HELP THIS IS 13.6K WORDS... I AM NOT OKAY.
THIS IS THE LENGTH OF LIKE 7 CHAPTERS YALL LMAOOOO buuut I TOLD U I WAS STILL WRITING!
Review! Finally LMAOO I don't think we've had one in quite a while
Sleepy sparrowhawk: Yeah I've been kinda dead LOLL but I am definitely still writing! These last few chapters are just VERY long so they're taking awhile haha
Anyways song: pity party by Melanie Martinez
(ALSO this chapter takes places RIGHT AFTER the chapter 32 I think Strawberry Vanilla Ice Cream!)
Enjoy!
Chapter 115
Pity Party
"Elizabeth!" Evan screamed.
She has been right there, right in front of the gigantic animatronic girl called Circus Baby. He turned away for only a moment to fetch his older brother, and a scream he knew so well pierced through his ears. Children and music and laughter had filled the room after that, drowning any sounds she might be making.
He tore through the crowd, ignoring the shouts of protest when he climbed onto the stage. The clown robot towered over him at nearly triple his height, swerving with her scarlet pigtails stiff and metal mechanically to the beat. Her deep blue eyes twinkled like twin gemstones, and her cherry-painted smile gave nothing away.
Desperately, he scrambled to find some sort of evidence she'd been there, a dropped bracelet, a misplaced party hat, but there was nothing. Just the same singing robot as usual.
Michael pushed through the children and climbed up onstage, crossing his arms and waiting for an explanation. "Evan? What the hell are you doing up there?! It's bad enough I've gotta keep Elizabeth away from that clown thing, I don't need you doing it too."
Instead, Evan began to cry. He didn't even care that he had an entire audience watching.
"Jeez, you crybaby, I didn't even yell at you," Michael grumbled. "Where's Liz?"
"I—don't—know-w-w!" Evan managed between sobs. "I saw her g-go down this hallway, a-and now I can't find her-r-r!"
"Seriously? You had one job!" Michael ran a hand through his hair, scanning the area. "Well, she can't have gotten far. C'mon, let's get Father and we'll have a look round this place. Trust you to lose her the one time I can't watch over!" He tugged Evan away by the arm.
"I tried searching," Evan mumbled. He did, too. Only his tears clouded the room into watercolour smudges and he couldn't see a thing.
They left the bustling room and headed down the hallway. Michael shoved a boy out of his way before arriving at the main room. It was mostly parents gathered at the back, talking and waiting for their kids.
"Dad!" Evan yelled impulsively, eyes burgeoning with tears. "Where is he? Dad!"
People were beginning to stare. Michael scanned the room, scratching at his forehead as if he could pull off the lines of worry. He licked his lips. "Shit. Okay, let's go ask one of the guards." He motioned to a day guard. "Hey, mister. Have you seen William Afton?"
The guard shrugged. "Sorry, son, I'm not sure. You could try his office. Though I don't think he'd want a couple of kids barging into—hey! Get back here!"
Michael dragged Evan away from the guard faster than Evan could keep up. His older brother's jaw was tight and his other hand was tugging shakily at his hair, a nervous habit he always did when stressed. Seeing his fearless big brother so worried, worried him even more.
"Father! Hey, open up!" Michael banged on the door. "This is serious! We gotta talk to you!"
The door opened suddenly, and William was looking down at them. "You gotta, eh? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't—"
"Elizabeth's gone!" Evan blurted, and then he dissolved into a pile of tears.
Michael looked up at his father, swallowing dryly, and began to speak in a low voice Evan couldn't make out. His words started to blur together as he rambled faster and faster.
"Slow down," William cut in. "Where was the last place you saw her?"
"Evan saw her last," Michael muttered.
Evan's stomach curled up into a tiny ball. He wanted to copy it. "I-I saw her leave the room, I think, and I don't r-really remember what else."
"Well, remember harder," William snapped callously. "This is just like her, causing all this drama on her birthday."
"C-can't you tell the guards to search for her?" Evan sniffed.
William smiled without humour. "Listen, why don't you two run along? I'll deal with this myself."
"We should look for her," Michael mumbled. "It is her birthday."
"Michael, please, be realistic. She's hiding from everyone because she's upset she doesn't get to see Circus Baby. She wants us to waste our time searching and making a scene so she's in the spotlight. Doesn't that sound like something she would do?"
Michael furrowed his brow. "I guess it kinda does."
"See?" William patted him on the back. Hard. "Now, go take your brother to play. I'll sort this out with the guards."
"'Kay. C'mon, Ev." Michael took hold of his arm again, but Evan shook him off.
"No. Ellie's missing. She's not hiding, I can feel it. She wouldn't miss her own party."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Shut up. You know she's just doing this for attention. She does it all the time. Now stop being a pain in the ass and let's go already."
Evan let his brother drag him off, but something still wasn't quite right. He couldn't explain it. How everybody was in the room with Circus Baby until Elizabeth disappeared, and how William wasn't going to the guards even after they'd left. He hoped she was just hiding like his father said, but he had a strange feeling she wasn't.
Evan never saw his sister again.
~lll~
In the beginning, after Elizabeth's disappearance, Michael had wanted to go out with his friends at night when William wasn't home. But, much to his displeasure, he'd been instructed to take care of Evan.
"You can come with me," Michael had muttered begrudgingly as he peered into a mirror by the door, ringing his eyes with a black pencil that made him look sharp and dangerous, "but only 'cause you'd freak out and piss yourself if I left you alone."
Evan stood on an armchair to look in the mirror too. "I would not."
"Just try and be normal, okay? I don't want you embarrassing me in front of my mates."
"Is Shelby May Thomas going?" Evan asked.
Michael whipped around. "What? Why do you wanna know, twerp?"
"Just wondering. Since you have a crush on her and all."
"I do not," Michael said hotly, popping the collar of his black jean jacket. "And don't say nothing about it or I'll maim you."
"'Don't say nothing' is a double negative."
"None of that nerd talk either. How 'bout you zip it the whole time, yeah?"
"Can I bring Fredbear?" Evan held his golden plush up by the arm, the purple top hat a sharp contrast. He liked the bear when it was small and soft. Not when it was a big mean robot with loud teeth, though.
"As long as it shuts you up."
It was sort of scary walking downtown in the evening. There were a lot more people with grimy skin and raggedy clothes roaming the streets. Some of them whooped and yelled to each other, some huddled under thin blankets, some gave him scary looks and Evan inched closer to his brother.
He pretended Fredbear was scared too, so Evan had to be the brave big-kid and calm him down. He was grateful for Michael's height and rough appearance, too. It made him look much older than fourteen. Evan stuffed his icy hands in the pockets of his puffer, knowing better than to hold his brother's hand for warmth.
The streetlights were beginning to turn on as the sky went a dusky periwinkle shade. They reached the McDonald's with the big yellow M glowing in the sky like an oddly shaped sun. Not many cars were parked there, and Evan's stomach growled. He hoped they were stopping for food.
Instead, Michael turned around the building past the drive-thru to the back parking lot by a rusty fence and some scraggly trees, where there was a small crowd of teenagers milling about.
A cornucopia of sounds clouded around them, talking and yelling and loud heavy rap music coming from speakers. Evan reached into his pocket and pulled out his earplugs, stuffing them in. The noises overwhelmed him. He wished he'd brought his headphones.
Michael pushed into it, weaving around people. Evan tried to stick close through the maze of long legs, but everyone was tall and shiny and it was hard to concentrate. At least nobody seemed interested in him.
Smoke plumed from the crowd, skunky and leafy and potent. The urge to cough rose in his chest but he held it in.
Michael stopped suddenly around a pair of guys. They smelled like his mother after a bad day of drinking and some of them had scratchy stubble like his father. They swore and laughed and made him uncomfortable.
Evan tugged on his brother's hoodie. "Mike, it's really noisy."
Michael shot him a violent look and continued talking with his friends.
A girl suddenly came up, with silky auburn hair and a tan who pressed herself against Michael. He wrapped a hand around her waist and the girl let him, seeming to like the attention. Evan assumed this was Shelby May.
His stomach rumbled. He wondered why they were all just standing outside the McDonald's and not going inside to eat.
Shelby May giggled and reached into her pocket, but elbowed him right on the head by accident.
She turned to look at him. "Sorry!" Shelby May was open-mouthed but now smiling a little, sizing him up. "Who do you belong to, kid?"
She was very pretty, with reddish heart-shaped lips and elongated brown eyes like a fox's. Evan decided she was nice. He pointed to his older brother, who kept getting barged into by the fighting boys.
"Oh, Michael! Aww, you two look so alike. But you shouldn't be here. You're only what—four?"
Okay, maybe she wasn't so nice. Evan decided to continue not speaking and didn't even bother motioning, instead looking at the ground. Dusty, cracked concrete littered with orange cigarette butts.
The crowd was starting to head in and out of the restaurant, getting whippy shakes with drizzle or steaming Dixie cups of coffee.
"Mike, I'm hungry," Evan murmured.
Michael held his hands up. "Jeez. Okay. No need to scream at me." He rolled his eyes at Shelby May. "Little brothers. Want me to buy you something?"
"You're so sweet," she gushed, grabbing his hand and squeezing. Michael held on tight and headed into the restaurant without a word to Evan.
They got milkshakes, chocolate for Shelby May and Evan, and vanilla for Michael. Evan would've gotten vanilla too, but he didn't want the same as Michael as he was sort of angry at him.
He slurped his while Michael and Shelby May talked. They weren't doing much drinking, that was for sure. Evan finished his shake and decided to crawl under the table where it was dark and quiet. Michael's hand was on her bare thigh, petting her like a dog. He wrinkled his nose. Gross.
"Get out from there!" Michael barked suddenly, trying to kick at him. "Freak!"
Evan scrambled out and collapsed on the seat, slumping.
Shelby May gave him a pitying look. "Sorry, kid. I guess this isn't much fun for you, is it?"
He shrugged, still not wanting to talk.
"What a precious bear! That's from the restaurant your dad owns, right?" She reached out to pet him but Evan jerked away. Fredbear hated being pet, even if this girl was very pretty.
The brunette frowned and turned to his brother. "Is he mute?"
"Nah. He just acts special needs." Michael rolled his eyes. "Ignore him, Shelly."
"Mi-ike! Don't be mean." She swatted him teasingly, smiling with all her braces-covered teeth.
Evan really wished he had his headphones. The rest of the time there was just them flirting and being yucky while Evan had to sit there and bear it. He tried to excuse himself to the restroom just to get away but Michael ordered him to stay put, almost fearfully.
Maybe it was because they'd lost Elizabeth only a few months ago.
His eyes filled with saltwater. She'd have made this so exciting. She'd be blowing bubbles in her shake and dancing around the restaurant and coming up with all sorts of wonderful games to play.
They got back pretty late, judging by the black sky. Michael disappeared into his room without showering and Evan wasn't sure if he was allowed to bathe by himself, so he took a cloth and wet it in the sink, cleaning himself with that and hand soap.
He brushed his teeth and wrung out the cloth and changed into his pajamas, blue with little trucks. They were sort of tight and he heard a stitch snap when he put his arms in but they were soft with years of use and smelled like green apple laundry detergent.
They smelled familiar. Dependable. Evan needed a constant, now more than ever.
~lll~
The following two weeks were utterly miserable.
William only came back four times, once for a dinner of box mac-and-cheese which was brief and businesslike, and another time where he needed to grab some tools from his office, barely giving his sons a second glance. The other times he just slept. Not once did he comment on the empty refrigerator, the piles of mess, the unpaid bills or the stacks of missed phone calls.
Evan couldn't find any shampoo and the hand soap bottle was too small for washing-up. Michael had been out with his friends too much to do laundry, so Evan ended up going to school with smelly, wrinkled clothes and grimy hair.
"Look at the state of you!" His substitute teacher shouted once in front of the whole class when he'd fallen asleep at his desk. "Have you no self-respect? Your outfit is filthy. You smell like a pigsty! You haven't even brushed your hair or washed your face today, have you?"
The class snickered in their clean clothes from Gap or Nike and hair brushed and braided by Mum with love.
He could feel eyes roaming him, judging him. His vision went blurry as his teacher yammered on and on about how he was a dirty lazy boy and she'd send him to the principal if he didn't clean himself up tomorrow.
Evan began howling great big sobs and banged his head onto the desk a few times, and the teacher actually looked scared. "There's no need for theatrics, you silly boy."
He cried so loud and for so long the teacher had to remove the class for an early recess and call in Michael from the middle school building, who just laughed at him, took a picture, and then went on his phone until the bell rang.
He couldn't bring Fredbear to calm him down, either. The teacher found him in his bag once and Evan had to rescue him from Lost & Found after he'd been confiscated.
One day, the brothers were sitting at the kitchen counter, finishing off graham crackers and Nutella. Michael was texting his friends and Evan was drawing on an old newspaper.
When Evan had come home from school, the power went out. Michael said the electric company must have shut it off. They lit candles they found in the closet, which Evan liked. They were pretty with their flickering orange flames.
William came in through the door, in his work clothes and carrying an armful of papers, muttering to himself. He hung up his jingly keys and kicked off his shoes, turning his attention to the boys. "Someone turn out the lights?"
"The power's off," Michael supplied, tightly. "You need to pay the power bills."
William ignored him. "Evan, put on a shirt. Nobody needs to see all that skin running about."
He flushed, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry, I got Nutella on it so I had to take it off."
"You shouldn't be eating that rubbish anyway. You'll get fat."
"Not with the amount of food that's in the house," Michael snapped. "I thought it was the adult's job to buy groceries."
"Don't you start with me. I've had a hellish day. I'm going to shower and then take a nap, and I don't want to hear any snotting about food. If you're hungry, go to the shops yourself."
Evan frowned. His father looked different. Or maybe it was just because he hadn't seen him in a while. There were more silver streaks in his hair, and black stubble covered his lower face. Wrinkles seemed deeper, too. How old was he? 35? 36? Perhaps he was ageing faster now because of Elizabeth. His expression was odd, too, not tired like he sounded. William's eyes were wide and flitted around the room erratically.
"Whatever." Michael muttered. "We're still your responsibility, legally, so if we die it'll be all your fault."
"All my fault," William echoed. "You fancy me a killer?"
Michael's voice was icy. "Wouldn't know if you were. You're never around."
William shrugged. "Suppose that's to my advantage, then." Evan watched him leave down the hall and up the stairs, humming a tune, hearing the slam of the bathroom door.
Evan reached for another graham cracker to dunk in thick chocolate, but Michael swatted his hand. "Don't. He's right about that, you've had nearly the full jar and you're gonna look like a whale."
Evan looked down at his middle. He had not eaten much in days and his stomach yowled like a mountain lion. It wasn't like he knew much about diet, though, maybe his family knew something he didn't.
His tummy bulged over the top of his tight jeans. Maybe he was getting heavy. He was quite a skinny boy and small for seven-and-three-quarters but it said 2–4 year old on the label and the elastic made red ridges on his skin. It looked like he was wearing a transparent pair of pants for ages after he'd taken them off.
"I hate him." said Michael suddenly.
It was like he'd spat the words.
"No you don't," Evan said, too quickly.
Michael's face was stoney, the angles of his facial bones lit by the amber glow of an old candle. "I do too. He's a shit father."
"Don't curse, and he is not." Evan drew little boxes surrounding the man on the newspaper ad's face. "He buys you all the latest video games. Addy in my class said he would kill for the new Mario."
"I don't even want the new Mario. It's a baby game. He still thinks I'm a baby since he hasn't been here since I was one. Why can't he spend his big fat stacks o' money on food or clothes or electricity? Why can't he just be normal and not say all these crazy things? Oh right, because he is crazy, ha-ha."
"He loves us," Evan mumbled, connecting the boxes with an even line. "He loves us loads."
"If he loved us, he'd try and get better. But he's worse than ever. He doesn't give a damn about us."
The kitchen was quiet. Evan's eyes went pink and rabbity, feeling tears start to come on. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, though it was a bit uncomfortable with the sharp claws of his nails.
He'd cut them at school with plastic safety scissors, but he didn't know how to do it like his mum and Michael used to and so they were all jagged at the edges and some were cut so far down he could see the sensitive skin underneath, red and bloody. He had put Scotch tape over those since they stung every time they brushed against something.
Finally, Michael spoke. "You can't just rely on Father for everything anymore since he's gone all manic. I bet you've noticed his pill bottles have been full for ages. I wouldn't be surprised if he moves to the pizzeria and never comes back."
Evan shook his head, sucking harder. He didn't like that idea. "What are we going to do?"
"Quit sucking your thumb like that, I can barely understand you."
He pulled his finger out with a popping sound. "Maybe we could take him to the doctors and they could look at his head," he suggested.
"Have you gone nuts too? They'll see he's not fit to be a father and take him away, and then the CPS will come round and we get put in care."
Care? "That doesn't sound so bad."
"You moron, foster care. That's where kids whose parents don't want go. The psychos and the drunks and the bullies."
Evan frowned, shading in the boxes with black ink. "Those just sound like our family."
"Oh, but it's so much worse. You won't get food or water or baths and the big kids will beat you up every day, you'll be black and blue and aching all over. You'll never see me or Mum or Father ever again cause they'll split us up, and then they'll split you up into little bits and smear you on the floor."
Evan shivered, picturing what Michael had told him. "Can't we just live with Mum?"
"Not with her drinking problem, we can't."
"She's better now, though. I heard her on the phone. She hasn't drank alcohol in over a year."
"CPS won't care. So that's why you've gotta get good at taking care of yourself, okay? I've got a life that doesn't mean being your mum all the time."
"Okay," Evan mumbled. "I miss Elizabeth." He paused, waiting for a reaction, then continued. "I hope she's safe. She'd better not be hurt. Or worse, Mike, what if she's dea—"
Michael shoved him hard on his chest, so hard he fell off the stool with a crash and had to twist so he didn't hit his head. "Shut up. I told you not to say that."
"But I—"
"I said, shut up." Michael took a deep breath and stood up, hands on the counter. "I'm going out. I'll be back in the morning."
Evan watched him grab house keys from the hanger. He wished his father would come down and tell Michael off for pushing him, but the water was running and he knew William couldn't hear him from the shower. "Mike?"
"Ugh, what?"
"Be careful, please." He looked down. "I don't want you getting lost too."
Michael rolled his eyes, cracking open the door. "Whatever."
Evan sighed, scrambling off the floor, and went back to colouring. Deep down in his heart, he knew his brother cared about him, and he didn't have any reason to worry—after all, Michael had taken care of him and Liz well enough when his parents' relationship started going down the drain.
But that was before Michael got mean.
~lll~
5 days until the party.
Evan closed his textbook with a snap, letting out a sigh. It had been difficult to get his homework done, with the power out and nobody to help if he had a question, but he'd managed to finish with the last light of sunset as his only guide.
He scrambled up onto the kitchen counter to reach the highest cupboards, and after a bit of scavenging, found a little red box of raisins and—score!—a full bag of marshmallows way at the back. They expired three years ago but tasted fine to him.
"Not a very nutritious dinner," he mumbled to himself through a mouthful of gelatinous fluff, "but I guess it's something."
It wasn't the weirdest meal he'd eaten, either. Yesterday's dinner was cheesecake mix powder and three chicken broth cubes. Mmmm.
At least he'd get to eat this weekend. Every other Sunday, he and Michael went to Clara's. His mother's apartment wasn't much, but she always cooked warm meals brimming with vitamins for her boys. It was an unspoken rule that after she'd gone to sleep, they would slip out to her kitchen and fill their bags with any food they could get without being suspicious, like some kind of twisted grocery shopping.
He ate half the box of raisins in silence before deciding to go to his room to finish. One of the benefits of having no parents around was that he could eat in his bed and get mess everywhere and nobody would care.
The floorboards creaked somewhere down the hallway. Evan's heart skipped a beat. His father was, obviously, not home, and Michael was out with Jeremy.
"Maybe it is just the house settling," he mumbled weakly. "Not that I know what that means."
He started down the hallway, teeth worrying at his thumbnail. The floorboards didn't creak any more, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
And then a monster jumped out.
Evan screamed at the top of his lungs, tumbling to the floor. Scrabbling with his nails on sleek hardwood, he tried to get away, throat red and raw but still howling like an animal.
Like a hyena, the monster laughed, cruel and predatory. Evan felt a clawed hand wrap around his arm and tug him back with terrifying strength, stuffing a paw over his mouth. Choking for air, Evan struggled and kicked his limbs at his attacker.
"Ow!" The monster hissed, throwing him to the floor and holding him there with a heavy boot on his cheek, pressing him down. "Jesus, Ev, you fight like a little girl. Cry like one too "
Evan gasped big gulps of oxygen through his tears. If he wasn't so frightened he would think the monster sounded a lot like—
"Michael," he breathed, then yelled it louder. "Michael!"
"Aw, you figured it out." The boot lifted and Evan wasted no time scrambling to his feet.
Now that the haze of panic was lifting, he could see the monster's face was really just a cheap Foxy mask from the pizzeria. Something about it freaked him out, even if it wasn't the real animatronic. It leered at him with yellow cardboard teeth.
Michael lifted the mask over his head and smirked. "Having fun?"
More tears spilled down his cheeks and Evan stomped his foot. "Why did you do that?! You know I hate animatronics!"
"That's why." Michael's eyes were tinted red. It made him look dangerous and a little unhinged. "If you wanna be less of an embarrassment, you gotta stop cryin' whenever you see a furry kiddie mask and man up."
"But I'm not supposed to be a man!" Evan cried. "I'm barely eight! You're supposed to—to protect me, not attack me!"
"Tough." His smile got even wider. "Besides, it's funny."
Evan tried to fire back a retort but he couldn't get the words out. Instead, he kicked Michael's leg as hard as he could and ran down to his room, slamming and locking the door before his brother could catch him.
He could hear Michael pounding on the door. "Open the goddamn door! You're gonna be sorry when I get in!" A loud bang, then, "I can't believe you're throwing a tantrum, you little brat! It's like living with Elizabeth again!"
Evan shivered, climbing into his bed and burrowing under the blankets. Curling into a little ball, he covered his ears until he finally fell asleep.
4 days until the party.
When Evan got up in the morning, there was something blocking the door. Panting, he slammed and pushed with all his might but it wouldn't budge. The window wouldn't work either, it was permanently stuck closed and nobody had come to fix it.
His stomach yowled, so he gulped air to try and fill it up while he waited for someone to wake up and help him. Eventually he heard footsteps and he rushed to the door. "MIKE! HELP! I'M TRAPPED!"
No response but low snickering. Evan felt his stomach sink. He hit the door again. "This isn't a joke! I'm sorry I kicked you, it was mean, but I have to go to school now!"
"Awh, poor wittle baby," Michael sneered. "You gonna cwy about it?"
"N-no!" Evan shouted, but he could feel the lump in the back of his throat growing bigger.
"W-w-w-whatever you s-s-s-s-say, wimp. By the way, I left a surprise for you in your room. Check the closet."
Tentatively, Evan crept towards the middle of his room. He knew it was probably an awful idea to open his closet to check, but if he didn't then curiosity would eat away at him like a disease. Besides, maybe it could help him escape.
Gently, he opened the door.
He was met with Foxy's face grinning at him with gnashed teeth like steak knives, falling down on him. Evan screamed, dropping to the carpet, and tried to tear the head off him. It was speared on the stick of a broom.
From outside, Michael roared with laughter. "I didn't think that would actually work!"
The Foxy head was attached to his pant leg by the teeth. Evan struggled with it but finally managed to tear it off, scrambling to the door in the corner and sliding down it, curling up and burying his head in his knees. He rocked, hammering his fists against his head, as Michael's peals of laughter echoed from behind the locked door.
3 days until the party.
Evan lay crouched under the dark party table, shielded behind the curtain of tablecloth, playing with his portable radio. Being under the tables was lovely if you didn't mind all the ABC gum stuck to their legs. It was like a blanket fort, his own little world away from all the chaos of the pizzeria.
His world was struck by a meteor when the tablecloth was yanked up and a security guard's giant, ruddy face loomed closer. Evan yelped, flinching back.
"Kid, get outta there. There might be customers wantin' this table." His voice was gruff and stern like a schoolteacher. Evan stayed very still.
The security guard furrowed his thick black brow. It seemed like all his hair was concentrated right on his eyebrows, leaving his shiny red head bald. "Where 'r your parents, huh? You here alone?" He nodded to the radio, wrinkling his bulbous red nose. "And turn that goddam music off."
Evan shook his head, slowly inching back. He didn't like this guard one bit.
"Cat got yer tongue? Speak when yer spoken to, kid. Show some respect!" He reached out with one meaty hand, too close.
Evan responded by sinking his teeth into the back of the guard's hand, deep enough to scrape bone. Elizabeth would've been proud.
The guard roared and tore his throbbing hand back. His gaze darkened. "You're gonna pay for that, you little—"
"What's all this, then?"
Relief, then fear flooded through Evan's body at the deep cadence he would recognize anywhere. It was his father. Depending on his mood, this could go very well or very, very poorly for Evan.
The guard's expression changed, suddenly cocky and self-assured. He smirked at Evan, clearly thinking the young boy was in for a lot of trouble. Evan stared right back, unwavering but wary.
"Hey, Mister Afton," greeted the guard. "Sorry fer all the noise. Friggin' brat here won't get out from under the table."
William's voice remained flat and hard to read. "Is that so."
"Yeah. Bit me too." The guard's voice was nasally in the way a tattletale would tell on the class clown. Evan, despite being what others called a nerd, was not a tattletale.
"How dreadfully tragic." William sounded bored. Evan watched as the tablecloth was pulled up and his father's face came into view. Tired bags dragged under his eyes. "Hello, Evan."
Evan waved a little, sheepish. "Hi, Dad."
The guard suddenly became a lot sweatier than before, if that was even possible. His doughy face went beet red. "Shit, Mister Afton, I didn't know you—"
"Do not curse in front of my son," hissed William with surprising violence. "And I am your superior. You refer to me as sir and sir only, got it?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Yeah?" His father had a dangerous glint to his silver eyes. "That right?"
"Er. Yes."
It was Evan's turn to be smug. "Yes, what?" he chimed in.
The guard stole a look at William, who only nodded. He begrudgingly spoke, through gritted teeth. "Yes, sir. Sorry."
His father smiled without humour. "I don't think that's much of an apology. First you threaten my son, then you disrespect me? Evan, what do you think?"
Evan grinned. There was a strange sort of energy pulsing in his veins. He'd always been on the receiving end of these taunts. He'd never given them. "I think he should be taught a lesson."
"Super idea, Evan." He patted the guard on the back forceful enough to make him cough. "Why don't we step out into the alley for a sec?"
"Control yer goddam kids," the guard muttered under his breath as he stood up, grunting. William didn't say anything, but his smile grew a little wider.
"Dad?" Evan peeked out from the table after the guard had left. "What are you going to do to that guard? Are you going to fire him?"
His father had a strange look on his face. "Mm, something like that."
"Like what?"
"Oh, nothing." He waved his hand. "Get back to crying or whatever you were doing under there."
"Wait! I wasn't crying!" Evan exclaimed. "I was playing music on my portable radio! Oh, I might need help with batteries. It's running out a lot and when I asked Michael to replace them he hit me really hard. See the bruise, Dad? Right here? See it? Dad?"
William wasn't listening. "Sounds lovely. Anyway, it looks like I won't be home tonight. Make sure you have something to eat."
"What? But you're never home!" Evan cried. "I need you, Dad! Michael's so mean to me, you've got no idea!"
"Michael's just tough on you because you act like a baby," said William simply. "Maybe try listening to him."
Frustratingly, he could feel his eyes starting to drip. William watched the tears fall with displeasure written all-over his face.
Evan swallowed, scrubbing under his eyes with a fist. It was time to try a different tactic. Now it was his turn to be a tattletale.
"He brought a girl home a few nights ago. They were kissing." Evan played his best card, let it hang for a moment
"Cute," his father said absently.
Evan's mouth fell open in outrage. "It's not cute! It's gross! She stayed the whole night, too!" It was true, but he sure wished it wasn't. Evan's room was right under Michael's and connected by a vent. There were only so many kissy giggly noises a three-days-until-eight-year-old could take.
"Wonderful. There'll be little babies running around this pizzeria soon enough."
"Ew." Evan shuddered. If Michael bullied him for crying now, how would he treat a baby? He sighed. It was obvious his father didn't care about what trouble Michael was or wasn't getting into.
"Can you at least give us some more money?" Evan pleaded. "We don't have any food or power or clean clothes left."
"Like I told you, that's your and your brother's responsibility now. I have to go to work to provide for our family and that means putting in the time and effort to do so. I'm expecting you two to do the same."
Evan wanted to say that his father didn't provide for them, that he didn't even know what his father did with all that money, but he held his tongue. He looked at the floor, quietly asking; "I'm at least going to have a birthday party though, right?"
That got his father's attention. William swore under his breath and ran a hand over his face. "Uh, that's in what, ten months?"
"Three days."
"For the love of—I swear you spoiled kids have a new damn birthday every year." William sighed theatrically and bent down so he was just above Evan's height, grabbing his shoulders. "Listen, Ev, you know I've been swamped at work. And I'm going to be for a while now. So how about you have a little party here? You can have as much pizza and cake as you like. I'll give you, er, the VIP pass. It's an important birthday, your sixth."
"Eighth."
"Eighth, that's what I said."
Evan's lower lip wobbled, still staring at the ground. "I don't like it here, though. The animatronics are scary."
William raised an eyebrow. "Watch your mouth. I designed those."
"Sorry, I know," Evan said to his feet. "Sorry."
"Good boy," William trilled. "Don't worry, kiddo. You'll have a great time. Why don't you invite a couple of your mates to go with you?"
Evan brightened. "Yay, I can invite Cassidy!"
William's lip curled in disgust. "The one who broke my vase and insulted me to my face? Evan, you know how I loathe that little—" then he called her an extremely vulgar and insensitive word.
Evan's eyes widened. "Dad, you can't use that word anymore."
"What?" William looked bewildered. "Why not?"
"It's offensive."
"That's the point."
Evan shook his head. "Don't be so mean. She's only six years old."
"Six years too many," William muttered under his breath. Evan pretended not to hear him.
"Well, splendid." His father clapped his hands. "You can have your third—"
"Eighth."
"That's precisely what I said, your eighth birthday party here, and I suppose you can invite Chloe—"
"Cassidy."
"Will you stop interrupting me? Invite her to this party. And of course me, and I'll make sure Michael comes as well." He paused. "And your mother."
"Yay, Mum!" Evan hadn't seen her in ages. "Can she help make the cake? Mum makes the best chocolate cakes."
"Sure. And maybe," William's silver eyes glazed over, "maybe she can do the laundry too."
His father stood silent and unblinking after that for about three minutes. Evan started to get uncomfortable and so he left. He saw the guard waiting outside, grumpy in the alleyway, and half wondered how his father would punish him, but he brushed the thought aside.
Maybe his birthday party wouldn't be so bad, after all.
2 days until the party.
"Mum!" Evan practically barrelled out the door into the porch into his mother's legs, squeezing her hard as he could.
Clara laughed in surprise, stumbling and almost dropping her bags. "Hi baby! Goodness, you've gotten strong!"
Evan beamed so hard it felt like rays of sunshine were blasting out of his face. "I missed you."
"Aww, I missed you too. Sorry for being so busy, we've got a dance recital coming up at work and I've got to deal with a zillion hyperactive little girls and their stuck-up parents." She bent down, kissed the top of his head, then rummaged around in a brown paper bag. "Look, I got you something."
He reached in and pulled out a thick book, blue with a bat silhouetted against a fat white moon on the cover. "Oh my gosh! You got me Silverwing?!" It was his favourite book in the world, and in mint condition too. "Thank you so much!"
Clara laughed. "You're welcome. I had it special-ordered from Canada."
"Wowww." Evan flipped through the treasured pages. All his books were old and babyish, since his father had stopped buying him new things when he was about five. He got most of them beat-up and stained from the school library, but this one was all his.
Clara slipped off her platforms and set down her bags. It was hot enough now that she didn't have a coat to hang. She wore a white scoop-neck tee with black stitching around the collar and a black miniskirt with tights. The platforms she always wore around his father were shiny and red, and she wore a black bow in her hair. Her ginger curls were in their usual high ponytail, and her lips were shiny with coconut-pear lip balm. "Where's Michael? And your father?"
"Michael's in his room," Evan said, then hesitated. His father hadn't been home in weeks. "Dad's, uh…"
"Dad's right here." He felt William ruffle his hair. Squirming away, he noticed that his father had styled his hair and changed into a nice outfit—a freshly ironed white button-up and sleek dark gray dress pants. He smelled good, too.
Clara seemed to notice too, from the way she was eyeing him up and down. "Hi," she said curtly.
"You didn't get me a present?" William pouted instead of greeting her. "I like books, too."
Pretending she didn't hear him, Clara turned to Evan. "Could you please get Michael to come down?"
"Okay." Evan scurried off, down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor. Faint rock music trickled from the end of the hallway. He knocked on his brother's door. "Mi-ike! Mum's here!"
Michael slammed the door open so fast it struck Evan in the nose. Pain exploded like dynamite and he clutched it, hot tears streaming down his face.
"Shut up, I didn't even hit you that hard." Michael snapped. "Wipe your face and let's go, I don't want Mum nagging me about bullying or whatever."
Sniffling, Evan trailed after his brother, but almost bumped into him when Michael came to a sudden halt at the top of the stairs. "Why'd you—"
Michael cut him off. "Shh!"
Evan quieted, and then heard the voices of his parents downstairs. They didn't sound angry, but they didn't sound happy either. When he focused really hard he could hear what they were saying. Except soon he badly wished he couldn't.
William's tone was serene despite his fierce words. "You're pretty feisty for a woman about to take a long look at her insides."
Clara's was fiercer. "Wanna learn how hard threatening me is with a foot of steel stuck in your heart?"
"Such a sharp tongue." There was a smile in his voice. "Take care it doesn't cut open your throat."
A pause. "Shut up."
"So impolite. You should really adjust your attitude."
"Want me to open your skull and adjust your attitude from the inside?"
Then there was a loud BANG! and a scream.
Michael sighed. "Mum and Dad are flirting again."
Evan slumped, getting off the ledge. This always happened whenever his mother came over. Evan just wanted to have fun and bake cake with her but then all that dumb adult stuff had to get in the way.
"You go down there and get them to be, like, normal." Michael ordered.
"Why me?"
"'Cause I don't wanna. Nerd."
Hard to object, that. "Okayyyy." He obeyed and trudged down the stairs.
The doorway and living room were empty, but over at the kitchen they were standing by a cutting board with some chopped chocolate bars on the counter.
And there was Clara, pinned tightly up against a wall by William, holding a shiny, pretty knife at her neck. Both of them were breathing hard, but Clara was trying not to so the blade wouldn't cut into her delicate skin. Evan could see a thin red line had already pierced her. A little bead of blood trailed down and stained her white blouse.
Evan felt awkward. He looked at the floor. "Um, Michael says you're being too, um, loud."
William's head snapped to look at him, looking dazed. The knife at Clara's throat didn't move. "What's that?"
"Michael says you guys are, um, being loud?"
"Loud?"
"Yeah," Evan said lamely. "And we should probably make my, um, cake soon. Cos it's my birthday in two days and all."
"Ah." William blinked a couple times. "Well, do you need anything?"
"Uh. Mum."
"Right, yes, of course." William turned his attention back to Clara, who was trembling with the energy of keeping still. "Would you like to make his cake now?"
Almost imperceptibly, Clara nodded.
"There we go. See, all you had to do was tell me that." He carefully removed the sharp edge from her throat and licked the blood off, slowly and deliberately. Clara's eyes followed the movement. Evan didn't think it would taste very good. William went on, talking and waving the knife around as if it was an extension of his hand. "I mean, I didn't know you were busy."
Eyes wide and fearful, Clara backed away from him. Her voice wavered. "Evan, can you take out the flour, please?"
"Okay." Evan, happy to have something to do, crouched and rummaged through the bottom cupboards.
Michael entered the kitchen behind him, taking in the sight. William with a knife, Clara wiping her neck with a paper towel.
He bent down, leaning close to Evan and lowering his tone. "What's up with them?"
Evan shrugged. "I think they were trying to kiss."
"Oh." Michael shuddered. "Gross."
He finally found the flour bag, which was unopened, full and heavy. Why did they even have flour? Nobody in their house baked food, unless you counted sticking a tray of frozen dinners into the oven.
"Here you go, Mum." He passed it to his mother, who had calmed down a bit after mixing some sugar and cocoa powder together. Baking always seemed to make her happy.
She took it and scooped out a few cups into the big blue mixing bowl. "Thanks, baby. Could you and Michael start getting the wet ingredients out? I'll need eggs, milk, butter, and some oil if you have any."
The two brothers shared a look, then passed it onto their father. "Uh, Father, you wanna get that for us?" Michael spoke with an edge.
"Hmm?" William shook himself; he'd been spacing out again. "What do we need? Butter?"
"Yup," Evan said, popping the P. "And eggs, and milk, and oil."
"And food," Michael muttered, so quietly only Evan heard him.
William turned to Clara. "Sorry, darling, but I'm afraid our fridge is on the fritz at the moment. Most of our food is spoiled. We had to empty everything out the other day." The apology in his voice sounded so real that Evan almost believed him.
Clara sighed heavily, and dug around in her bag. "Figured this might happen." She pulled out a few sticks of low-fat butter, a little carton of milk, and some carefully packaged eggs. Evan could tell she wanted to scold his father for his carelessness, but held her tongue.
"You boys start mixing these together. William, you…" She hesitated, seeing he was still holding the knife. "I'll cut up the chocolate bars, if that's alright. Maybe I'll have you work on the frosting instead."
William furrowed his brow. "But I hate baking, Clary."
"It's not baking, you just mix sugar and butter and cocoa powder together."
"I hate baking," he said again, harder. "I like cutting."
Clara pinched the bridge of her freckled nose. "Yes, I know you do, but to be honest I don't want you holding a knife around me and the children right now! Or ever!"
"Oh really." William's expression turned colder. "How interesting."
"Here we go," Michael sighed.
"I can make the icing if Dad doesn't want to," Evan suggested, voice small. He hated when his parents were shouting at each other. "Mixing is fun."
"Good boy." William patted Evan on the back. "Very mature of you, problem solving like that. Hard to believe you're just turning five."
"Eight!" Evan cried.
"Don't you raise your voice at me!" William brandished the knife, and Evan screamed.
"Wait, won't the shells be crunchy?" Michael asked, stirring the bowl of milk and butter and eggs he'd tossed in whole.
Clara appeared to be having an aneurysm. "Everyone stop! Michael, wash your hands and then pick all the shells out. Evan, help your brother, your father can make his own icing. And William, if you don't put that knife down right this second I'm going to rip you open from your forehead to your gut with it!"
"Sounds ve-ry sexy," William sing-songed.
Clara made a muffled screaming sound. She took a deep breath. "Okay! Why don't we listen to the radio while we work!"
She switched it on and a cheerful pop song started blasting.
"I'm cutting the chocolate bars with my big sharp knife," William announced. At that point, Clara just let him.
"I hate this girly music crap," Michael complained. He liked rock or metal music best, as was apparent by the black Nine Inch Nails shirt he was wearing with some punk bracelets, fingerless gloves, and baggy brown cargo pants. "Play something actually good."
"We like this song, so nope," Clara retorted, dancing a little. Evan giggled and copied her. He secretly enjoyed pop music, like his mother. The happy, energetic tunes made him feel better when he was sad.
A man with a deep, husky voice started rapping about dogs or something else Evan couldn't make out.
"Oo, I love this guy," Clara sighed, swaying to the tune.
William jerked his head up from slicing up chocolate. "Really."
Clara hummed along. "I've listened to him a lot. He's got a very handsome voice."
"Handsome." William's chopping got a whole lot more aggressive. "How nice."
"What does he look like?" Evan asked, pouring splashy milk into the bowl.
"Dreadlocks—that long twisty hairstyle—and lots of muscles. Very tall."
"Not taller than Dad, though." Evan said definitively.
"No, he is. He used to play basketball."
"Wow, more than Dad?" He'd never heard of anyone taller than seven feet. "He sounds cool."
"Mm. Dreamy too."
William stabbed the knife into the chocolate so forcefully it splintered and flew everywhere and the knife stuck right through the cutting board.
"Jesus Christ," Michael murmured.
Silently, Clara walked over and tugged the knife out, sheathing it in the block far away from William, and swiped the chocolate slices into a little mug. "You owe me a new cutting board," was all she said. "Melt the chocolate in the microwave, please."
And surprisingly, William obeyed.
"Shove over, twerp." Michael elbowed Evan in the ribs from where they were mixing the wet ingredients. "Gimme some personal space."
"I'm just trying to mix." Evan stepped off the stool and watched his brother half-heartedly whisk it together. "You've got to scrape the sides."
"If you don't shut the hell up they're going to scrape you off the pavement, maggot."
Clara whipped around, eyes blazing. "Michael Terrance, you do not use that word!"
"What word?" Michael looked confused. "Maggot?"
"I- oh." Clara flushed. "Sorry, honey, I thought…"
"Thought what?" asked Evan.
"Er, never mind." Embarrassed, she went back to mixing.
"If it helps, he uses the other word plenty when he plays video games with his mates," William chimed in. Michael shot him a glare that could have keeled over a dinosaur.
Soon, the wet ingredients and chocolate were done and Clara poured them into the batter. Then it was greased and placed in the oven.
Now it was up to the three boys to make the frosting. And Evan didn't want to play into gender stereotypes, but he really wished his mother did the cooking instead.
The whole time William spent taunting Clara, Michael spent taunting Evan, Evan spent crying about all the taunting, and Clara spent just trying to make the damn frosting already.
The oven beeped and Clara took it out with red lobster-claw mitts, placing it on the counter. The aroma of rich melted chocolate was heavenly, and Evan wanted to eat the whole thing right then and there. He was glad it was his cake, 'cause that meant he'd get the biggest piece.
"Well, that doesn't look so bad," Clara said, pleased. "Anyone want to frost it?"
"I will," said William immediately. He snatched the knife out of the block and dunked it in the bowl, spreading on a thick brown layer.
Clara face-palmed. "I didn't say you could use that knife! Use our spatula!"
"That's a woman's tool," William corrected, matter-of-fact. "This is how real men ice a cake."
Michael slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.
"I want to frost," Evan couldn't keep the whine out of his voice. "Let me help."
"Well, you'll have to use the little girlie spatula then, 'cause you sure aren't a real man." Michael jeered.
Evan's face went red and blotchy. "Yes I am!"
"No you aren't, you dweeb. Look at your skinny-mini arms." Michael pinched the skin of his arms through the thick wool of Evan's turtleneck, hard.
"Oww!" Evan cried, trying and failing to get away. "Stop it! Mum!"
"Michael, d-don't pinch your brother," Clara said, but her voice was unusually frantic. Evan craned his neck to try and look at her. When Michael turned to look too, Evan was finally able to, scared to see the thin jagged red scratch running right down between her collarbones. Scarlet blood and melted chocolate and a blob of sweet frosting soaked her ivory shirt. William was looking right at her, shaking, his silver knife glinting wickedly in the rainbowey summer sunlight.
A humourless laugh ripped through Michael's chest. "Seriously?! Don't pinch your brother? Oh, but it's perfectly fine if he gets to cut you up whenever he wants."
Neither Clara nor William said anything. Evan felt his stomach twist.
Michael took another step forward, his lip pulled back in a sneer. "You're an embarrassment." Which parent was he talking to?
"Don't talk to your mother that way," William said softly, still facing away.
"Don't stab your wife."
"In case you haven't noticed, we aren't together anymore."
"Then leave her alone!"
Evan numbly felt tears running rivers down his cheeks. "Stop fighting," he mumbled.
Michael whipped around furiously. "Shut up, Evan! Why the hell are you crying?! Not everything's about you."
His angry words only made Evan cry more. He curled up on the floor and covered his ears. Shouts from people, his brother and father probably, filled up the room till he was choking on it.
Suddenly, he heard his mother cry, "Everyone stop!"
Tentatively, Evan removed his hands. The room was silent except for the radio, where a man was speaking in an important tone.
"Hurricane police still searching for six-year-old girl Elizabeth Eleanor Afton, the daughter of esteemed Fazbear Entertainment creator William Afton. She went missing five months ago on January 14th at her birthday party in the now closed Circus Baby's Pizza World. She is described as a 3'8 Caucasian female with ginger hair and green eyes. She was last seen wearing a pink shirt, blue overall dress, a red bow and black Mary Janes. Her family consists of parents William Afton and Clara Schmidt, as well as older brothers Michael and Evan Afton. If you have any information that may be helpful to this case, please contact the Hurricane Police Department immediately."
Nobody really knew what to say after that.
1 day until the party.
Evan woke up in a dream.
He'd always been the type of person who could tell easily when they were in a dream, without having to check clocks or pinch himself.
This one, however, despite him knowing it wasn't real, felt real. He could hear the neighbourhood dogs barking in the distance, the creaking of pipes, feel the warm weight of his blankets and the chill of the AC. Looking beside him, he saw Fredbear wasn't there.
Evan shivered. It was too dark here for his liking. He groped around on his nightstand until he got his torch, flicking it on and shining the beam around his room. The big beady eyes on his toys and plushies seemed to follow him. The photographs on his walls of him and his family seemed unrecognizable.
Suddenly there was a sinister thump by his left door. Evan froze. Slowly, he got out from under the covers over the spongey blue carpet. He cracked the door open and shone his light down the hall.
He was met with the horrifying sight of nothing.
Evan exhaled. Then he heard a giggle coming from behind him. He whirled around and shrieked when he saw the three identical little bear cubs sitting upright on his bed.
But these weren't ordinary cubs. They were brown with a black bow tie, buttons, and top hat, each with white glowing eyes and two evil rows of sharp teeth. They hissed when he lit them up and scampered into the darkness. He could hear their claws scuffing up the carpet.
Closer. Too close.
They scuttled up his legs, their claws like needles cutting into his white skin. Evan tore them off, but more and more kept pouring out from under the bed.
Evan dashed to the other side of the room and yanked open the door, slamming it against the tidal wave of teddies. Quickly, he dashed down the dark hallway of his house, trying to get upstairs to Michael's or maybe his father's room to get help.
But at the end of the hallway lay no stairs. Just the limp yellow suit of Fredbear slumped against the wall.
Evan looked around warily, but nobody was there. He reasoned with himself that dreams could be weird with house layouts.
Then he looked down and realized his socks were warm and wet with what looked like blood.
His stomach flipped when he looked back down the hallway. The golden Fredbear suit was leaking a river of dark red thick liquid. Evan's legs seemed to be moving on their own as they carried him towards the suit, wading against the current and soaking his shorts crimson. The bear's head was hunched so he couldn't really see if anyone was inside.
Steadily, for Henry had taught all the Afton children about the dangers of springlocks, Evan lifted the mask off and looked at what was underneath.
And the guard's dead gray face looked right back.
The sight and stench of it made Evan gag. The guard's face was frozen in the same bossy grimace he'd given Evan earlier that week. It was caked in dried blood and there were deep gashes all over his bald head, big crescent moons like teeth marks.
"What happened?" Evan whispered to himself.
He punished him, a voice whispered back in his head. It was deep, but androgynous, like it belonged to anybody and nobody at the same time.
Evan spun around. Nobody was there. "Who? Who punished him?"
Your father. William Afton. He punished this man, and soon he will punish you.
His legs went numb and wobbly and Evan collapsed, curling up in the blood pool like a blanket. Some of it got into his mouth and the taste of iron rose bile in his throat. He didn't doubt that his father would hurt this man, but; "Dad's not going to hurt me." His voice didn't sound nearly as confident as he would've liked.
Maybe your father won't. But somebody will. You will have the same wounds as that man, and you will be just as lifeless as he is.
"No." Evan's voice cracked and he tried to slow his breath. "That isn't true! This is just a bad dream, a really bad dream."
You are correct. This is a nightmare. But heed the warning I've given you, young boy. The voice paused. Perhaps we will meet again after you've been fulfilled, and we may talk properly. You are a special child, Evan.
"Don't call me special!" Evan was offended, defiant even through tears. "And don't leave! W-what do I have to do? I don't want to die!"
When the time comes, just walk, and you will find me.
"I don't know what that means!" Evan cried. "I'm not smart enough to figure this out! A-am I going to die?!"
But the world was already mixing and blurring together and he woke up in his own bed with the alarm clock blaring and the sunlight shining through his blinds and puffy wet eyes and a sudden existential crisis.
What a way to start the day.
0 days until the party.
"Dude, this tastes like engine oil," Patrick snapped, holding the bottle gingerly with two fingers like it was a piece of roadkill.
"It's like, 75%," Jeremy said wondrously, reading the label. "Your dad just straight drinks this?"
"I guess," Michael said with a half shrug. "He doesn't drink all that much though, this stuff's been in the fridge for ages."
"Can we go somewhere else?" Joseph complained, trying and failing to get comfortable on the bathroom counter.
"Yeah, sitting on the broken sinks squeezed into the tiny Fredbear's bathroom drinking shit vodka and Diet Coke that someone probably sneezed in wasn't really how I wanted to spend my day," Patrick scoffed, pulling up his jeans that were so baggy even a belt couldn't hold them.
Michael took a swig and tried his best not to scrunch up his face in disgust. He probably should've grabbed a soda himself to chase it with, but he didn't want to look like a wuss. "Well, unless you have something better to do. I'm kinda stuck here all day for the little nerd's birthday."
"And this is how you wanted to kill time?" Jeremy made grabby hands at the glass bottle.
"Hypocrite," Michael muttered, but handed it to his friend. Jeremy took a long drink. Michael watched his Adam's apple bob with each swallow. Jeremy's sandy blond hair was all mussed from his leaf-green hood.
Joseph whistled after Jeremy finished. "Daaamn."
Patrick rolled his eyes. "That's nothin' at all, I could totally do better."
"Be my guest," Jeremy smirked, holding the bottle out.
"Well, I'm not gonna right now," Patrick mumbled, his light-brown hand tugging through his straight black hair self-consciously. "'Cause I think my mom's, uh, friend is here, or something."
"Oh, sure." Jeremy wiped the corner of his mouth. "Well, I don't know what else to do."
"We could smoke," Patrick offered. He always wanted to smoke whenever his parents weren't around.
Jeremy nodded. "Does anyone have a lighter?"
"I don't even have food in my fridge, don't look at me," Michael scowled.
Joseph and Patrick both shook their heads. "Dude, you suggested it," Jeremy sighed, then let his head flop back against the wall. "Figures."
There was a beat of silence. "Well, this sucks," Joseph spoke aloud everyone's thoughts.
Footsteps sounded from outside the door, but nobody moved to hide the alcohol. You needed a special code to open the door to the dingy staff bathroom near the back that nobody ever used, and Michael was one of the few who knew it.
But then the handle jiggled, and everyone's eyes shot wide open. They scrambled in a frenzy to hide everything. Jeremy tucked the bottle under his coat and Michael sprayed his mother's vanilla perfume everywhere.
The door opened and there stood a plump female day guard, wearing the yellow polo and purple vest uniform over a black miniskirt, her silvery platinum hair with cotton-candy highlights tied in French braids and thick glasses perched on her large nose.
She burst into a fit of coughs. "Jesus, did y'all rob a Bath & Bodyworks?"
Nobody said anything. The guard took in the sight of four teenage boys dressed in piercings and grunge, crammed into a shabby bathroom fogged up with perfume, staring up at her with big guilty eyes.
She got the picture, rolling her eyes. "If you're gonna smoke, don't do it in a freakin' kid's restaurant."
"We're not smoking," Joseph mumbled, then immediately started coughing.
"Nice going, man." Michael muttered, elbowing him.
The guard sighed, pointing behind her with her thumb. "Get outta here before someone catches ya."
They stood up and filed out of the bathroom, grumbling to themselves. "We weren't smoking, honest." Joseph said again, sounding even less convincing.
"Yeah, and you're Paris Hilton," the guard said dryly. "With all that crappy Diet Coke, too. I prefer regular Coca-Cola."
"Shocker," Michael muttered once she was out of earshot.
Jeremy took the vodka bottle out of his hoodie and plunked it into a wastebasket as they were walking out. He finished the last few drops of Coke and threw that in as well. "Now what?"
"Dude, we could've drank that." Joseph argued, crossing his arms over his blue tank top.
Patrick rolled up his red sleeve and pulled it out of the trash. A banana peel fell off and something green and slimy was smeared on the side. "Be my guest."
Joseph actually reached for it and Patrick swatted him away. "I was joking, dumbass. Plus there's only like a shot left."
"A shot I could've drank."
Michael froze to a halt. "Oh shit, my mum's here. Put it back!"
Patrick threw it back in the trash and Michael tugged at his hair worriedly, hoping his mother didn't see. She was crouched at the other end of the room by the little foam play structure, wearing khakis and a green short-sleeve button-up, talking to Evan.
"Is that your weird brother who's always crying?" Joseph asked.
Patrick and Jeremy both laughed. Michael's face heated up. "Uh, yeah. He's a real head case. Don't pay attention to him."
"Hard not to when he's always making a scene." Patrick muttered. "That twerp took my blunt last time I was over. Preached me a whole damn sermon about lung cancer."
"Ugh, I remember that. He's so annoying." Michael sighed and brushed his hands off on his gray v-neck tank top. "I'm just gonna go see if my mum needs anything,"
Hewalked across the big party room, dodging screaming little kids playing tag as he did so.
"You'll be okay without me here," Clara was saying. "Your father is just downstairs and Mike will—oh, Mike, there you are! You'll look after your brother, right?"
"I guess," Michael said stiffly. He had no plans to do so.
Suddenly, Evan started crying, like seriously crying, sounding like he was getting an unmedicated lobotomy. The other kids and families turned to all stare at him, and by extension, Michael.
Michael wanted to die. "Shut it, you baby," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Everyone's looking."
Evan continued to cry. Clara looked a little baffled, but hugged him anyway. "Sh-sh-shh, it's okay! What's gotten into you?"
"I—" Evan gasped for breath. "The—robots—are—going—to—" He couldn't finish and dissolved into tears.
"Hurt you?" Clara stuck out her lower lip, a bit condescending. "Evan…you know they can't do that, right? Your father built them to sing and greet guests, and that's it."
Michael laughed. "They're literally bolted to the stage. Moron."
"Michael, stay out of it," Clara snapped. "Go play with your friends."
"We're not playing."
"Right, not playing. Just stealing your father's vodka?"
Michael's mouth fell open. "How did you—?"
"Evan told me." She shook her head. "I'm very disappointed in you."
"Oh my God, the little snitch told?!" Michael's blood boiled. Evan barely talked to anyone, and now was when he chose to say something?
"Don't get mad at him over something you did." Clara huffed.
"But I—"
She held up her hand. "We'll talk later." She dismissed him just like that. The edges of his vision were blurry with anger.
Clara stroked his brother's hair with a tenderness she'd never shown Michael. "Evan, I want you to have a good time, and make sure to stick close to your brother."
Michael laughed shortly. We'll see about that.
"Love you," she finished, and kissed him on the forehead that his soft brown bangs covered.
"Love you too," Evan mumbled, scrubbing away his tears.
After Clara was out of earshot, Michael bent down and leaned in close, teeth clenched. He was practically sizzling with red-hot fury. "You're gonna be real goddamn sorry for telling on me."
Evan's lower lip wobbled pathetically. "I didn't do it to make you mad. I-I just don't want you to end up like Mum, with the drinking and all."
"Aww, 'course that's why," Michael mocked. "Little golden boy. Always so fuckin' perfect, aren't you, Ev?" Michael leaned in close, then spat his watermelon gum at Evan. It stuck in his hair. "Remember, snitches get stitches."
With that, Michael left. He hoped Evan was crying. He knew he was.
Evan had always been the golden child. Smart, responsible, loved by adults. Michael wanted to do something, something big, to show everyone that his little brother wasn't so pristine.
And that's when he got his idea.
~lll~
First, the four boys stopped by the prize stand and grabbed cheap cardboard masks of four characters—Michael and Jeremy bickered over the Foxy mask for a bit but eventually Michael won it and Jeremy ended up with the Freddy mask. The Bonnie mask went to Patrick, and Chica to Joseph.
Michael knew his brother well, and he knew how terrified he was of the animatronics. To be fair, the bulging eyes and wild grins of the robot animals were kinda creepy. But they were just that, kinda creepy. They weren't an actual threat.
Michael scanned the room. Clara had left and his father and Henry were downstairs working on whatever it was they worked on. The only adults present were parents wrapped up with their own kids, wait staff running food and drinks to customers, and a couple day guards at the back sipping coffee and chatting.
"We good?" Joseph asked, shaking out his dark curls.
Michael grinned and slid the Foxy mask down onto his face. "Definitely."
They all pulled on their masks and crept up behind Evan, who was standing at the back near the washrooms, clutching his weird Fredbear plushies. Beside him stood a small girl with black hair in spiky pigtails talking his ear off, who was probably Cassidy.
Michael leaned over and grabbed Evan's shoulder who yelped and turned around. "Hey, loser. Happy birthday."
Evan glared defiantly. "Michael, stop it."
"Ooh, big words from the little man," Patrick jeered.
Evan's blue eyes started to well up and he angrily wiped them away. Too slow, however, because the four older boys noticed and chuckled.
Michael gave him a punch on the shoulder. "Aww, is the little baby gonna cry? What a wimp."
Cassidy put her hands on her hips. "You guys are such bullies. Don't you have anything better to do? It's Evan's birthday."
The older ones just ignored her. Michael hit Evan again, harder into a wall, and he cried out in pain.
Cassidy stood in front of her friend protectively. "Get away from Evan, or I'm telling your dad."
Patrick laughed. "What a wuss. He needs a girl to defend him."
Cassidy narrowed her eyes. "I'll do it. I'll scream."
Michael rolled his eyes. "Can it, you little bitch." He shoved her to the ground, hard.
Cassidy coughed, unable to stand. Michael had six or seven years on her, there was no way she'd be able to properly fight him.
Michael and his friends looked at each other, and Michael nodded. Together, they snatched up the scared little boy, each of them carrying a limb. Evan was full-on sobbing by now, tears and snot running down his face. His Fredbear plushies fell to the ground and Michael stepped on it for good measure.
"Wow, your brother's really a baby, isn't he." Jeremy noted, adjusting Evan's right leg.
Michael laughed. "I know. It's hilarious!" He glanced over at Fredbear, who was dancing stiffly with Springbonnie at his side. "Why don't we help him get a closer look? He'll love it!"
Evan whimpered at just the sight of the robots and tried to squirm out, his face growing pale. "No! Stop it!"
The group was growing closer to the stage. Michael passed Evan's other arm to Joseph and climbed up onto the stage. The boards creaked. The music, some song from Swan Lake, got louder.
At the back, the female guard from earlier noticed what they were and set her drink down, yelling; "Hey! Kid! Get off the stage!"
Michael flipped her off and continued helping to lift up a howling Evan.
One guard he didn't recognize realized as well. "Boys, get away from the animatronics! That is an off-limits area!"
"Shut up, old man!" Patrick yelled.
Michael leaned over and grabbed Evan's chin to look him in his watery blue eyes. Evan sniffled pitifully. "Come on guys, let's give the little man a lift. He wants to get up close and personal!" Michael cackled.
"No, please! I don't wanna go!" Evan sobbed, still fighting furiously to get free.
"You heard the little man. He wants to get even closer!" Michael lifted Evan up by his black-and-gray striped polo shirt and tugged him in front of Fredbear, who continued dancing obliviously.
"Hey! I mean it boys, get down right now!" Another guard shouted, running towards the stage.
"I think the baby said he wants to give Fredbear a big kiss!" Michael laughed, ignoring the guard.
Everyone in the pizzeria was watching the scene in front of them, as if it was some play being hosted on the stage. Some parents were talking hurriedly into flip phones, some kids were whispering, and others just stared.
This was perfect. A whole audience to see how much of a scaredy-cat, how imperfect Evan was. It was exactly how he wanted it.
"On the count of three!" Michael called jovially, hoisting his brother up to eye level with Fredbear, right in front of his gaping mouth. Evan wailed louder.
Michael held three fingers up. "One…"
The three day guards rushed forward to try and tug the boys offstage. Jeremy, Patrick, and Joseph blocked their way.
"Two…"
Cassidy sat up and rubbed her head, just then noticing Evan in his turmoil. She quickly scrambled to her feet, terror clouding her umber eyes.
"Please, Michael, I'm scared…" Evan sobbed, staring into Fredbear's looming mouth filled with rows and rows of dangerous teeth.
Michael stared at his brother. He stared at the crowd. Finally, he lowered the final finger.
"Three!"
Michael shoved his little brother's head into Fredbear's mouth. Evan screamed and tried desperately to free himself from the golden bear's grasp, but his head was stuck. He screamed again, almost haunting in its terror.
And Fredbear, who'd reached the last line of the song, closed his mouth down to stop singing.
Crunch.
Fredbear's jaw slammed down onto Evan's head with a sickening noise.
Michael froze.
Jeremy froze. Patrick froze. Joseph froze. Every single person in the pizzeria froze. The bouncy, jaunty kids music was over. Everything went silent.
Michael walked over to inspect his brother. Evan was hanging limp from Fredbear's mouth. Evan had probably passed out from all the crying, and the scapegoat Michael would get blamed as usual.
Michael tapped Evan's shoulder. Quietly, he asked; "Ev, you okay?"
Michael's question was answered by the thick, dark blood beginning to pour from Evan's head, staining Fredbear's matted golden fur and pooling around Michael's sneakers. Evan's body came loose and fell from the animatronic bear's mouth onto the stage floor, right in front of Michael. His neck was twisted at an odd angle, away from the crowd. His head was a bloody mess. He didn't get up.
And then the whole world shattered.
The crowd was screaming, but Michael didn't hear them. His legs gave out so he was kneeling in the pool of blood, but he didn't feel it. Tears dripped down his face, but for the first time he didn't care if anyone saw them.
He desperately felt Evan's chest, wet with red, searching for a heartbeat. "Come on," he whispered hoarsely, "wake up. Wake up wake up wake up."
Jeremy, Patrick, and Joseph were yelling words. Michael couldn't hear any of it through the roaring in his ears. Except for one word, shouted with even more fear than venom.
Murderer.
The word struck him in the heart, colder and sharper than a knife would've been. Michael turned, tears streaming down his deathly pale face, roaring louder than he meant. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT. I swear, I didn't mean for any of this to happen!" Whipping around, he felt at his brother's chest again. His breaths were coming in quick and fast. "Evan, God, please wake up! I'm so sorry!" He was choking on his sobs now, too hard to gulp in the air. "I'm so, so, sorry…"
A male day guard with blond hair touched his back and told him he needed to move for the authorities. Dazed, Michael's legs carried him off the stage, while the body that used to be his little brother was swarmed with paramedics.
William and Henry ran into the room, drawn in by the commotion. Michael saw their mouths move and their hands wave, but didn't hear any of it. His vision pulsed. His head felt like it was going to explode.
Then William was standing in front of him, talking. Michael tried to get the fog out of his ears, but he still couldn't hear a word.
Then William slapped him hard across the face and leaned in close. "Michael," he hissed. Poison, corrosive and deadly, dripped from each syllable. "Get up. We're going to the hospital. Your friends are coming too."
Numbly, Michael followed him out the door. He sat in the passenger's seat and could see Jeremy, Patrick, and Joseph in the backseat, each trembling and splattered with crimson, haunted eyes shadowed.
While he pulled out of the parking lot, William left a message for Clara telling her to meet them at the hospital, then hung up and gunned the engines down the road.
Michael looked down at his hands. They were wet and slick and a cruel, deep red. In the rearview mirror, he saw his own reflection and gagged. His fingers had left stains all over his face, dark with blood. Evan's blood.
He wanted to vomit.
They reached the emergency room soon enough, and William hurried through the clean white halls with the boys trying their best to keep up. It smelled overwhelmingly like lemon hand sanitizer. There were patients staring at them, horrified, and Michael knew they must look a sight—these four teenage boys, covered in someone else's innocent blood. They looked like what they were. Monsters.
They stopped in front of a door blocked by a flock of police officers and doctors talking in quick professional medical speak.
"Is Evan Afton in this room?" William asked. Michael could hear the barely concealed tremble in his voice.
One officer regarded him coolly. "Who's askin'?"
"William Afton. I'm his father, and this is Michael, his older brother."
Hearing that brought a fresh wave of repulsion crashing over him and Michael was unable to stop himself from throwing up pizza and vodka and Diet Coke all over the policeman's shoes.
"Christ on a stick, I just got these cleaned!" the officer snapped, jumping back. "Aim better if yer gonna hurl next time, boy."
Michael saw his father's jaw clench. His words came out stiff and mechanical. "Listen, the both of us have been through hell and back in the past half hour. It would be very appreciated if you could step aside and let me see my son."
Another officer, a tall woman with brown curls, stepped forward. "I'n very sorry, sir, but at the moment the doctors are performing vital procedures on your son. He's in a critical state right now. I'm sure you'll be welcome to see him after they're finished. You can have a seat over there while you wait, if you like."
"Peachy," William practically spat through gritted teeth. "Come along, boys."
They sat down on an uncomfortable plastic bench at the end of the hallway. There was no noise except the hum of machines and the clicking of heels on the floor.
Finally, Patrick spoke up, voice shaking. "Wh-what's gonna happen to us?"
Joseph blinked. "Dude, not cool. His brother just died and you're worried about yourself?"
"He hasn't been pronounced dead." William corrected, not looking at any of them. "Not yet."
Michael's voice cracked. "Don't say that."
"I'll say whatever the hell I like," William said. His voice was even and held no emotion. "I didn't murder my brother."
That shut him up.
"I'm just wonderin'," Patrick spoke again after a while, "when we're, like, goin' to jail."
"We're not going to jail. We're minors." Joseph said confidently. "Plus it was an accident."
"Dude, get real." Patrick snapped. "You think the judge is gonna listen to two dark-skinned boys and the local drug dealer?"
Jeremy looked up, but didn't say anything.
"You," Patrick continued, pointing at Michael, "are gonna get off scot-free. You're rich, you're white, everyone loves your family, and it was your own brother. But I hope you like community service, bro, 'cause you still murdered him."
"I didn't—" Michael couldn't even get the words past his teeth. A tear rolled down his cheek. "Stop it."
"Seriously Patrick, fuck off." Jeremy said finally. "Jail doesn't matter right now. We don't matter right now."
"None of you are going to jail."
Everyone looked at William at the sound of his voice.
"What?" Joseph asked, a little breathless.
"None of you are going to jail," he repeated. "I'll bail you lot out when we go to court. You don't deserve to be there when you were just following Michael's mistakes. I have money to spare."
"Thanks," the three boys mumbled.
"Now," he continued, "you should wash up. I don't need you looking like you came from a massacre when they start questioning you."
He led them to a small bathroom and turned on the tap. "Cold water gets out bloodstains," he explained. Michael didn't question how he knew that.
They scrubbed their clothes until the only dark spots were from water. When they left, the rude policeman from earlier and a few doctors were waiting for them outside.
One doctor's eyes were filled with tears. "I'm so sorry," she said, and Michael knew what was coming next.
"He's dead."
A/N
Shoutout to mixsii for helping me spell dissipated!
Only 3 more chapters and we can FINALLY move on the my favourite FNAF game ever sister location!