Michael sits in his room, trying to figure out the last equation on his homework sheet. It's stupid that he's required to take so many math classes. He won't use any of this shit in the real world, anyway. When is his boss ever going to ask him to solve some overly complicated logarithmic equation? Never.
Despite that, however, Michael needs to pass. He needs to keep up his average grades so he can have a future he might actually like. He's so close to the end of high school and his counselor keeps saying it over and over again. "If you keep your grades as they are, you'll be able to get into almost any school you want!" A statement he doesn't completely believe, thanks to his current financial status. It's just another stone piled into his bag of worries.
Michael finally figures out some kind of passable solution to the problem and he stuffs his homework away. Now, he's left with the exhaustion of overusing his brain for almost three hours straight. Homework sucks, he decides. Whoever made it required must be in the fiery pits of hell.
Just as he lays down on his bed to rest his aching wrist, his bedroom door creaks open. Father stands there, his eyes silently scanning over the entire room. Michael tries not to follow them to the mess. He just holds his breath and hopes it doesn't come. That his father will say something else.
"Have you finished your homework yet?" Father's eyes go back to him, now scanning over the rumpled bedsheets.
Michael proceeds cautiously. Maybe if he says just the right thing, then he can avoid a lecture. "Yeah, It's all done for tonight. Even finished my essay for next week." Which isn't a lie. Michael knows better than to lie about doing his homework. In the past, whenever he's lie about it, his father would demand to see it. Those nights usually ended in harsh punishments, both for sluffing his duties and for lying.
"Yet you didn't have time to do your laundry or clean your room?" Father's eyes turn sharp and Michael sinks. When he doesn't reply, Father stands straighter, his authoritative voice coming out. "Get up. Don't make me tell you a second time. You should be better than this, Michael." And with that, he's gone, not even bothering to close the door.
Slowly, Michael gets up from his bed. His chest sinks further and further the more stray clothing he picks up. Irritation makes his movements harsh and it doesn't exactly help, but he couldn't care less.
Father does this every time. Michael finds a moment to himself after a long day of school, chores, and homework; then it's ruined by impossible expectations. He almost wants to disobey out of pure spite, but he already knows what will happen. He'd get more chores to do and things taken away for who knows how long. He'll get the same threat he always gets when he starts resisting. "Get up now, or I'll make you clean all night long! Do you want that?! Then start moving!"
Michael stops just as he starts picking up a laundry basket of clothing. He has to calm down before he leaves his room. If he marches out in a huff, then he'll get more chores to do, and thus, the cycle continues. So, he sits on his bed for a second longer, trying to school his expression into something hopefully neutral. Then, he leaves, keeping his eyes away from the rest of the family.
They're all at the dinner table today, which is becoming increasingly rare. Most nights, only Michael, Evan, And Liz are there. Father works harder and harder each day, pulling him further away from them.
"So, how was your day, Lizzy?" Father's voice is kind and soft as he speaks. He's always more gentle with her. More forgiving of her mistakes. More willing to let her relax after a day of schoolwork, even though she's just practicing her fractions.
It's fucking unfair.
Liz smiles politely as she puts her fork down and crosses her hands, like some kind of princess. "Today, my teacher gave me a sticker because I helped pick up trash during recess. And I also got a unicorn stamp on my cursive letters." She announces proudly. Michael would glare at her if Father wasn't sitting just a few feet away.
"Well, it sounds like you did very well today." Father smiles. He doesn't smile like that at anyone else. No, that's not true. He smiles like that when he's at the dinner and pretending to be friendly. He smiles like that around all of those random little shits. Just not his own son.
The question isn't directed at either him or Evan. Father just goes back to eating, letting Liz continue with her day if she wants. And of course, she does. The brat can't get enough of Father's attention. She takes it all in for herself and plus some.
"I'm starting to teach myself guitar." Michael says suddenly, his eyes never leaving his plate. He can feel it as everyone stops and turns to him. He did technically interrupt Liz, but hopefully no one comments on that. He just wants a bit of that attention for himself. He just wants his Father to look at him with something other than judgement.
"Oh?" Father's tone is different and Michael almost wishes he hadn't said anything at all. Almost. "I didn't know you had access to a guitar."
It's a simple statement, but Michael feels like it's a trap. If he makes a wrong move, then he'll be the joke of the night. He'll be sent to do more chores with a harsh look and a lecture. He'll go to bed upset and frustrated. "Jeremy's dad had an extra that he let me borrow until I save up for a new one."
Michael dares to look up and he sits in awe at the genuine interest on his father's face. He's never gotten this before. Never had his interests become a topic that Father really wanted to expand on. But this is different. Father cares.
"You know, I have been working on Bonnie's movements lately. Perhaps I could model a few after you as you play."
The spark of awe lessens significantly at the mention of an animatronic. Is that the only reason he cares about this? Because he's found some way to relate it back to work. Michael holds his glare back, but only just barely. "Yeah, maybe." He says flatly. And like that, he's shoved to the side again. His father no longer cares about him or his skills.
They finish dinner in silence.
He's getting better at memorizing the cords, as well as getting the hand movements smoother. It's difficult, a lot more so than Michael originally thought, but it's worth it. Now, he can play quietly in his room to release some of his frustration. Whenever he gets ignored or told to do a random chore, he follows it up with a few minutes of practice. He's even learned to play the intro to his favorite song.
Michael lays on his bed after just barely setting his homework away again, feeling that same exhaustion. He thinks of playing, but the thought of using his hands more makes them throb. So, he stays laying.
The door opens without a knock and Michael just barely manages to sit up as Father steps inside, his eyes scanning around. This time, there's less of a mess, but it's still just enough to make Michael nervous. He's tired. Please, just give him a moment to himself.
"Have you practiced your guitar today?"
He isn't expecting it. Michael honestly didn't think his father even remembered their conversation from last week. "I practiced this morning, before school." He announces, more than a little proud to say it. At least it's not about his room this time. He's gotten a pass so far.
But then Father's neutral face falls and Michael freezes. "For how long? You only wake up thirty minutes before the bus arrives."
All pride leaves as Michael sits up fully. "Well, it was just a few minutes, but-"
"How can you hope to get any better if you waste time laying around like this? You could have been practicing for hours now." Michael looks away. "Just think of how much better you could be if you spent three hours practicing every day. You certainly have the time for it."
This isn't what he wanted. He'd almost prefer Father just told him to clean his room again because at least that would get him to leave faster. And it only gets worse when Father steps fully into the room. He doesn't sit on the bed -though, he does look at it with disgust. He stands there, only a foot away from Michael.
"These are the best years of your life, Michael. It only gets worse from here, so don't waste it. You spend enough time laying around and watching those silly shows. If you use all of that wasted time to practice, then you could make a career of it. I know quite a few people who would love a masterful guitarist to play for them. The music industry is competitive and only the best make it, so you need to start now."
Michael stays silent. He just stares at the old guitar with growing frustration. He didn't start so Father could pressure him into making it a career. Honestly, he doesn't give a shit if he even ends up good enough to play for a company. He just wants to let off some steam and learn some songs.
Father stops his rant, eventually. He steps back to the door, those shiny business shoes leaving with him. "You must work for everything in life, Michael. Only slobs and loafers walk into adulthood thinking others will do everything for them." And with that, he's gone. Michael's left to sit on his own, his gaze still fixated on the guitar.
He thinks of picking it up, but that only sparks more irritation. He doesn't want to do what his father wants. He doesn't want to just follow his stupid instructions because he won't be worth anything if he doesn't. He doesn't want to give in to that illusion.
As Michael thinks through counterarguments to his father's lecture, he begins to realize that he has no real talents. He has no skills that someone else would want to use. He's not super smart, or athletic. He stopped drawing a while ago, after receiving a similar speech about careers and progress. He has nothing.
Michael gives the guitar back the next chance he gets.
They're at Freddy's. Again.
Evan ran off somewhere to cry, like always, and Lizzy's playing with Charlie, even though they have a three-year age gap. It's fine as long as Michael doesn't have to play with them. Their games seem to never end and it's always the same thing. Liz pretends to be a new, popular girl and she makes Charlie act as like her pet dog. That, or they end up playing as animatronics, and Michael wants none of it.
Father and Uncle Henry are off in some other room, working with Bonnie's parts. It's all math stuff that Michael doesn't really understand, so he's left to sit at one of the party tables. It's boring, just sitting there after closing. At least when the guests are around, he can watch them interact with each other. He can see what other fathers are like and wonder if when those children grow up, they'll get lectured as much as he does.
"Michael!" Father's voice comes ringing out and he turns to face it. "Come here for a moment."
Hesitantly, Michael stands from his seat. Why would Father want with him now? He hopes it's not to hold something in place. Last time he had to do that, he almost got cut when the spring locks snapped out.
Michael quickly makes it into the maintenance room, his eyes going from Father, to Uncle Henry, to Bonnie's head. Uncle Henry only gives him a nod, his hands currently reaching deep inside Bonnie's chest part. It looks dangerous and Michael wonders, again, why they need him. "What?" He says as he finally gets all the way inside.
"Come here. I want to show you this." Oh boy. "You see this part? It's the motor that moves Bonnie's arms." Father points it out, his hands also reaching inside of the torso. Uncle Henry moves away just enough for Michael to see inside. It's a mess of wires, tubes, and motors. It's kinda like looking in the hood of a car, but way more complicated. And dark.
As Father begins showing him how to take the motor out, Michael speaks up. "Why are you showing me this?" Is it just so he can rant and rave about them? As if he doesn't do that enough with Uncle Henry.
Father looks at him with a piercing look. It's authoritative and judgmental, like always. "If you're going to work at the restaurant, then you might as well learn how to repair the animatronics. Mechanical experience looks very good on a resume."
"I'm not working at Freddy's!" Michael shouts before he can stop himself.
Father gives him a warning look. "Not yet, maybe. Freddy's will give you a lot more working experience than that old CD shop."
He can't take this anymore. The walls he's spent so long building are cracking and falling apart all around him. He's done giving into his Father's will. "I'm not working here." He states it without question. "It's bad enough that you force us to come here all the time, just because you don't know how to manage your work." It's rude, but Michael's being honest. Maybe for the first time in a while.
Father stands up suddenly, his eyes going to Uncle Henry. "Michael, now isn't the time to act out like this. If you want to talk, we can-"
"I don't give a flying fuck if Uncle Henry's here for this! In fact, I'll tell him too!" Michael turns to Uncle Henry, whose eyes are wide with shock. The anger doesn't reach his voice quite as much when he speaks to the other man. He's not mad at Henry, after all. "I'm not going to work here."
Before Uncle Henry can say anything, Father interrupts, a deep frown on his face. "You do not get to speak to me this way. I am your father!"
"You never act like it! The only time you talk to me is when you think I'm doing something wrong! You don't ask me how my day was! You don't bother to learn my friends' names! You don't even mention the fact that I'm basically raising my fucking siblings at this point!"
"Michael!"
"I'm never good enough for you! All you've ever cared about are these fucking animatronics and this damn restaurant! I'm sick of it!" He wants to say more, to let everything off his chest, but he stops when a hand grabs his arm, the grip bruisingly tight.
"Excuse us." Father says darkly as he drags Michael out of the room. He marches them through the main room, going so fast that Michael has to try not to fall. He's focusing so hard on his feet that he doesn't bother to look at the others or even worry that they're watching. Father pulls them into the security room, shutting the large door behind them. The hand leaves, but it soon moves to his jaw instead, squeezing his jaw painfully.
"Sto-" Michael tries, now afraid of what he's just done. Of what he just said.
The hand jerks his head up and they make eye contact. Michael does still, his veins filling with ice. "You embarrassed me!" He shouts, all of that false calm disappearing immediately. "You embarrassed me in front of Henry, and that is unforgivable!" Michael tries to flinch away when his head is jerked around again, but he's too weak to fight back.
"Is this what you wanted?!" Father shouts, the sound making Michael's ears ring. "Do you want this attention, Michael?! Is this what you were looking for?!" Michael tries to shake his head, but he can't move. Instead, he just lets out a whimper and tries to blink back tears. "I could beat you! I could leave you bruised and unable to move! Do you want that?! Do you want me to beat you?!"
"N-NO!" Michael manages to get the word out, his throat tight and unwilling to cooperate.
"Then shut up!" A few drops of spit land on Michael's face and he flinches again. He squeezes his eyes shut and braces for whatever may be coming. He stumbles when the hold on his jaw gives way and he's left to lean against the desk. Michael's crying fully now, but he's too scared to feel embarrassed. He just takes the moment to watch his father open the door again, that dark look still there. "You'll start as a night guard tomorrow. I'll tell your both that you're quitting." And with that, he leaves. Almost instantly, the anger is masked with a neutral look as he walks back into the main party room.
Michael doesn't leave the security room for a long time. He spends a lot of it trying to calm himself down, but once he starts to actually process what just happened, he starts crying again. He wants his mother, someone he could depend on. He wants her to hold him in her arms like she used to. She would sing a soft song and stroke his hair gently, her long fingernails tickling him occasionally.
But she's gone and Michael's alone with his own regret. He's left with the realization that his Father doesn't love him at all. That he never did.
Am I projecting too much? My bad. Anyway, have all of this angst disguised as a character study. Also, I'm sorry for completely throwing the timeline out the window for this. I've never been good at sticking to that.