"Father? Father, I'm home," Michael called out half-heartedly as he entered the darkened house, his voice echoing eerily down the empty halls, the familiar surroundings having long since been shrouded in deep evening shadows.
There was no reply to his unenthusiastic calls, only silence prevailed, and the man sighed, dropping his keys unceremoniously upon the polished stone counter of the open kitchen, his exhausted, purple eyes briefly raking over the surprisingly vacant interior of his home.
William's familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found. Not that surprising, he supposed. His father hadn't exactly been all that talkative even before he'd been relinquished into Michael's custody and that was completely fine by him. Mike himself didn't particularly feel like conversing with the man who had effectively ruined his life either. Not after… after everything his father had done both to him and so many others.
Quickly rinsing his hands (out of force of habit rather than any real need to do so, after all, it wasn't like he could get infections anymore), and grabbing a bowl of cereal on his way out, Michael cautiously made his way deeper into the silent house, his metallic purple eyes illuminating the dark hallways with their soft glow. Guess being half-robot didoccasionally have its perks, Michael supposed, the remains of his lips twitching upwards in a bitter smile. No more stumbling around for him, groping blindly at nearby walls, he had a built-in torch wherever he walked. Not that the fact made him feel less bitter about his predicament, of course. Far from it. It was yet another unwelcome gift he had his dad to thank for.
Speaking of William, he hoped that his father would be roaming the small backyard again, as had become his habit during the several weeks of his stay, trying and failing to step beyond the borders of Mike's property, the invisible chains keeping him tied to the house prohibiting him from doing so. That or hanging out in his room again, staring dully at the four bare walls surrounding him in glum silence, just like he had been doing for a while now, ever since fate had dumped his sorry ass on Michael's doorstep. It would at least give Mike some time to himself to relax, perhaps even provide him with the opportunity of turning on the TV to see if he could come across any entertaining soap operas before having to confront his serial killer of a father again. Some days the man had to wonder why he had even accepted taking the other under his proverbial wing in the first place. An innate sense of obligation perhaps. He'd been plagued by that annoying little trait for his entire life. Or maybe something else. Something that Michael couldn't yet bring himself to face.
However, a lone figure met his eyes when he finally reached the darkened and dimly lit living room, and Michael forcefully withheld an internal sigh, already mourning the loss of a peaceful evening. But then again, what had he expected exactly? Of course William would choose this as his brooding spot for the day. After all, why waste the chance of irritating his hardworking son by hogging up his favorite spot, right? Well, no matter, he supposed. His father was a ghost now, a mere shadow or a shell of the man he used to be over seventy years ago. There was very little he could do to him now and if he really had a problem with Michael sitting down to watch some mind-numbing TV show, he could kiss Mike's rotted, purple ass.
Silently moving past the sofa and into William's line of sight on his way to the TV set, the man prepared himself for the barrage of insults that would no doubt be flung his way. The sheer hatred and disdain. The desire to see him die the most painful way imaginable being put into hurtful words, specifically designed to get under his skin and stay there, eating away at his missing heart. But he'd gotten used to that by now. Saw the insults for what they really were: William trying desperately to regain his footing after being so thoroughly beaten, frantically trying to intimidate at least someone to be able to feel like himself again. To not feel as weak, pathetic and defenseless as he did now.
But he wasn't going to get that affirmation from Mike, that's for sure. Michael had long since grown numb to his father's words. Or so he liked to tell himself.
But no insults ever came.
At first he didn't notice it, relieved that maybe he could go one evening without hatred being spewed his way after all. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a TV show in peaceful silence. However, it soon did strike him as odd that William barely reacted to his entrance, almost as if he hadn't even heard or seen him. Usually, this would've been about the time he would start his daily routine of insulting his newly returned son, venom coating his words and icy gray eyes glaring up at him from beneath thick strands of inky black hair, burning with hatred.
It had pretty much been that way ever since Cassidy had dumped his pathetic, blood-soaked hide into Michael's lap, promptly telling him that she was satisfied with her revenge and finally moving on to the afterlife, leaving Mike behind to sort out the mess she left. As usual. Oh, if only he could have dropped everything and joined her and the others in heaven… No more pain, no more suffering. No more painful memories… Regardless, William had been far from ecstatic at the prospect of being in somebody's debt. Especially his son's, who had done so much to thwart his plans and was partially responsible for him being dragged into hell for forty years in the first place. Even if he completely, totally deserved it. Being forced to spend several weeks in Mike's presence had done nothing to reduce that anger, so why change his habits now?
Something was very wrong here. William was too quiet, too motionless, and Michael's instincts were screaming at him that something was amiss, that something wasn't right, that something terrible had happened in his absence.
The plastic bowl slipped from his grasp, landing with a loud crash against the wooden floorboards, bits of cereal spraying all over his new carpet, but the man didn't even notice or care to do so, instead rushing to his father's side, his purple eyes wide with worry and concern.
"Father?"
Only now did he notice the faint shudders traveling through the other's form, the tension bleeding into every line of William's body as the other curled in on himself where he sat pressed against the back of the lone armchair, quick, shallow and ragged gasps for air escaping his heaving chest, obviously out of his control.
Yes, something was indeed very wrong here… And Michael unfortunately had a pretty good idea what.
"Father?" He called again, his voice barely more than a gentle, quiet whisper as he cautiously approached the frightened man, slowly sinking to one knee before him, his eyes narrowing in growing concern at the pitiful, distressing sight in front of him.
Michael's missing heart clenched at the whimper the mere sound of his voice evoked.
"Father, it's me, Michael."
William shook his head, one icy gray eye, brimming with unshed tears and filled with uncontrollable, wracking terror peering up at him from behind thick strands of disheveled, black hair, another quiet whimper escaping the man's throat.
"M-Mike…" He choked out, his voice weak, trembling, no longer confident or arrogant. Not even a shadow of what it was before. His trembling worsened, and Michael's breath hitched at the visible distress as his father curled even tighter around himself, trembling fingers digging almost ruthlessly into his upper arms. "Mike…" Beads of sweat glistened upon his forehead, and the other resisted the urge to reach out and check for a fever, a quiet shushing sound leaving his lips as William's panic seemed to only worsen. "Michael…"
"It's all right, father," Michael whispered, cautiously inching himself closer to his distraught parent, keeping his movements slow and visible to the other at all times. "I'm here." His throat thickened with emotion, conflicting feelings battling within his chest as his worry skyrocketed, the man struggling to keep his own voice calm and steady. For the both of them. "I'm here."
Cautiously reaching out, his fingertips stopping just shy of William's arm, Michael winced as his father almost instantly latched onto the offered limb with one trembling hand, clenching tightly around his wrist in uncontrollable fright, almost as if it were his only lifeline. As if he would only drown without it. Humming a soothing tune, Michael inched himself even closer until he was kneeling right in front of the old armchair, watching his father intently, the man ready to pull himself away at the slightest sign of discomfort.
The last thing he needed was to make William feel even more cornered than he already did.
"It's gonna be all right."
He didn't know how long he knelt there, whispering soothing words until William's hyperventilating began to gradually slow in rhythm, the man's fingers loosening their iron grip on his offered wrist, as the panic attack that had gripped his father for so long finally started to ebb. Shifting where he knelt, Michael helped the process along, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the back of the other's hand and periodically swiping over sharp knuckles, his concerned, purple eyes never leaving what little he could see of the other's face.
"Do you want water?" He questioned softly, and nodded to himself as William quickly shook his head, his fingers tightening around his arms once more. "All right… Is it okay if I pick you up?"
At his father's slow, hesitant and barely visible nod, Michael cautiously leaned forward, his arms wrapping around the other's form and gently drawing it into his warm embrace, giving the other ample opportunity to pull away should he abruptly change his mind, his nonexistent heart giving a phantom throb within his chest in sorrow as William almost frantically pressed himself against him, desperately seeking his warmth and comfort, the man's trembling even more apparent now that Mike was holding him within his grasp. Whispering calming words of sympathy and support, Michael slowly lowered himself into the now empty armchair, cradling the shaking figure even closer to himself in a protective, soothing gesture, purposely drawing in deep, slow and steady breaths, allowing William to unconsciously copy his pattern and finally get his hyperventilating fully under control, his tight, almost bruising grip loosening around Mike's shoulders as he gradually began to relax.
Hesitating for a split-second, Michael's hand cautiously settled upon his father's back, splayed fingers tracing the other's spine up and down in soothing caresses, a soft shushing sound leaving his lips as William flinched at the unexpected touch, another, barely audible noise of distress wringing itself from the depths of the other man's throat. "Hush, father." Mike whispered, his grip tightening around the thin body cradled securely within his comforting embrace, his lips brushing against the other's forehead in a gentle, soothing kiss. "I have got you. You are safe. I will not let anyone hurt you. Not again."
Cassidy may be gone, her revenge exacted, however the damage she left behind was anything but. How could he have been so blind to it for so long? How could he have missed the obvious signs? Especially since he knew better than anyone what toll trauma could take on a person's, any person's, psyche? Had his hatred for his father and his misdeeds really clouded his eyes so much? To the point that he was incapable of seeing past the insults and cheap bravado and see the pain festering right beneath the surface?
William shuddered within his tight embrace, tearing Michael out of his deep thoughts and drawing his attention back to the trembling body cradled within his arms, another soothing croon reverberating through Michael's chest, the remains of his brows furrowing in concern and grip loosening as the other man tried to pull himself away.
"Father?"
"Ch-chest… Hurts," William gasped out and Michael let out a sigh, utterly unsurprised by the revelation, and carefully rearranged his grip on the other man, alleviating the pressure on his ribcage.
"Is that better? Do you feel nauseous?" He asked, and let out another soft sigh at the shallow nod against his shoulder, William's hands clenching slightly where they were gripping onto his eldest son, fingertips digging deeper into the soft folds of Mike's faded t-shirt. This was a particularly bad attack then. For how long had his father been trying to hide this condition without telling him? "All right. I'm going to lean forward now, okay?" His father shuddered within his arms, a quiet sound of fright wringing itself past his lips and Michael quickly shushed him, pressing him closer in a protective, comforting gesture. "Shh, I'm not letting go of you, I promise. But I need you to hang onto me, understand? I swear I will not let you go. I just need to pick up a bowl over there, that's all. Just hold on. On three now. One… two… three! "
William's grip tightened as Michael suddenly leaned forward, his hand shooting out and grabbing the plastic bowl he'd so unceremoniously discarded in his haste to get to his distressed father, picking it up in one swift movement and gently passing it to the trembling man clasped within his arms, muttering a few, soft words of encouragement as he did so. "There you go."
They sat like that for what appeared to be hours, Michael continuing to murmur gentle comfort and never stopping in his soothing caresses as his father slowly calmed down, his purple eyes glowing in the darkness steadily overtaking the small room, somehow adding to the sombre atmosphere.
William had held him like this too, Mike remembered. Once upon a time. Back when Michael was still a young boy, desperate to fit in with the others, and failing more and more miserably with each attempt he made, his accent and looks setting him apart from all the other kids in Hurricane. Nobody had been there for him when he stumbled. Not his distant grandparents in England, not his relatives on his mother's side, and not even his mother herself, who, gentle, kind and loving as she was, simply hadn't always had the time to be there for him. But his father had been there. Even reluctantly. Had always been there for him when he stumbled. Had always been nearby when Michael needed it. Had tried to be the best father he possibly could, despite being so clumsy at the job.
Even after Evan died.
Michael had given into his anger and abandoned William once, when Cassidy had dragged him down to hell. Had given into the feelings of grief and betrayal, the realization that everything that had happened to his family, everything he'd suffered, everything so many innocent kids had suffered had been because of his father's mistakes and fear. Had allowed himself to be consumed by righteous hatred. But he wasn't going to do so now. No. He was tired of being angry.
All he wanted now was to have what was left of his family back.
"How long have you been having these attacks, father?" He asked after a long while, when William's breathing had finally slowed down enough to resemble a normal rhythm, his fingers no longer digging painfully into Michael's shoulder. Mike had to know when this had started. Had to know what had even triggered this condition in the first place. He had to know how to help his father, however reluctant the other might be to accept his aid.
William looked away. Michael's gaze hardened, just a fraction, the remains of his lips pulling into a thin line and his eyes casting a warning, purple glow.
" Father ."
"A while," William said, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat and refusing to meet Mike's gaze, unable to stand the glimmer of judgement or pity he would no doubt encounter there. "Ever since I was released from that… that accursed place."
That certainly explained it. Michael withheld a heavy sigh, fingertips rubbing circles into an already aching temple, feeling the beginnings of a migraine, exhaustion sinking deep into every line of his form. "And you didn't think to tell me?" He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice as much as possible, but he obviously wasn't very successful as William bristled within his arms, finally turning his face up to glare at him, icy gray eyes glittering in the dim moonlight like tiny, cold gemstones.
"I thought I could handle it!" His father snapped back defensively, his eyes flashing a bright, angry violet before reverting back to their usual pale hue, the ghost flinching at his own raised voice and holding tighter onto the offered bowl, obviously still dealing with residual wooziness. "I didn't need your help."
Judging by their current predicament, yeah right . Michael was going to have to call bullshit on that.
Pushing down the intense urge to roll his eyes, Mike shot his father a pointed look, leaning back against the plush surface of the armchair, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. "You have to tell me about these things, father." He said, his voice firm. He studiously ignored William's annoyed huff. "You simply can't keep important stuff like this to yourself. Trust me when I tell you that this won't go away just because you try to ignore it or will it gone. Like it or not, you need help. It will only get worse for you otherwise."
"I don't need you to coddle me," William hissed, the already familiar venom resurfacing within his voice as he forcefully wrenched himself from his son's grasp, rising shakily to his feet and striding determinedly across the room towards the open doorway, swaying heavily with slight disorientation as he did so. Michael resisted the intense urge to get up and follow him to make sure he didn't fall. The impact would teach him a better lesson than Mike ever could. "I'm fine ."
"No, you're not." Michael retorted, his voice sharper than he had intended for it to be, his eyes flashing a bright purple, rivaling his father's violet glow. He was exhausted from a long day as it were. William's continued obstinacy wasn't helping matters in the least. "And you would do well to accept help when you're offered it. You don't want to end up in hell again, do you?"
He regretted those words almost as soon as they had left his lips.
William froze where he stood, his eyes widening imperceptibly and breath stalling within his broad chest, hands clenching around the bowl he still held within his grasp in a white-knuckled grip. Silently cursing himself and his stupidity, Michael instantly rose from his seat, quickly walking across the room and barely catching his father before the other could collapse back to the cold floor and gently guiding him to a nearby sofa instead, slowly lowering him upon it, William once again struggling to get his breathing under control.
Jesus, father, he thought to himself, worry and frustration clashing furiously within his chest, something cold sinking deep into the pit of his stomach. For how long have you been hiding this fear from me?
Some part of him felt responsible for the fact that his father apparently did not trust him enough, didn't feel comfortable enough to share such information with him, but the thought was there and gone within seconds, Michael forcefully pushing it aside. The lack of trust between them was not a consequence of his actions. That he knew for certain. If anything, it was most definitely his father's fault, as was almost everything else that had ever gone wrong between them. But nevertheless someone had to act responsible in this situation. Someone had to push aside old grudges in order to move forward and act like an adult. And if his father wasn't going to do it, then it fell to Michael to fulfill that role and take the first step towards healing. Again .
Mike withheld another heavy sigh.
"How often do you have these attacks, father?"
William didn't reply, not immediately, and Michael shot him a sharp look, eyes narrowing in a mild glare.
"Father, this is serious ."
William looked away, his gaze falling to his clenched hands, slowly curling and uncurling his fingers, looking as if he were desperately wishing he were anywhere else but here, suffering this awkward conversation, the man steeling himself for a reply and somehow looking smaller and more fragile than he really was as he did so.
Michael's missing heart clenched at the pitiful sight.
"Once every two weeks," he admitted at last, clearing his throat and studiously avoiding his son's gaze, his voice rough and sounding strained. "But recently they have been growing in frequency and strength."
Shit.
"And what usually triggers them?" He prompted gently, his voice soft, completely void of even the barest hints of irritation or dismay that it had displayed before, Mike trying his best not to make his father feel even more pressured and on edge than he already did.
William shook his head, his eyes falling to the wooden floorboards beneath them so that Michael would not see the haunted look resurfacing within them, hands unconsciously wringing in front of him in obvious discomfort. "Children's laughter," he said at last, voice faint and barely audible. "The sound of a phone ringing, loud thuds that I can't immediately explain, slamming doors… The smell of stale pizza."
Michael hummed quietly in acknowledgement, the look in his eyes one of thought.
"Sounds familiar," he muttered to himself and William shot him a sharp look, icy gray eyes raking over his son's face in a silent question. Mike avoided his father's gaze, quickly changing the subject before he could be asked what he'd meant by those words. "And what was it this time?"
William looked away, a heavy breath escaping his pale lips as he dragged a hand over his face in an exhausted and tense manner. "Laughter," he forced out, his eyes straying to the open window, bright moonlight slowly filtering into the dimly lit living room through the poorly closed blinds. "Heard.. little girl. Through the window."
A sad expression flickered briefly over Michael's face.
Of course.
"And it reminded you of... her… didn't it?" He asked softly, and William flinched, his arms crossing tightly over his chest, almost as if he were hugging himself where he sat upon the plush surface of the sofa, the haunted look returning to his gray eyes. "Cassidy?" The girl did have a nasty little habit of laughing at every opportunity, Mike knew that from experience. Too many of his own nightmares included jovial, borderline devilish laughter echoing down dark hallways, closely followed by a withered, golden bear. It would only make sense that hearing laughter would remind William of her and set off his fight or flight reflexes. He'd spent over forty years being tormented by her, after all. Hurt. Scarred. Humiliated. Laughed at.
Branded.
As much as he deserved it, Mike couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Cassidy had undoubtedly crossed a line in her quest for retribution, and the punishment that had been justice at first, had quickly turned into senseless, sadistic cruelty. One he never thought possible of a seven year old child.
"I do not wish to talk about her," William said, his throat flexing in a heavy swallow, voice dangerously faint. "Please… I just… don't want..."
"All right," Michael whispered soothingly as his father began to tremble once more, his hands clasping in front of him as he leaned forward, elbows bracing themselves against his knees, his worried, purple eyes never leaving the other man's form. "We won't talk about her." Until both of them were prepared for it that is.
Heaving a heavy sigh, he slowly rose to his feet, a soft groan escaping his lips as he rose to his full height, metallic parts clicking unpleasantly, before turning to face his father once again, face darkened in a tiny frown. William didn't look at him, didn't budge from his spot on the soft sofa, his face obscured by the dark shadows that had long since shrouded the small living room. But even without a clear view of the other's expression Michael could guess what it was, know what his father was probably thinking about. The dark place his mind was no doubt taking him.
"I'll close the window next time I leave," he promised quietly, his purple eyes emitting a soft, warm glow. "I won't bring pizza home." Not that he had planned on doing so anyway. It wasn't like he himself could tolerate the greasy smell without spiraling into despair, but hopefully the reassurance would put his father at ease. "I'll disconnect the home telephone and put my mobile on vibrate. I'm also sure I still have some medication lying around from when I was dealing with the same… issue. Keep in mind that I will closely regulate how much you take though. No offense, but I don't trust you to be in the right mindset to be responsible about how much you take right now."
Michael was taken aback when a hand shot out and wrapped itself around his wrist before he could turn away, stopping him in his tracks. Turning to face his father once more, he was surprised to see the other sitting up now, looking up at him.
Something flashed over William's face then. Something pained, something sorrowful. Something that strangely resembled gratitude, even though Michael could not remember the last time his father had been grateful for anything, the expression there and gone within seconds, hidden from his view.
As if just realizing what he had done, William quickly let go, swallowing heavily.
"Thank you... Michael." He forced out at last, voice hushed and quiet and for perhaps the first time in the weeks they had spent together Mike could not detect a lie in his voice, or even the barest hint of hatred or disdain. "For everything."
A small, barely visible smile ghosted at the corner of Michael's lips.
"You're welcome, father."