Glasses and crockery smash around him and the fragments appear to almost explode against the wall. He ducks and dives as always, thinking that this is somewhat like the lord shooting at the peasant's feet to make them 'dance'.
Father is yelling, mummy's screaming; he's lost track of the intended recipients of their attacks. William huddles in the corner, hugging Redbeard's old rabbit toy close to his chest. William's dressed in black, is in mourning; he should say he doesn't have to do such a thing.
William whimpers, high and piercing, and he turns his face to look. A fatal mistake in the air of battle.
He catches the end of an insult, just his abbreviated name, "- Mike!" It's full of malice and ugliness and hatred, he thinks of changing his name when he's older. He never liked Michael anyway.
A glass hits his cheek and splinters like shrapnel, catching in the wound and the taste of salt and copper gradually flowing into his mouth. Slowly. Gently. It's laughable.
After a glass or plate hits, one free punch. It's a game they play and a schedule he follows.
His father hit his mark, so a meaty fist hits him. He falls to the floor.
Who is 'him'? Can Michael be removed? Not substituted, it wouldn't do to bring some poor innocent into this hell.
Blood is in his mouth, glass in his cheek and eye, and now the world doesn't quite match what it was and there is black in his vision.
"Shut him up!" his father yelled, glaring at William. He sees his chance.
He pushes himself to his feet, sprinting out of the room. Mummy snatches at his collar, but he gets away.
He dashes up the stairs, almost tripping and falling over his feet.
He launches into his room and locks the door. Breathe. He lets himself breath. He won't let himself hear the screams downstairs.
He grabs the rucksack he keeps under his bed, the one stuffed with his most needed personal effects, and shrugs it on.
There's a banging at the door.
He pushes open the window, just enough of a gap to shimmy through.
Tick tock, goes the clock.
Run, run as fast as you can.
He climbs out onto the blue, peeling drainpipe. If he fell now, he'd be seriously hurt at best.
His practise has paid off.
He plants his feet firmly on the ground and runs, not looking back.
He walks. He knows where he's walking.
Walking leads to thinking.
What name does he want if he no longer goes by Michael?
It a triviality, but it's also a distraction he relishes.
Nothing too different from the original, he supposes, but doesn't know why. He could go for... something unusual. Milo? Oh good god, no. He may as well throw syllables together to get a result if that was all his mind would give him at this moment shrouded in a cloak of pain. May as well go for something like Mycroft, haha! Wait... He actually quite liked that...
Greg's house appeared on the horizon and he ran. Greg was safety, Greg was love, Greg was affection. He knew that personification was a meaningless fancy of fiction writers - but at times it felt rather accurate.
He hopped onto the door step and rang the bell, distantly dismayed at the fact it took him three attempts to correctly locate it without misjudging.
And then there was Greg. His Greg. He heard a sharp intake of breath as his boyfriend looked at the damage his father had called.
"Michael?" Greg breathed, knowing how he hated 'Mike'. He hates Michael now.
"Not Michael anymore," he grunts, the pain in his cheek being more than he thought.
"Let's get you to A and E, you're face..." The rest goes unsaid.
Greg bundles him into Mrs Lestrade's car, leaving a hastily scrawled note.
They drive in silence. It's not awkward at all, but not the same level of pleasant as usual.
"I hope they arrest him," Greg risks glancing at him for a split second.
"I hope so too," He agrees, "I had to leave William behind... I don't know what they're doing..."
The movement of talking disturbs his wounds and more blood pours.
After a babbled rant, and a minute pause, he finally admits, "I can't see out of my left eye..."
And they pull up to the hospital. All Mycroft wants to do now is go back for William; but Lestrade keeps him close.
When the nurse asks his name, he replies, "Mycroft."