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It was supposed to be a prank. A joke to laugh at with his friends as Evan, too sensitive, crybaby, ran away and hid, and- And it was funny at first! The chase, the struggle, the whining cries, all scripted and played out a thousand times over.
But then there was- The sickly crunch as the skull collapsed, so fragile against the pistons and mechanisms and metal teeth. The drip, drip, drip of blood, red and denser than Mike thought it would be, stained the yellow, met the floor.
Evan’s scream cut off as soon as it began, ringing in his ears.
That wasn’t- He didn’t- For a moment he was sure, so sure, that it had been a dream. Unreal, fantastical, something out of a slasher flick. Muted he stood there, frozen, staring as his mutilated little brother hanged limply from the jaws, held there by the teeth digging deep into the head and little, soft, crybaby brain.
The world around him snapped out of focus as he watched- Oh god, Evan- He stumbled forwards trying to, what? Pull him away? Anything, anything at all, to get his brother out of there. He was dimly aware of someone trying to stop him, grab him, but no- That was Evan there! He put him there! He would get him out and Evan would be fine!
“Kid, kid-” Someone was speaking to him, obscuring his view, “Kid, the ambulance is here-” Mike lunged, trying to get around, let him see Evan- “Mike, they’ll take care of Evan, okay?”
He raised hell, screamed, raged, unaware of how desperate, how scared, he looked. How his shellshocked friends stood hugging their parents, how the dayguard was puking his guts out by a decorative palm tree, how the police and paramedics swarmed the scene. That was his little brother there, and he wouldn’t let them take him away.
Finally, (Later, later, god so much later, he will have known the guy worked there as a nightguard, one Jimmy Schmidt. In lieu of honouring him, Mike will take his surname and hold the very same job for less than a week. The pizzeria will burn and he will light a cigarette off of the fire.) Mike sobbed.
“I know, kid.” The man led him somewhere. “They need a family member in the ambulance, think you’re up for the job?”
Mike turned to look at his little brother, the crybaby with rivulets of blood running down his cheeks, twitching like the robots as the paramedics took him down.
He distantly noticed his hands shake, and his vision blur. Next thing he knew he was herded into an ambulance and with that, he gave up on focusing at all.
Mike sat in a hospital hallway, in bloody clothes. He rode the ambulance with Evan. He was the only family member on site, they said. They couldn’t get a hold of his parents and they needed someone who could fill out the paperwork.
(Mike couldn’t stop looking at the bloody mess of his little brother’s head, when they sped through the streets. The wound was so big. He could see the indents of the teeth taking up Evan’s right eye and left eyebrow. The nose looked crushed. And yet he heard them say that Evan was breathing and his brain working.
He only stopped staring when they wheeled Evan into the A&E.)
“Michael Afton?”
He looked up to see a portly nurse with papers under one arm.
“Yeah ‘s me. You... You have the papers?”
The nurse hesitated. “Yes, but if you’d prefer to wait for your guardian to help you with the information-“
“I've got it.”
“…Right.”
The nurse didn’t walk away, he hovered over Mike's shoulder as he wrote down Evan’s medical information.
(Evan always was a sickly kid. Coughing, runny-nosed, asthmatic, and since mom left, it had been Mike's dubious honour to get Evan to the doctor each time he had complications.
Dad checked on Evan afterwards. Smoothed his hair back and apologised for not being there, told him how he was busy with work, how it’s been hard without mom, and he is trying, and he loves him so very much.
Evan complained when dad was absent or distant, sure, but Mike knew he’d forgive their dad anything, as long as he said I love you every other week.
Mike never got that. Mike took care of Evan and he was never nice about it. He yelled at Evan when he got pneumonia, yelled when he broke an arm, yelled when he got a papercut. Made him cry.
He made Evan cry many times. Scowled and passed him a tissue, then listened to all the heaving I hate yous and leave me alones. He should’ve listened to him. Evan had always been smarter than him.)
Mike felt the nurse staring at him when he filled out Evan’s allergies without hesitation and it only intensified when O+ got scrawled in the blood type column. Then he looked over the information and passed it back. “Here.”
“And you? You’re not hurt?” The nurse asked.
“No.”
“Hm.” The nurse stared pointedly at his bloody clothes. Mike scowled back.
The man insisted on having him checked anyway, and offered some clean clothes, when it was clear Mike was just in shock. He refused the clothes.
Mike waited.
He remembered his little brother wriggling and protesting, when he held him aloft to feed him to the monster. He remembered how Evan's heart thundered in his chest, fast, alive.
Pumping blood. Red. Brown now, on his grey shirt.
Mike waited.
Some time later another nurse caught Mike shivering like a leaf, clucked her tongue, made him wash and change. Told him his uncle called. Told him, he was on his way with dad and Lizzie.
Mike asked about his little brother.
“He’s still in surgery, hon.” She handed him a wipe and started rubbing at his cheek with another one.
“Is he-” His heart was thumping in his chest- “Will he-?”
“We don’t know.” She pulled out another wipe. “He was in a bad way- But Rory, ambulance driver, he said your brother’s a tough cookie.” Her voice was steady and sure. “Rory’s rarely wrong, kid.”
She finished cleaning his face in silence, much gentler than anything he remembered. She cupped his cheek and nodded at him. And walked away.
Mike waited.
Dad took one look at Mike; His expression twisted, thick brows furrowed and the corner of his mouth twitched, the way it did when he wanted to chew him out, but didn’t want to cause a scene.
His dad had been doing that more and more lately.
Lizzie asked questions about Evan that Mike couldn’t answer. She clung onto his hand and clambered into his lap for a hug, when dad went away to yell at uncle Henry. She whispered about her day to him and didn’t let go even when dad came back.
His baby sister had been doing that more and more lately.
Seven hours later, Evan was stable. Doctors said it was a miracle. They said they had lost him two times in surgery. They said they could visit him, two people at a time.
Mike saw dad glower and open his mouth to argue, but uncle Henry grabbed his shoulder.
“Right,” uncle didn’t even look at dad, “why don’t you two go see Evan, and me and your dad will have a little chat.” He smiled tightly.
“Henry-”
“Bill. Don’t.” Uncle squeezed dad’s shoulder tighter and to Mike he said, “Go. Check on your brother.”
Mike stood up with Lizzie stubbornly clinging to him and went.
(He expected blood, red seeping through the bandages, smeared all over Evan. He saw what his broken skull looked like, his pink crybaby brain, his eye destroyed in the socket. He kind of expected screaming and other horrifying things.
Maybe that’s why he was surprised. Evan looked so small. He always had been the smallest of them, short and thin for a nine year old. The doctor said he was healthy, last time they’d been in here, just small.
It was easy to lift him up.
There were machines beeping all around his little brother, connected to him. His face was covered in a cast and bandages, except for his mouth and nose. There were IVs in his arms, tubes in his mouth, and oh. Evan had never looked this small, like he did now, in this big white bed.)
“Mikey? Mikey, why is Evan like this?” Lizzie asked, her hands twisted in his shirt. “Why is he so small? He wasn’t this small yesterday.” Oh, she sounded upset.
“I- Lizzie.” Mike felt tears on his collar.
“Wha- wha-at happened ? Evan? This is no-ot funny-y!” She was shaking, gripping him tighter.
“Lizzie, Liz, hey,” he started rocking her on his hip, like he had done when she was five and got upset at loud noises. “Shhh, shh, c’mon.
“Ev, got hurt. Really hurt.” She sobbed harder, Mike held her closer. “The doctors say he'll be fine. He is sleeping now. He needs to heal.”
“Bu-ut why?” She gasped, into his shirt, “Why? ”
(Mike didn’t know how to answer her. What could he say to his eleven year old baby sister, when he landed their little brother in a coma? How would he even begin to explain that his friends had been saying that he’s getting soft because they saw him give the biggest crybaby on the block, his little brother, a piggyback ride, and he needed their approval, especially Johnny’s. He needed to step up or stop meeting them.
And Mike liked Johnny. Liked him the way he had liked Tina in freshman year. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew his dad would be furious if he caught wind of that. So he tried to be a good friend to Johnny, tried to be the coolest friend Johnny could ever have. And he went along with a stupid prank.
Mike didn’t know how to tell his baby sister that… It was his fault. It was his fault Evan was in this big white bed, unconscious.)
“Evan needs rest, big head wound,” he took a deep breath. “He will be okay, Lizzie.”
Mike didn’t know how long he stood there, his little sister heaving with sobs in his arms and him trying to calm her down. He carefully sat them down in the visitor’s chair and started humming. It was a short melody, he remembered mom singing it to get him to sleep. His voice was nothing special, could barely hold a tune really, but Lizzie quieted down.
“D’you really think it’ll be okay?” She whispered.
“I- yeah. He always was tough.”
“I hope so. I miss him.”
“We could bring him his plushie next time.”
Mike felt Lizzie nod. “Yeah that’d be nice. I wanna visit him again.”
“Yeah, it would be nice.”
After a while of hushed conversation, Lizzie fell asleep on him. She was gripping him like he'd disappear from under her. He held her just as tight. Mike looked at Evan, pale and small, and wanted to hold him too.
It was quiet.
Well, almost.
Mike could hear dad and uncle having a screaming match outside the room. He didn’t know when they had started, but it must’ve been the reason why he and Lizzie could stay in the room as long as they did.
“…Henry I am warning you, those are my kids-”
“I know they are your kids, Bill! For god’s sake! I am not taking them away, I just want them to sleep over at my place, so they don’t have to miss their brother any more than they already do!”
“Miss their brother, that’s rich! Michael got him hurt in the first place! He was dangling him in front of the robot-”
“Don’t you blame Mike, I told you to have a talk with him just in case! So a situation like this wouldn’t happen!”
“Oh so this is my fault now-”
“IT IS OUR FAULT!” he heard uncle roar. “OUR FAULT BILL!
“These robots are dangerous! We knew that when we made them! We said that we’d damn well make sure there are safety precautions, so no one would get hurt! It wasn’t enough! It wasn’t. There were a few close calls, but the security guards were there. And now. Now…
“Now Evan is hurt. Because we failed to guarantee that safety. It wasn’t Mike. It was us, Bill. Us. The adults who didn’t make fucking sure that stupid pranks like this, wouldn’t result in a casualty.”
Mike didn’t dare breathe.
“It’s on me too. So let me… Let me help you. Let me take the kids to my place, hell, you can sleep there too.”
It was quiet for a moment, and then.
“...One night.”
Henry Emily was heavy-set and had mutton chops and glasses and greeted Mike with a hug each time, no matter that he was sixteen already. He always had a kind word or a gentle reprimand and only raised his voice when Mike's dad was particularly thick-headed.
Henry fought with Bill that day. He fought hard and he fought long, and he brought out every underhanded tactic to get Mike and Lizzie to sleep at his house.
(Henry Emily knew William Afton like no one else. He saw something in Bill that day that made him scream his throat raw to get the kids away from him. Something feral and desperate, in his eyes, in his posture. Something that promised violence. Something so, so scared.
Henry looked at Bill and knew if either of his kids were at home that night, they’d get hurt.)
Uncle Henry raised his voice that day. They spent that night at his place.