C.C.'s father ruined his life even in death. Even though he was miles away and unaware of where his son was.

C.C didn't even know of his father too well, or that he was William Afton- the William Afton- until today and it filled C.C. with a sense of doubt. Did he really know himself at all?

Though he knew his father was evil, that much goes without saying, and it overwhelmed C.C. knowing that he was related to such a monster.
The same was to say with Terrence.

Thanks to darling Terrence, C.C. could honestly say that his brother was the death of him.
That was the most vivid memory that came back.

C.C.'s memories came back like a hole in a dam.
At first, a vague, almost unnoticeable trickle. Soon opening, and widening until the water crashed through and broke the whole dam, until he was literally drowning in his memories.
The sensation left him breathless.

So did the fact that Terrence had been right there, just within his grasp. Just close enough to... To do what?
Would C.C. have really killed Terrence?

He might have, and the thought sent a shiver down his spine.
Though It didn't matter, anyway.
Because C.C. didn't even know.

For one, his name was different.
Mike Schmidt.
C.C. was sure that if he saw Terrence's real name, he'd recognize his brother instantly.

After all, who could forget the face of their killer?

|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|·|

Cassidy was glaring at C.C. with unreadable eyes, which was unnerving, because Cassidy had always been facially- and verbally, for that matter- expressive.

Her blank stare might have been a level of anger beyond fathom, or she was truly and honestly... At a loss for what to do, which was equally inordinate.

Cassidy finally blew out a breath and C.C. prepared for impact.
But all that came was a soft, almost inaudible;

"And you didn't think to tell me sooner?" She sounded almost hurt.

C.C. didn't quite meet her eyes. "Would you have really listened?"

It wasn't until recently that he had discovered the truth of his father. Though the memories themselves were going on for years.
Some he told Cassidy about, and some he didn't.

The last memory he'd 'reclaimed', he supposed, had overwhelmed his senses so much, he nearly fainted.
Cassidy had immediately pulled C.C. into the Golden Freddy suit and into the the 'void' that they found themselves in when inside, and bombarded him with questions.

He'd thought for sure that Cassidy would look at him like she didn't know him at all. C.C. didn't even know himself, even without his former amnesia.

Something must have clicked for Cassidy, because she pulled on one of her long black pigtails.

"You are such an idiot." She groaned.

C.C. blinked. "What?"
Cassidy had called him an idiot many times before- too much to even count- though he didn't know why she would call him that in this specific moment.

"Are you really going to make me say it?" Cassidy shook her head. "You are not your father, C.C. You're not! Yes, you are closely related. And, yes, you are involved. So what? That proves nothing."

"But-" C.C. started, but Cassidy cut him off.

"Zilch," She imposed.

"I-"

"Nada." She said. "Zero. None. Do I really have to go on?"

C.C. sighed. "I think you got the message through clear enough."

Cassidy was right, he knew.
But it wasn't himself that C.C. was concerned about.
C.C. was unprepared to see how much his family had changed.

And maybe he was worried about how they would view him after how much he'd changed.
He was no longer the shy little boy that startled over everything.

C.C. was still introverted, nothing would change that, but he wasn't the same.
In some ways he was, in others, not so much.

The anxiety of seeing his family after all those years were crushing, but it had to be done sooner rather than later.
And things have been stirring since dear little Mike Schmidt had entered the picture.

Cassidy peered at him curiously.
"Go." She finalized.

C.C. ran a hand down his bangs, pulling them into his eyes. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is." Cassidy argued. "You go, or you stay. It's a do-or-don't situation, C.C. Are you willing to take the leap?"

She had a point there.
And C.C. knew what he should do.

"I hate it when you're right." He sighed.

"I'm never wrong." She countered.

C.C. would beg to differ, but he had other things to tackle.

Maybe it was time to finally have that happy little reunion.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

Micheal glanced down at his wristwatch.
5:53am.

Micheal sighed. He couldn't even squeeze a nap in. Though it wasn't like he'd get any sleep, anyway.
He'd been having nightmares for weeks and they haven't gone away.
Then he remembered that his younger brother, Christopher, used to have nightmares. He'd probably still be here today if...

Nope. Not going down that lane again.
Micheal had enough people say that you can't change the past. If he could have any superpower, It'd be to rewrite time.
Better yet- rewrite his mistakes.

If he'd gone with Elizabeth that morning, could he have stopped her from going onto Circus Baby's stage?

If he hadn't pulled that awful prank on Christopher, would he still be alive?

If the two were still alive... Would Father be who he is now?

From the couch beside him, there was a sigh.
Clara had insisted that she'd be okay having William here, despite her previous opposition to the arrangement. She had her nose in a book, as always. The similarity to how things used to be was enough to calm Micheal, just that slightest bit.

His mother was reading a random book from Micheal's shelf titled Watership Down.
Micheal didn't even know that he had the book. He'd heard of it, though, and it appeared interesting enough.

Micheal assumed that Clara was attempting to distract herself, and Micheal supposed he should do the same.

Though he was so tired, just picking up the remote from the coffee table beside him was a ridiculously stre,nuous task.

Skimming through the channels, Micheal soon delved into a sense of mindless clarity that came when watching Television.
You were aware of your surroundings, but they mattered none. What you were really focused on was the screen in front of you.
Which was as easy to get lost into as your own thoughts.

It was interrupted, of course, by a sharp knock at the door.
Micheal glanced down at wristwatch. ,

6:17am.

Late. As always.
Micheal should've known what to expect.

"Coming!" Micheal called. He glanced questioningly at his mother who then buried her face deeper into her book in response.

clapped madly, barely containing his excitement, though it leaked through in his manic grin.
What was wrong with that demented fox?

Micheal glanced out the window and caught a glimpse of a purple Mercedes. Typical.

When Micheal opened the door, he was greeted with a helpful comment.

"You look terrible." William pointed out lovingly.

Well, hello to you too, Father.

Micheal only rolled his eyes. "I just died less than a week ago- how did you expect me to look?"

William glanced over Micheal's outfit, and answered, "Dignified, for one."

Micheal wore a hoodie over jeans rolled up at the cuffs, and buckled comp-toed sneakers.
Contradicting to his father's suave purple satin dress shirt with matching pants and uncomfortable-looking black dress shoes. He also held three suspicious-looking thermos bottles.

Micheal flicked the rabbit ears on his father's head. "This coming from a guy who looks like a depressed bunny. Would a carrot make you feel better?"

William flipped him an unkind gesture in response.

Micheal looked pointedly at the three, thermos'. "What are in those?"

"Coffee." William dead-panned. "The drink of the gods." Micheal didn't even try to correct his father.

"Why do you have three?"

"You sound surprised at the idea that I might share." William noted. "Which I won't. I had five, but I drank one at home, one on the way here, and-"
He untwisted the top to one thermos and made a big show of drinking it.
It was gone in about 45 seconds. "One now."

Micheal didn't really know how to feel. Everything about his father was already unhealthy, so why not?

"You're late." Micheal said helpfully.

"I believe that it's 6:19 and I said by six. Not 'six, on the dot.'"
Again, businessmen. Slick little urchins.

The tension rose when they hit the living room.

Micheal didn't know how his parents would handle being together in a room.
So many things could happen, Micheal found it easier to feign ignorance, in hopes that all went well- as well as it could get, at least- and that way he wouldn't have wasted time worrying about it.

Maybe he should have taken more thought into account, though, because they way they... Stared at each other made sparks fly and electricity dance on the hairs on the back of Micheal's neck, and not in a good way.

"Clara?" William breathed.