hand. Mike eventually straightened, satisfied. "Good, now piss off."
The boy scampered off, his eyes still shining, and ended up tripping over on the way out. Mike snickered, and Cassidy frowned up at him.
His brother didn't seem to notice. If he did, he wouldn't have cared anyway.
"You can't do that, Mikey," Cassidy summoned the courage to say.
Mike still didn't look at him, he just smirked and popped the bright blue gum in his mouth. "Oh yeah? You gonna start trying to boss me around too, huh?"
Cassidy shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted Mikey to think. "No. It's just mean."
Mike scoffed and started walking toward a Sea Wolf cabinet. Cassidy wasn't about to let go of him just yet and was pulled along. His brother scowled at the kid who'd been occupying the machine, only easing when they wordlessly moved off. "So? He shouldn't have hit you."
"I guess," Cassidy muttered, wondering why he didn't feel any particular way about that statement.
"Mikey!!" Their sister called, running into the arcade room with the ribbons in her pigtails flying wildly behind her.
Mike straightened, startled, and the force of Lizzy launching herself into his torso was almost enough to bowl him over. Cassidy's hold on him came loose, and he caught himself from whining at the loss.
"Urgh, what?! " Mike grunted, ripping Lizzy off of him like a bandaid. She giggled, her eyes full of mischief. Cassidy sighed at the sight, knowing that this couldn't be any good.
"I bet I could beat you!" She declared, her hands on her hips.
Cassidy wondered how she'd heard any of that from the other room, the thought interrupted by Mike's laugh.
"You're not even old enough to play any of these."
"Am so!" She protested, waving a dismissive hand at the cabinet. "You're just too chicken to verse me!"
Mike rolled his eyes with a smile on his lips. "Can you even reach?"
Lizzy blinked. Bamboozled. She turned around and reached up with her hands. She was tall enough to see over the control panel, and she could press the buttons, but her elbows had to hover near her ears like someone imitating a chicken.
"Rrhg," she huffed when going onto her tiptoes didn't help as much as she'd likely hoped.
Cassidy smothered a giggle behind his hand, but Lizzy heard him and responded by poking her tongue out at him. She wasn't actually mad though, her eyes weren't doing the twitchy thing they did when she was upset.
Mike shook his head, thinking it was funny too. "It's fine, Lizzy. We can play on the kiddie ones if you need."
"I don't need to play on the kiddie ones! I just need a box or something-" and then she was running off again, ribbons in hot pursuit.
Cassidy grimaced in sympathy to whichever adult she was set out to harass.
He blinked up at his brother and took his hand again, happy that Mike actually allowed it. Though he did let out a loud, exasperated sigh.
"Can you teach me?" Cassidy asked, surprised at himself.
Mike was too, by the look on his face. "What? Games?"
"Yeah," Cassidy nodded, shrugging. "I want to get good at something."
Mike was silent for a while before he blew another impressively large bubble that exploded with a loud POP! Rolling his shoulders, Mike answered with a bored tone that Cassidy didn't think was very sincere. "Yeah, we can do that if you want. But you listen to me, you hear? No whining or complaining that it's too hard or whatever. If you wanna get good then you need to shut up and watch."
"Okay Mikey," Cassidy agreed, pinching his fingers near his mouth and zipping it shut.
To his delight, Mike smiled. And not the way he did when he was just angry. This was small and soft. Two things that Mike definately wasn't.
It was quickly replaced by something broader and more devilish, and more familiar, as Mike's hand actually held him back, pulling Cassidy along to another cabinet. "Alright, little man. Let's start with something easy-"
Games were a lot of fun. So was hanging out with Mike. Every day after school, they'd walk to Fredbear's with Lizzy, and play games until Dad had to come and drag them back home.
Eventually, Cassidy had enough tickets for a prize.
He surveyed all of the toys, noting that Mike was eyeing a huge packet of lawn darts with a glint in his gaze. Mike wasn't allowed toys like that anymore, and the employees at the prize counter knew it too.
Cassidy winced, reminded of what happened last time, then thought he'd get something much softer.
He looked at the plushies. Fredbear was his friend, but he couldn't bring him to school with him. And it must get lonely being left at home all the time. Maybe he should have a friend to keep him company?
A red fox caught his attention.
Foxy had always been Mike's favourite. He'd always been Cassidy's least favourite. He was cool, that's what Mike kept saying, but he was also scary. Not because he's a predator, bears are scary in the wild too.
But Fredbear isn't a pirate with a hook that chases you around.
Cassidy couldn't remember whether his dislike for Foxy had come before or after Mike started wearing that ugly mask everywhere, jumping out and scaring him at every turn. Either way, it didn't feel like it mattered right now. Mike liked Foxy, and Cassidy liked Mike.
He pointed at the foxy plush, and Mike must've understood what that meant because his grin was brighter than the neon lights in the arcade, and he even ruffled Cassidy's hair.
Cassidy smiled back. Maybe Mike wasn't so bad after all.
-------------------------
By the time Father came home, the house was quiet. It had been quiet for a while.
Michael was... He was something. Definately something .
The smell hadn't gotten any better. But it hadn't really gotten worse, either. He didn't think he would, but he got used to it. Or, he got used to ignoring it.
The sensation was disgusting, and he was positioned so that the last of the day's light was roasting one side of his body, while the other was cold and wet.
But really, the worst part was knowing that it was going to stain. He didn't care about the pants, but Michael kinda loved his bedsheets. They were Doctor Who ones, with the Tardis in a randomised pattern, small blue telephone boxes all in a jumbled array. Michael's friends thought it was lame, but it was one of the few things he didn't care for their opinion on.
Henry bought them for his thirteenth birthday. He'd shown up at the house, wheeled Charlie inside, then trotted happily up the stairs with a large box in his giant hands. A paint bucket, a brush and a roller. A few select items that would match the colours and serve as decor, a stand for Michael's pencils, a binder to store all his sketches and doodles in, some shelves and bookends, and the like.
He'd said that Michael should have a cool room because he was thirteen and was officially a teenager now. And being cool is what teenagers love, apparently.
And Doctor Who is cool, according to Henry.
Michael wasn't one to disagree. Even though he'd never seen a single episode until that night when Henry had set up the loungeroom like a private cinema for Michael and his siblings. Charlie got to sit on a throne of cushions that Liz had made for her, and Cass had curled up like a kitten in Michael's lap, falling asleep halfway through. He'd allowed it, only because he'd been cold and hadn't wanted to spoil Henry's attempt at creating the perfect birthday for him.
He'd almost succeeded, too.
It wasn't anything on his part, though. Just Father's.
He'd been there. In and out of the basement. He'd woken Michael up in the morning with breakfast in bed, and handed him a box encased in purple wrapping paper (inside had been a new Bonnie action-figure, surprise surprise), stroked his hair and said "Happy Birthday, Mike."
Michael had managed a grin, and stole a quick hug from him (it truly felt like stealing, darting forward and snatching him like that), and said "Thank you, Father."
And that had been about it. There hadn't been a cake. For all that Father co-owned a Family Diner, with sweets and lollies aplenty, he didn't condone anything of the sort in his home except on very rare occasions.
Henry was the one to make that day special. Michael hadn't really thought about it in the moment, other than wondering why Father had looked so disgruntled the few times he managed to show himself. He'd dragged his feet through the kitchen and made a huge ruckus out of simply getting a glass of water, then loudly plodded back down to the basement.
No one had followed after him or asked him to stay. Not even Henry, despite the evident worry on his face. Michael knew that he made excuses for Father, in his head. He probably thought he was so distant because he was still mourning.
Wouldn't that be a sight?
Michael had thought about it later and came to the conclusion that Father must've felt outdone. Overshadowed. He can't have been too upset about it though. Never enough to join in, at least.
Enough that he'd been sure to hit Michael in the face with a thousand different iterations of the phrase, "I love you," the very next day.
Never enough to help Michael paint his room though, or sit on the couch and watch Doctor Who with him.
The past couple of years had been relatively calm between Michael and his siblings. By their standards, at least. He knew a large part of this was that he'd kept watching Doctor Who, and he let Liz and Cass watch it with him. It was their thing, now. Watching stuff. One of the only things they could seem to do together without wanting to rip each other's faces off.
And now, Michael was sitting in a drying puddle of acid and cereal, having returned to the exact spot Father left him in after he'd shut Elizabeth out of his room.
He'd say it was because he didn't want her to see him like this, only he was too exhausted to lie to himself. He just hadn't wanted to look at her.
He didn't know what he'd have done if it had been Cassiy barging into his room. Maybe he'd have entertained the idea of dangling him by his leg out the window if opening his window was even an option. The issue was that he would think of something else. In a split second, and before considering the consequences at all.
Why did they have to hate him so much? Michael wasn't a perfect brother or even a good one. He knew that. But for fuck's sake, he didn't deserve this shit from them .
He eyed his poor Walkman, feeling the anger surge like a flame inside his chest.
The two brats had been arguing with each other, weirdly enough. They didn't do that often. Not so viciously, at least. Petty squabbles about who got more orange juice in their glass (Elizabeth always insisted on having them equal, but Cassidy wanted more than her because that's how it had worked between him and Michael), but not the outraged shrieking he'd been subjected to.
He couldn't really tell what they were saying, their voices were too high and whiny, and truthfully he didn't care much. But he could only guess that it had something to do with him.
Everything came back to him in this house. All of it. His fault.
Father didn't stay out as long as Michael expected him to. When he'd stood with a stony expression and told him that if he tried to move Father would follow through on his threat of confining him to the house until whenever he could be "trusted" again, Michael had thought he'd be sitting like this until the morning.
He was fully prepared for it, too.
There was always his stash of smokes under the bed. They would've helped. Maybe.
But Father came back after only a few hours. The sun still hadn't set completely, it was summer after all, and he looked far more like himself when he cracked open Michael's door. Ironed shirt, patterned tie, creasless trousers and shiny shoes. Not a hair out of place.
Despite all this, his eyes remained unchanged. Faintly bloodshot, with dark circles tugging down at the creases around his eyelids.
Those ashen eyes inspected him with all the clinical consideration of a car dealer, narrowing further at the conspicuously broken cassette player at the doorway. Father's gaze flickered up to him, and Michael just hung his head.
"Clean this up," Father said. Then, he left.
Michael let out the breath he'd been coveting in his chest at the sight of him.
He doubted that he was in the clear, Father had said, even before the whole 'panic-induced hyperventilating' ordeal, that there were going to be consequences. But at least he could move, now.
Michael stood and immediately stripped his bed, almost heaving again as he tucked it all into a loose, heavy bundle that hovered precariously close to his nose. With one hand, he twisted the handle of his lockless door and looked up and down the hallway before exiting.
As he slunk quietly to the laundry, Mike passed the lounge room. He glanced inside, briefly, noting Elizabeth's golden head slung over the armrest of the couch, her hair spilling almost to the floor and her eyes blankly staring at the TV.
"-Scooby Doo, I see you
Pretending you got a sliver
But you're not fooling me,
cause I can see The way you shake and shiver-"
Elizabeth's nose wrinkled, faintly, as though she could smell him, but she didn't move or say anything. She wasn't even humming along to the theme song like she usually would. Rather than check if Cassidy was in there too, or risk drawing the little demon's ire, Michael continued.
He tossed his sheets into the washing machine, deciding to start it after he'd had a shower and changed his clothes, before darting back through the house and up the stairs to the bathroom.
He switched on the water and tossed his clothes into the bathtub for now. He winced, remembering that he'd forgotten to get some more from his room, then quickly deciding he wasn't about to put those things on again. He'd just have to be quick about getting to his room and back.
He sighed and stepped under the pelting water, hissing and drawing back when it was ice cold. Chills ran down his body, and he scowled, turning it to hot. Waiting impatiently with his hands crossed over his chest, and his eyes avoiding the mirror.
Once it was warm enough, he stepped in. Michael preferred his showers lengthy and scalding, much to the annoyance of his siblings. His face managed to twitch into a small smirk at that thought, and Michael decided he was justified in taking a while this time, given the context.
He set to scrubbing, drawing his nails up and down his skin and leaving angry red marks in their wake. After several pumps of soap and loads of lathering, several curses and a lot of hitting his fists against the shower wall, Michael still didn't feel as though he was any cleaner. Funny, that. The acid was inside his nose still, he supposed.
He made sure to wash his hair, thoroughly. Even applying the mousse to his curls. Then he wondered why he was bothering when it was all going to be lopped off in a few weeks. Maybe sooner, considering Father's reference to mysterious "consequences."
Michael only stepped out of the shower once the water started turning cold. The mirror was fogged up, and he was grateful for it. Ripping a towel off the rack and drying himself haphazardly, his hair still clinging to his face and shoulders as he wrapped it around his waist.
He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway, stopping and staring like a spooked horse as Father reached the last step of the staircase. The man didn't frown at him, but he didn't need to. No movement in his face would've sufficed to represent whatever emotion was in his eyes.
Mike shook himself, and darted across to his room, throwing the door open with his cheeks flushed in embarrassment and shame. Mortified, he shut it behind him and waited for Father's footsteps to pass his room before allowing himself to relax.
Fuck. He'd be walking on eggshells for months after this. Or for as long as Father tolerated being avoided, which wasn't very long. Michael would bet on a week at most before he'd have to act as though nothing had happened. As though Father hadn't almost killed him- Dramatic, much? He was helping-
Michael slumped over to his closet, pulling out an unassuming and uncontroversial red t-shirt and black shorts. His Black Sabbath shirt lay crumpled after being flung onto the floor earlier that morning, and Michael bit his cheek, reminded of the sting Father's hand had left there.
He retrieved his clothes from the bathroom, slinking down the stairs again. Thankfully, still no Cassidy. Michael didn't trust himself right now, best that he avoided the little shit for a few days. Best that he avoid everyone, keep his head low.
Father would be going back to work tomorrow, and Michael would be back to being Liz and Cass' babysitter. They would have to keep themselves entertained and fed though, he was having none of it. He would've considered locking himself in his room if that had even been an option. Alas, he would have to settle for intimidation. Leave me the fuck alone, or else-
Or else what? Not like he can do anything to them. Not for a while at least, right?
He'd get them back for all this bullshit. Eventually.
The loungeroom was silent as he made his way to the laundry again.
Once his clothes had been soaked in the tub, and then tossed in the machine with the sheets, Michael checked the wire in the window. It was gone. He reached up, trying to slide it across and failing miserably. Father had known the whole time then. It said something, Michael wasn't sure what, that he wasn't surprised.
He'd known. He just hadn't cared enough to mention it. To ask what he was doing or where he was going so late at night when it's dangerous for kids to be out and alone.
It said something else , maybe, that the realisation actually hurt. Still, after everything.
Michael left the laundry, his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. On his way back to the stairs he passed the kitchen, and the sight he was met with had him frozen.
Elizabeth and Cassidy were both sat on the stools at the island, his sister cheerily swinging her legs back and forth, head leant on her hands. Cassidy was slumped, but there was a tentative smile on his lips, and for once he didn't seem to be fidgeting nervously with anything. Fredbear wasn't even in his arms.
They both were watching Father, as he swept through the kitchen with comfortable ease, and an entertaining flourish to each of his movements and an energetic grin to match. The smell hit Michael then, and the warmth from the stove. He was... making dinner.
Beef Stroganoff, by the looks of it.
Michael's stomach rumbled, and it was loud enough to alert the happy family to his presence.
He felt himself crumple like autumn leaves on the ground under the weight of Father's gaze as the man turned to look at him. Yet his smile didn't falter, nor did the hypnotic sheen of his silver eyes.
Neither of Michael's siblings looked at him. Elizabeth busied herself with her hair, and Cassidy with his sleeves.
"Hungry, Michael?" Father questioned, tilting his head.
Michael felt his jaw tighten. "No, thank you Father."
The man raised a brow, and he adjusted his stance so that he could rest one hand on the counter, and the other on his hip. "Oh? Not much of an appetite, eh?"
"Not really," Michael supplied, not daring to look away from him until Father made it clear he was allowed to do so.
"That's a shame," he answered, grin still present.
"Yeah," Michael said lamely, shuffling on his feet and growing more agitated the longer he was forced to stand there. "I-I'm just gonna-" he gestured loosely toward the stairs.
Father's eyes didn't follow the movement. "Yes?" he prompted.
Michael shifted again, his hands clenching at his sides and an uncomfortable heat forming in his chest. "Um, I'm kinda tired so... I'm just gonna go to bed. I think."
With his teeth bared, Father chuckled and turned back to the stove. "Good idea, Michael," he said over his shoulder. "Sleep well."
Michael nodded in acquiescence to what, no doubt, was an order more than a wish, then realised Father couldn't see him. "Thanks," he murmured.
Before he shot up the staircase, he saw Elizabeth's face tilt in his direction, an odd twitch in her eye as she stared after him.
Tumbling into his room, Michael gave a shuddering sigh, shaking his head and slumping toward his closet. He pulled out a spare blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, then flopped backward onto his bed.
His eyes shuttered open, and he grunted at having landed on something lumpy and uncomfortable, digging into his back. Sitting up, he reached behind himself, blindly fumbling for whatever it was with a searching hand.
His fingers grazed something soft, kind of fuzzy. Confused, Michael leaned over and turned his bedside lamp on.
It flickered a moment before lighting the room, and Michael felt something in him dim at what it revealed. Clutched in his hand was a bright red plushy. Even without the head, Michael knew exactly what it was.
Foxy. The foxy that he and Cassidy had won at the arcade together.
Michael stared at it, his hands shaking from how tightly he was gripping the toy, as though it could possibly answer any of the hundreds of questions racing through his head. As though, if he hurt it enough, it might yield and reveal everything he wanted to know.
Why does everyone hate him so much? Cassidy, Elizabeth, Mother.
Even Henry now, after how Michael had spoken to him. Charlie would hate him too, if she wasn't so stupidly nice. Jeremy didn't know Michael, not really.
None of them even knew that sometimes, when Michael was in the kitchen and making dinner for his horrid excuse of a family, he would wonder about leaving the gas on, fiddling with the lighter in his pocket.
And Father?
Sometimes Michael felt like Father was one bad day away from snapping his neck.
If only he were so kind.