#w1. threads

"I mean, it's not the worst I've ever seen." And not the best, either! But he'd done this when he was a kid, hadn't he? Taken a whole roll of toilet paper and just... shredded it and left it on the toilet floor? He'd definitely done that. Right? It just proves a point, really: working customer service will straighten you out right quick. ( The adult equivalent of shredding some toilet roll is refusing to fold your laundry. It's about chaos, and the accumulation of mess. He hasn't folded his laundry in years; it's on an endless loop of washer-dryer-chair. )

He loves you and he cares about you, Michael thinks, as his throat floods with bile. He loves you and he cares about you. Look what he got you. He wants to pick it up and hurl it at William's thick fucking head. It's so cool; were it not for the here and now, he'd already be sinking his teeth into it, wanting to see what made it tick. Instead, he's sitting, legs to his chest, a look frozen on his face that's gotten lodged somewhere between a smile and a snarl. That is to say, all teeth. I'm going to rip your throat out. I'm going to funnel gasoline into your stupid mouth and make you sit in the fireplace. He can picture it vividly, the explosion of gore. That comforts him a little bit. But only a little bit.

"It's nice," he croaks. "Thank you. I love it." He doesn't touch it. If he did, he'd melt, he just knows it. Like the Wicked Witch. What a world, what a world! He is being ungrateful, isn't he? This is an amazing gift. But he chokes on any further thanks, because William is still looking at him like that. How is he supposed to enjoy anything he receives, when this is how the gift-giving goes down? He's starting to think that these are elaborate, expensive setups for an excuse to rip into him. Which is hilarious, because William will let him know exactly what he thinks of him without the gifts, but he supposes the money allows him to feel worse for himself. Poor father. Poor, unloved father. He nearly screams and just manages to abort it, and hopes it comes across as a squeak of excitement. "It's ace. Really. I'm so excited."

His capture was not inevitable; he will go to the headsman swearing as much. Had he been a bit faster, had he not been so concerned with his friends, had he watched where he was putting his feet, had it not rained the night before— a thousand tiny mistakes, some of them his, yes, but none of it inevitable. And the rest of the party had escaped, vanishing when the soldiers came. Foxy had hesitated, wanting to scale the rigging to retrieve him, but Chica had dragged him away. Thank goodness. They would be fine with her, with each other, until Michael could escape and get back to them.

For months he'd been taking part in the Entity's games, putting his mechanical skills to good use, familiarising himself with the other victims competitors. They were an eclectic bunch, but he'd finally started to settle in with them. Kate in particular had become a close friend. He had, in fact, expected to drop into the caravan with her and raise Hell.

When he instead comes to to tiled floors and striped walls, he knows something is wrong. And then the smell hits: cheese, and rot. He moves through the building like a dream, completely ignoring the other survivors ( and the off-putting organic hooks extending from the broken claw machine and lockers ), heading to the back. To the room he knows best. He enters the office through the left door as Springtrap enters through the right, and, though it's muted, he can't help but smile for the briefest of seconds.

They don't often synchronise like this. Usually it's a balancing act, a seesaw -- one goes up, the other goes down. Mania. Depression. A carousel ride. Only occasionally do they meet, and almost never in the middle, but on one of the downswings, when it's bad. When one doesn't know what day it is and the other doesn't give a shit because he's not leaving the house regardless. When Mike walks into the same room three times, never once seeing a single object in it, always forgetting why he came in. When the shower goes unused. When Henry has to drive Elizabeth to school because neither of them can take her, they just can't. Knowing how much that favour costs both of them, it's a testimony to just how awful it really is.