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It had been years since that day-- Since the haunting squish of his brothers head between metal jaws seemed to change the very fabric of Michael's being. Poetically absurd it may sound, Michael was sure something in him snapped in twine. Trauma, some may have called it. Repentance, what he did.
His life had been altered by his own selfish wants, jealous hate that eroded his rationality until he was blankly sitting in the dull whites and blues of a hospital. Everything that had boiled over vanished in an instant, a blur of masses and colour that phased together around the singular image of Evan.
Bloodied.
Dangling.
Limp.
He didn't think he'd make it. Evan, that is. That the brother he'd tormented so thoroughly, had nearly killed, would live to see tomorrow, let alone the next five years of life. Yet, that's what happened- Continues to happen. Life. Living, breathing. Perhaps a little slow on the uptake, but alive nonetheless.
Regret and guilt swam in every fibre of Mike's being these days. It spun out of control shortly after Evan woke up from his coma, festering under the elder boys nails as he finally let the tears roll over his cheeks. Gasping around apologies, around the bitter burn of bile bubbling in his throat.
Parked amongst the many cars of parents waiting to grab their kids, Michael stood leaned up against his own car. The bell had already rung, releasing the hoard of middle schoolers to whatever the rest of their day held for them, but they were all unfocused blobs of nothing to Mike. White-noise blaring in the background as the source of everything right and wrong in his life ate up his consciousness. Or, it would be, if said source wasn't dawdling.
Evan was 14 now, had insisted he didn't need to be picked up from school anymore. Lizzy wasn't. He shouldn't be, either. But their mother had argued that Elizabeth always had friends to be with, places to be, things to do; 'She is normal' went unsaid.
As much as Evan protested, wanting some of that teenage freedom he'd seen on TV, that he hardly remembered his elder brother had at his age, Michael had agreed with their mother. He even volunteered for the task of picking him up. The over-dramatic look of betrayal Evan had shot him was comical at the time, made Elizabeth have to bite down a laugh at her brothers expense. Mike didn't laugh, didn't find the comedy of it, solely focused on the guilt ever-present in his stomach.
Through the crowd of kids, Mike saw his brother, small as ever, hunching his shoulders as a group of boys swarmed around him, hovering like the pests they were. They seemed cheerful, simply palling around as every shrill jeer and overly rough shove jostled Evan between them. Evan tried his best to smile, light and wary, trying to play it off as simple as it may have looked to anyone other than the buzzard of an elder brother he had.
Freeing himself, Evan waved to the boys, saying something to the tune of 'Sorry! My brother's here!', scurrying as quickly as his bony little legs would carry him to Mike and his garish Manta.
"S-Sorry, Mikey... My, my- Friends. My friends were, uhm, they wanted to go bowling, b-but uhm, y'know, I told them th-that I couldn't-" Evan tried, stuttering through his explanation. Michael's gaze, however, stuck to the group of boys, burning the way hypothermia sizzled under the skin. They visibly shrunk, their jolly moods stifled by the elder Aftons scrutiny.
Michael's reputation was one he has made good use of ever since it reached his ears. The buzz of the eldest Afton boy being a delinquent, picking fights constantly, too many assault arrests under his belt to count, a barely restrained beast waiting to have the barest of reason to bloody faces and fists. To maim and break as if it was the only thing he existed to do. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he would only ever be good for being a disappointment in all the ways that mattered.
The passenger door shutting behind Evan pulled Mike out of his intimidation attempt, blinking back to Ev leaning over the rolled down window on his forearms.
"Are, Mikey--" Half-formed it was, Michael still understood what Evan was trying to say through his stutter.
"Yeah. My bad. Lost in my head," curt, to the point, huffed in the growl of a chain-smoker, young he may be to gain the title. He had a lot to de-stress from. A lot to hide behind smoke and mirrors.