CW: Fire, parental death, death, loss, grief written badly, gasoline, arson, burns, kidnapping, dark themes, yandere themes.
The stark smell of gasoline stirs you awake, your eyes fluttering open to your dim room. Your night light was shining warmly in the corner, still protecting you after all these years. You lift off your blankets, sniffing the air with confusion. Have your parents knocked something over? Did they need help cleaning it? You pass by the night light in your old room as you make your way to your door, turning the slick handle with a grimace. It was wet, slippery with a liquid that was quickly soaking into your hand. You hesitantly bring it to your nose, taking a small whiff.
You yank your hand away from your face, gagging slightly. There was gasoline on your door, and from the puddle you had stepped through that was now soaking into your socks, it was also covering your floors. You quickly open the door, heading through the hallway while your old night light flickers behind you, sealed in a room of memories about to be destroyed. You desperately rack your brain for reasons the house was soaked in the volatile liquid, your heart pounding into your chest. Every step you took soaked your socks and the bottoms of your pajama pants more, the shiny fluid greedily latching onto you as you ran.
For the first time in your adult life, you throw manners to the window and open your parents door without knocking. Seeing them both lie there in their bed brought a small amount of relief to you, and you quickly cross their room to wake them. Shaking them both in turn makes you start to panic more as neither awakes. You turn on the lamp that sits on the bedside table, casting the room into a dim glow. You lean over and try to move their faces, hoping it would stir them. Taking a small breath for courage, you gently lift one's eyelids like you did when you were younger. All that it did was reveal their rolled back eyes, the white of the sclera being the only thing showing.
Only now you realize how stiff they both are, how the blood in their faces seemed to be traveling to their backs. You finally look at their faces fully, seeing the shut eyed screams they were frozen in. Their necks were badly bruised, the imprints of what looked like chains burned into their skin. Your heart sinks and you step back with a sob, crashing to your knees in your parents room. You don't mind the cold gasoline soaking into, no longer worrying about the fire that could erupt from a single spark and swallow you whole. Loud sobs and screams leave you, wracking your body as your hands pull at your hair in despair. You were aware of what you needed to do, how you needed to grab the phone on their bedside and call the cops.
Your mind urged you to stand, to take control of the situation and mourn once you were safe, but your body refused. Your hands shook, desperately wanting the comforting touch of your parents and wishing for their hold, but you were stuck in the void of grief. Your world was crashing down around you. With the tears burning your face and the dull ache of your knees, you force yourself to get up and move to the phone, fumbling the power button. It flashes weakly at you, the familiar curse of an empty power bank mocking your troubles. You have every urge to shatter the phone in your hand, to throw it to the floor and watch the glass break to the tune of a hungry spider weaving their web.
You slip it into the pocket of your pajamas instead, knowing the priceless memories this phone had stored in its memory. You may have lost your parents tonight, but you would rather set the house aflame yourself than lose what little memories of them you could salvage. You cross the room once more and go to the other side of the bed, trying to keep your eyes off the still bodies of your parents. You couldn't help but feel their faces were mocking you, the silent screams morphing into laughter that burned your ears and caused more tears to roll down your cheeks.
You curse loudly when you pick up the other phone to find similar results, quickly covering your mouth with your hand. Even now, you felt bad for cursing in front of your parents, and even worse for cursing in front of the dead. With two phones in your pockets and a heavy heart, you trudge back to your room in hopes to pick up your phone and what little money you had under your bed. Now that there was no one to save, you wanted to get out of the house quickly and keep yourself alive. There would be no murder reported if you died with them, and you refuse to let your parents die in vain.
The door to your room looks more like a portal to hell as you near it, your stomach churning with unease. You push the brightly colored wood in more, flicking on the light as you step in. You jump back when you see Mikey, confusion and worry flashing across your face. He was sitting on your bed, with one foot crossed over the knee and your phone in his hands. The light of the screen lit up his face, and whether he didn't notice you or he was ignoring you, you couldn't tell.
"Mikey?" You breathe out, stepping further into your room. His face seemed akin to an angel in the moment, your heart bleeding and desperately calling for the comfort his arms would bring. You rush forward, quickly falling against him as you sob, telling him of your parents while he quietly comforts you.
"I'm sorry, sunshine." He murmurs, his lips pressing themselves to your forehead. You look up at him, more confusion in your eyes before you start to connect the dots. Mikey was here, and his wrappings smelled so strongly of gasoline it could make you hurl. You try to pull back, but he holds you firm, quiet apologies and reassurances falling from his lips as you scream. He lifts you into his arms, dropping your phone on the ground and cracking it under his feet. You thrash against him as he carries you through the door of your home, lighting it ablaze with his mystic powers that once amazed you.
A crackling blue portal sits at the end of your driveway, and Mikey carries you through, the lair on the other side. You continue to scream and fight in his arms, but Mikey never budges nor falters. His small stature was a ruse, his arms and capabilities stronger than you could ever hope to be.
"It was necessary," He mumbles, his tone apologetic while he leads you towards the bathroom to clean the gasoline from your skin. He takes no notice of your punches or bites, only hissing when you land a hit to his cheek. "I needed you to stay. If you had something to return to, you'd never settle down."
You don't bother to ask what he means, or why he did what he did, only caring to get as far away from him as you could. Mikey continues to hold you down, pressing kisses to your face and whispering soft words in your ears like it would fix the damage he had done. Mikey wasn't too worried about your fighting, knowing you would come around soon. A burned bridge could always be rebuilt, and Mikey wasn't afraid of splinters.
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Words: 1278
Posted: 10.18.23
A/N, not important: I am trying so hard to make my work have like, emotion in it. Idk how I'm doing. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.
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