Chapter 18
A/N: hey guys, welcome back! Thanks for the reviews for last chapter, I'm glad to see y'all're enjoying the story. Anyways, remember, I don't own any of the characters, just the story.
So, just so y'all know, this chapter is a bit short. But I still hope y'all enjoy it.
/comms/
Telepathy/Flashbacks/whatever else I need
Gotham, October 7, 16:34EDT
Thunder rolled over the sky as Mike strode up the hill, ignoring the autumn chill bleeding through his school uniform. He probably should've brought an actual jacket, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Not today.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the arching black gates of Gotham cemetery. Its metal hinges screeching, the sound echoing over the graveyard as he slowly opened the gate.
Gravel and fallen leaves crunched underfoot as he walked between the ornate headstones. His gaze flickering over names until it landed on three graves placed under the shade of a large tree. Guilt pooled in his chest as he knelt by the headstones, doing his best to wipe away years of neglect with his sleeve.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to visit," he whispered, tracing his thumb across the engraved names as he pulled a vine away. "I've been…busy."
It sounded like a pathetic excuse to his own ears. He'd had plenty of time to come visit. It shouldn't have taken this long for him to visit his family.
He was just a coward.
Pulling out the dead flowers, he set them aside, replacing them with new, fresh flowers. "So…uh, hi. It's been a while. I'm living with Uncle Henry now. He's been nice. Way better than Father, but…it's not like that bar was very high…" he trailed off, "…I—I know what Dad did. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I wish I had known sooner. I could've been able to do something. Stop him…maybe if I had, none of this would happen. Maybe…maybe you guys would still be here…"
A cool breeze rushed past, forcing Mike to brush some of his hair out of his eyes. Looking up, he could see the dark clouds passing overhead, the occasional roll of thunder echoing around them. The new flowers probably wouldn't last long. But, it was all the more reason to visit more frequently.
"I'm going to fix this; what Dad's done," he said, looking at the graves of his mother and sister. "I'm going to get you the justice you deserve. Don't worry about me. You should be able to rest in peace…"
Pulling his bag off his shoulder, Mike rummaged through his bag. Eventually, his fingers brushed cool metal. The fabric rustled as he pulled out a metal bear, one that looked just like the Fredbear plush his brother had loved so much. It had taken a while to make between school and his extracurricular activities. But he was just relieved he'd gotten it done in time.
Eyes burning, he sat down in front of the newest of the three graves. "Hey Ev, Happy Birthday…I-I made this for you. You probably miss your bear, so…" he trailed off, eyes burning. Blinking away the stinging pain, he reached out, carefully setting the bear against the grave. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was a terrible brother. You didn't deserve what I did. You deserved so much better than me, Ev…I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I don't blame you if you choose to hate me forever. I deserve it. You should be here instead of me. I should be the one under that headstone I'm so sorry, Ev. I'm so sorry I was so awful to you, that I wasn't a better brother. If I could, I would change places with you in a heartbeat."
Wiping his eyes, Mike ignored the chill of cold air on his cheeks. Thunder rolled over him again as the first few drops of icy rain began to splatter against the ground.
"I'm going to fix this," he whispered.
Rising to his feet, he picked up his bag, patting his brother's grave. "Happy birthday, Evie. I love you."
-.-
17:45EDT
Mike was drenched by the time he got home. Water dripped from his hair and clothes onto the entryway rug.
"Michael!"
Looking up, Mike watched as his uncle trotted down the stairs, his eyes wide as he took in the teen's soaked form.
"Jesus Christ," Henry said, coming over, herding him towards the stairs.
Mike shrugged, following his uncle's lead, letting his suit-jacket be discarded into the bin as a set of pajamas was tossed into his arms. All but being shoved into the bathroom, Mike changed out of his wet clothes, eagerly slipping on the pjs. Outside the door, he could make out, Henry voice, he didn't exactly care enough to figure out what exactly was being said.
Stepping out, wet clothes in hand, Mike was surprised to find himself alone.
Good. He didn't deserve comfort anyways. Not after what he did to Evan. He sat down on the bed, not bothering to try to dry his hair as he wrapped his arms around his knees.
Though he wasn't alone for long as Uncle Henry returned. He must've zoned out because Mike only became aware of his return as he felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders, followed by the warm mug being placed in his hands. "Hey kiddo," he greeted gently, "bad day?"
Mike shrugged, keeping quiet as he watched the rain patter against the glass.
Arms wrapped around him, and the teen felt himself be pulled into a hug. "It's ok kiddo, I miss him too."
At those words, the damn broke. The sound of anguished sobs barely audible over the rain pelting the window. Mike set the mug aside, clutching to Henry as the man held him, running his hand through the teen's hair as he sobbed.
Evan would've been twelve today. His baby brother had never gotten the chance to celebrate almost being a teen because Michael had been a terrible person. He was a monster. He didn't deserve to survive when his sweet, kind baby brother had died terrified and in unimaginable agony. Why did he live? Why was he alive when his family wasn't? They were innocent. They didn't deserve what happened to them. They didn't deserve to die. How come he survived when they didn't?
Granted, he already knew the answer to that. Something inside him was…wrong, broken even, because of whatever experiments William had done on him.
But still, that didn't mean that his brother's blood wasn't on his hands.
"Is everything else ok, Kiddo?" Henry spoke up, rubbing circles into his back.
Mike pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he slowly glanced up to meet his godfather's gaze. Henry looked concerned, brows furrowed as his warm eyes met his.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Mike reached for his bag, pulling out the journal. Its bindings felt slightly damp, but there didn't appear to be any damage to the pages. Without a word, Mike all but shoved the book into Henry's hands, quickly wrapping his arms around his knees and hiding his face as he waited for the man's reaction with bated breath.
Henry was silent, the only sound coming from him being the occasional sharp inhale alongside the turning of a page.
"Michael…what is this?"
Pulling his head up, Mike didn't meet his uncle's gaze. "It's…I found it. When you were out of town. I…I just—I was hoping I could find something that could help find him. I found that, alongside some other stuff, hidden in our rooms." Finishing his explanation, Mike tightened his grip on his knees. He didn't know what the man's reaction was, but it undoubtedly wasn't good. He had gone behind Henry's back. Had gone directly against his orders. Whatever punishment he was going to get, he didn't doubt it wasn't going to hurt.
The teen did his best to not flinch as he heard the man's deep sigh. "Mike, kiddo, look at me."
Following orders, Mike did his best to keep his eyes averted as he turned to face his guardian, only glancing up enough to keep from pissing Henry off more.
"Hey," Henry spoke, his voice noticeably softer than it was before. Reaching out, Mike barely restrained from flinching as the man reached out, gently cupping his cheek. "Hey kiddo, what do you think is going to happen?"
Mike pulled the blanket tighter, responding with a shrug. He wasn't sure how to respond. Whenever his father asked such a question it was either rhetorical or any answer he gave was wrong. So sometimes it was better to not reply at all—though sometimes that only pissed off William more.
Henry's shoulders slumped. "Kiddo, listen," he started, slowly setting a hand on his shoulder, "yes, I'm disappointed by the fact you went behind my back, but that doesn't mean I'm going to hurt you." The man pulled his hand back, "In fact, I'm more furious at myself."
Mike looked up at that.
Henry nodded, "I'm the one who asked for you to be kept out. I should've known you were going to keep searching for answers anyways," a soft chuckle escaped him, "you're just as stubborn as your mother." Slowly, the soft smile faded from Henry's face. "So…is this why you've been having the nightmares lightly?"
The teen shrugged, "Partly, I think I've just always had those since well…you know."
His uncle nodded. "I'm sorry you've been dealing with it all alone, kiddo. I bet you didn't tell me or Ms. Canary cause you thought we'd just cut you out again, huh?"
Well, he wasn't wrong. "Yeah."
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, and Mike found himself nearly crushed against the burly man's chest. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way kiddo. I wasn't trying to hurt you."
Mike leaned into the man's hold. "I know."
"Still doesn't change the fact I made you distrust me. I'm sorry about that kiddo," Henry apologized. "I'll talk about letting you back on with Canary and Batman tomorrow."
"So…you're not going to give them evidence?"
"Not tonight. I think they can wait for it a bit longer," Henry replied. Mike felt an arm leave from his side, sliding under his legs, causing a yelp to escape him as Henry scooped him up with shocking ease. "Right now, I think someone needs a funny family movie and cuddles."
Mike normally would've tried to protest, saying that he wasn't a child or something along those lines. But tonight, going along with Henry's idea sounded nice.
-.-
Batcave, October 8, 10:34EDT
Bruce was grateful that he wasn't needed at the office today. Because he wasn't sure he would be able to pay attention to work given the new evidence Mr. Emily had handed him. Apparently, Michael had been holding onto it for some time, trying to investigate William Afton's whereabouts on his own.
Frankly he should have seen it coming. Both Bruce himself and Dick had been the same way when they weren't being told about what was going on in the investigations regarding their parents' murders.
The only difference in Michael's case was that they knew who the perpetrator was. They just didn't know where he was.
It was a fact that was driving Batman mad. This madman had been running around under his nose for years. He had looked into those missing children's cases. All the evidence pointed to Jackson Hawthorne as the kidnapper and murderer. William Afton had pinned the murders of several of his victims on an innocent employee and had made Batman and the GCPD believe it.
The close call even seemed to spur him on. Afton just got smarter about his kills, almost all of his victims after the first group had been runaways, homeless, orphans, children that no one had even noticed were missing. There had even been a few adults in the mix as well, including his own wife.
Each successive entry was just as horrifying as the last. Afton didn't even see his victims as human. He treated his own sons as guinea pigs for his twisted experiments. All of this tragedy just for the theory that he had somehow managed find a way to harvest souls in a way to extend life.
A theory Bruce might have found as absurd had it not been for Michael.
According to the journal, William had been experimenting on his son with the substance ever since he was eight. It certainly explained a few things, but those were just theories right now. But, unlike William, Bruce was willing to let them remain theories. He wasn't about to experiment on a human subject, he had the resources to conduct more ethical experiments in his own lab. He certainly wouldn't think of experimenting on a traumatized boy.
Which was why Batman found it so frustrating that the man seemed to disappear into thin air. Especially when he'd come so close when Mike had been in the hospital. When William had disguised himself as a security guard and snuck into the kid's room. Had he gotten there a little faster, he might've been able to capture the serial murderer before he disappeared into the shadows again.
The rate of kills Batman had estimated suggested Afton couldn't hold himself back for long. There should've been some trail to follow, bodies, money, something. Someone as recognizable as William Afton could not just disappear off the face of the earth.
And yet it seemed like he had.
Clenching his jaw, Batman turned the journal page, expecting to find a new set of names and crimes to add to the current charges being accumulated against the murderer. Instead, he frowned as he found yet another messily scrawled entry. The writing wasn't as frantic has it had been during the last couple of entries like this. When he wrote this, William was certainly frustrated, but he wasn't enraged as he had been in the other entries.
Something is wrong. I don't understand why though. Everything had gone exactly better than I could have ever envisioned. At long last, Michael had finally made his first kill. It was sloppy, more exposed to witnesses than my own first kill had been. But he is new, mistakes happen. I suppose I should've seen this coming. Michael was going through another aggressive phase because of the recent treatment escalation. I should've been there to corral him for the time being, at least until I could've found him more suitable prey.
It's a pity. The Illusion Disc experiment was going well too. At least I still managed to collect some useful data. And I just started his remnant treatment too. So that was a waste.
But still, Michael had made his first kill. He should be more excited. I had been. I couldn't wait to feel that rush again.
Instead, he has lost all progress he's made. He isn't eating, he's sobbing like Evan always had—thank God I won't have to listen to that anymore—he hasn't left his room since the plug was pulled, and he's even fallen behind on his remnant regimen because he's not sleeping. Michael seems to have become just as weak and pathetic as he had been when I started treating him.
All that work down the drain. What went wrong? I did everything perfectly! I trained him to be strong. I molded him to be a man. Not a weak sniveling child. I showed him how to enjoy the thrill of the hunt. Taught him to kill. He had enjoyed it when we killed those elk on our hunting trips. He had no problem when I taught him how to gut a fish. People say that the first human kill is the hardest, but seriously, it's just like killing anything else. He enjoyed it then. Why not now?
I know Michael had been a stupidly sensitive child, but the remnant should've taken care of that. He should be fixed. So why is it he seems more broken?
Perhaps I have been too lenient in disciplining him. Michael does need a strong hand to guide him. I'll need to redouble my efforts. And I'll have to increase the doses, that should crush whatever old weaknesses are trying to reappear. Going hunting more often should also help get him used to killing again. At least until I can work him up to human kills again.
Bruce's stomach sank as he reread the entry and looked back on previous entries paying more attention to the wording. With each treatment of this remnant, the man seemed to go for whichever results provided not life-extending properties but that provided the most aggression. Every time Michael's aggression would wane, William would increase the dose, starting the cycle again. He would take the kid hunting and fishing, observing how the boy reacted to death. Whenever Mike seemed unsure, Afton would force him to help him clean the carcass. To get him used to being around death, to get used to killing.
William hadn't just been abusing and experimenting on his eldest child, but he had been actively grooming him to become a serial killer.
