Michael stirred, a warm light invading his closed eyes. Someone wrung out a towel next to him, the water dripping into a small bowl. He pulled his forearm to his eyelids as he groaned.
"Oh, he's getting up!" a girl observed.
"He should rest more," a raspy voice commented, "Humans are fragile."
Michael pursed his lips, "I can hear you, y'know."
"I mean no offense."
"Thanks, Xiao," he lifted himself off of the couch and rubbed his eye, "Man, I have the worst headache."
Zhongli put the towel on a table in front of him, "Here, drink this. It may help."
Michael looked around the room; he was in Zhongli's apartment. Although he didn't visit often, he recognized the layout: first floor, a window to his right where he could see a few bushes. There was a loveseat placed in front of the window with a small table next to it. Zhongli kneeled on the floor next to the table, which held a bowl of water, a towel, and a cup with apple juice. Michael snickered as he pulled it from the table. He turned a little further to see Xiao standing next to Zhongli, and Xiangling kneeling on his other side.
"How are you feeling?" Xiangling asked while he took a sip of the juice.
Michael exhaled, "Better now. A little."
"Well, that's a start," the girl giggled sheepishly, "Oh, I cooked some dinner for you! It might also help."
"Oh. Thank you," the teen smiled, "Sorry about your chilis, by the way. I can pay you back for them."
"Don't worry about it, Chongyun caught them before they all spilled. Only a couple fell out."
Michael huffed out a laugh as Xiao spoke, "What were you doing that made you faint?"
"Uh, running? Panicking, mostly," he shrugged.
"You should take better care of yourself. You are a business owner now, people are relying on you. And, also, you have people who care about you," Zhongli wore a teasing smile.
"Right..." Michael sighed, a hand on his neck. He had so much to tell them, it was starting to overwhelm him.
"Is something going on, Mikey? You know you can talk to us," Xiangling placed her hand on his that sat on the seat.
"I..." he faltered, "Yeah, it's some...stuff...with the business. I don't really want to get into it right now—my head is still hurting a little bit."
"The juice didn't help?" Zhongli tilted his head in concern.
"It made it a little better," Michael lied, a smile on his face.
"He's stressed," Xiao deduced, "Is there anything we can do? Perhaps we should leave you be."
The young man cringed, "No! No, please don't do that. I need something to get my mind off of everything."
"Do you wanna chat? I can tell you about my day!" Xiangling offered, and Michael chuckled.
"Sure."
As Xiangling began rambling about her day, Michael rested his chin in his hand. Her glowing aura filled the room, easing Michael's nerves just the slightest bit. He wasn't really listening to her story, he was simply grateful for the company.
Xiangling talked proudly of her daring adventures: the way she braved the path of monsters to get to her chilis, how she saved Xingqiu from a group of bandits. As tireless as his eight months in Teyvat were, he had to say, he missed fearlessly fighting in battle. No amount of taxes and public relation scandals could ever compare to the rush he felt whenever he faced a new opponent in Teyvat. Perhaps he inherited it from Childe. The name made him tap his fingers anxiously against the couch below him.
"Xiangling! Where are you?" a voice called from outside, startling Michael out of his thoughts. How long had he been spaced out?
"Oh, crap! I forgot I was supposed to meet my dad with the chilis hours ago! Oh, Archons," Xiangling panicked as she gathered the few items she brought to Zhongli's apartment, "I'm sorry I have to cut the visit short, Mikey, I completely forgot. We'll have to catch up more later, okay? Make sure you say bye before you leave again!"
"Haha, okay. See ya'," he waved as she shut the door.
Clearing his throat, Xiao stood up, "I should take my leave as well. I'm sure the Traveler needs help in New Khaenri'ah."
"Oh, yeah," Michael lit up, "How is that place doing, anyway?"
Zhongli answered, "Very well. Lumine and the civilians are working hard to build a safe structure for the new generation of Khaenrian people. The city is growing fast, even Aether has been helping out."
"Man, I should get back there soon and help out, too," he rubbed his temple with one hand.
"We will be just fine without the extra help. You should stay here," Xiao argued, but before Michael could protest, the adeptus had already vanished from sight. Michael shook his head, his hand now on his forehead.
"He does have a point, Michael," Zhongli said, "I know you like to help everyone out, but you need to help yourself out, too. Sometimes, you need to slow down your life to truly appreciate it."
The young adult glanced up at the Archon, "Zhongli, I fucked up so bad back home, I don't even know where to begin."
"There is nothing in this world that cannot be solved. Would you like to tell me what happened?" he replied, lifting himself to sit next to Michael on the couch.
"Honestly," Michael sighed, "I just wanna talk to Kaeya and Childe. I need a break from everything, but I don't want to be alone...I think I just need to see them, and I'll feel better. I know I need to start making up a plan for what to do about my situation back home, but right now, I just want a break."
Zhongli looked at him with pity in his eyes, "I wish I could provide you with a solution, but Childe and Kaeya aren't in Liyue right now. They're in New Khaenri'ah, also helping with the reconstruction. I don't believe they'll be back for at least a few more days."
Michael scoffed in disbelief, "You're kidding. Jesus, what great timing I have."
"If you're looking for an escape from the noise, might I suggest heading to Dawn Winery? It is quiet there, and you will have Master Diluc to keep you company," Zhongli rubbed his back.
"Yeah. Yeah, I didn't think about that. Thanks, Zhongli," Michael grinned tiredly.
"Of course," the man replied, his voice soft. He stared intently at Michael, examining the bags under his eyes and the pale hue on his face. Instinctively, he brushed the young man's cheek with his thumb.
"I hope you know, you will always have a place here with me," he said, and Michael smiled gratefully up at him.
They exchanged pleasantries in the form of goodbyes, Zhongli patting the young adult's hair before he departed. In all honesty, being with Zhongli made him feel like he was thirteen again. Though, he didn't mind that much.
Michael walked to a waypoint that was just past Zhongli's apartment complex. He felt less dizzy now, which he assumed was a good sign. He found it a shame the warp to Diluc's manor was a bit of a walk, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. His legs felt numb against the weight of his body, but he tried not to let it bother him.
After he traveled through the waypoints, his fingers tingling, he opened his eyes to see the manor in view. Another small weight lifted itself from his shoulders as he ventured over to his old training area. He greeted the few workers that mingled outside as he approached the door to the manor. He bit his lip, then knocked three times on the wood.
Please be home, please be home, please be home, he begged.
The lock of the door clicked, shuffled, and opened to reveal a tall, fiery haired man standing before him. Michael was about exactly the same height as his mentor now.
"Michael?" Diluc sucked in a bit of air, "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to be back for long while."
"Yeah, guess my plans changed a bit," he joked bitterly.
Diluc studied his face. Although he didn't outwardly show it, Michael knew he was wondering about the large bags under his eyes.
"So, what brings you here?" Diluc asked, acting as if nothing was wrong, that everything seemed normal.
Michael exhaled a shaky breath, clenching his nails into his palms, "Master Diluc, I have no idea what to do right now."
"Michael, what's going on?"
Oh, how he hated that question. He avoided it by throwing his body into the man's to distract him, "Can I stay here for a little while, please? I need quiet."
"I...of course. Yes, you can stay here whenever you'd like. You know Adelinde loves to care for people," Diluc replied, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Michael's back. He patted it awkwardly.
"Thanks," Michael sniffled, wrapping his arms tighter around Diluc's body. He ducked his head into the man's shoulder, breathing unsteadily into the fabric.
The man seemed to relax into the hug after that. He ran his nails gently across a small section of Michael's back as he cooed, "It's alright, Michael, you're safe here. Nothing is going to harm you. I will keep you safe. You have nothing to worry about."
***
Back at home, Sammy, Charlie, Elizabeth, and Evan peaked through the railings on the landing to see what was happening. Henry opened the door slowly, revealing two police officers.
"Hurricane police," one flashed a badge, "Are you Henry Emily, sir?"
"That is me."
"We have reason to suspect you have some involvement in the murder which occurred approximately five days ago on Monday at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Do you have any information about this event?"
"Yes, I do. Unfortunately, I'm not the killer you're looking for. However, I..." the letter shook in Henry's hands; he gripped it tightly to prevent the police from seeing, "I have information on who might be."
He passed the letter over to the police, a few tears falling down his cheeks.
"Please, excuse me," he apologized, wiping the moisture under his eyes with a handkerchief.
"Please try to stay calm sir, this is a formal investigation," one of the men spoke condescendingly, and Henry reeled back.
"Do you have any kids, officer?" he asked quietly.
"I..." the cop began, but instead shook his head and didn't answer.
"Imagine if one of them turned out to be a murderer," Henry started yelling, "My son might be a murder! How do you think I feel?!"
"Sir! I said stay calm!" the other cop barked, "As I understand, this 19-year-old is not your son, rather the son of William Afton. Am I correct?"
Henry grimaced, "William was a deadbeat dad who might as well have been absent for all anyone cared. They would've been better off without him. You're damn right he is my son because I raised him for nineteen years! And I will keep raising him no matter what!"
"Yes, well, you may not get the chance!" the second cop retorted, "If this confession letter is real, then your son is going to prison. Do you understand?"
Henry's throat ran dry. He knew he would have to choose eventually, but he wished it would never come. He wished these words would never have to leave his mouth. Michael Afton, his first child, the boy who had been abused time and time again yet still kept fighting. All the Afton kids did. Henry knew none of them would ever be capable of an act so cruel, but how could he be sure? Besides, if the police started suspecting Henry, there would be only one other person to take care of the children. Henry loved his wife, but she couldn't care for four children on her own. Besides, he wanted—perhaps even needed—to stay with his children right now. He knew they needed him, too. Thus, he made his choice.
"The confession is real," Henry swallowed back tears, "He stopped by this morning to drop it off."
Henry kept his information short to avoid saying the wrong thing. Upstairs, Evan turned away from the railings and leaned his back against them, feeling sick. He slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent the cops from hearing his cries.
"Michael Afton was here?"
"Yes," Henry's head fell, "He is gone now. He ran out of the house, and he ran fast. He left me and his siblings in shock."
"Gather a search party," the first officer told his partner, "While he does that, I just want to interview you and your kids a little bit. Is it alright if I come in?"
"Sure. I don't think I have much of a choice," Henry stepped away from the door, allowing the officer to walk into the house. He surveyed the area, walking through a short hallway with a bench built into the wall. On the right was a family room with a small, boxy television, and in front was the dining room table next to a small kitchen. Off of the dining room table on the left side sat the living room. He passed the stairs just after he walked past the bench, but before he crossed over into the kitchen.
"It's a small place for a family of seven," the officer commented.
"Six. Michael lives in his own apartment," Henry glared, "We made it work when he was living here."
The officer placed his hand on one of the kitchen chairs, "Let's sit down, shall we?"
As the men slid into their seats, they heard shuffling from upstairs. Although the words were incoherent whispers, it was clear that someone was in the landing.
"Evan," Elizabeth nudged her brother's shoulder, "Evan, calm down."
His head fell against the bars holding up the railing, "I can't do it—I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't."
"We're here, Ev, we're right here," Sammy slid across the floor to sit on the other side of the youngest teenager.
While Evan shook his hands out, Henry pulled the officer's attention back to him, "I'm sorry—it's just my kids. Like you said, the house is small. Sounds travel relatively quickly. They all should be in their rooms."
Elizabeth lifted Evan, carrying him around her shoulder. She addressed the twins, "Let's go to the guest room."
The police officer shook his head, "Anyway, you are Mr. Henry Emily...and just for the record, you are African American, yes?"
"If you say so," he sassed, then, "Yes."
"And your kids are also African American, and the Aftons are mixed Hispanic and White, right?"
"Uh, yes?" Henry frowned, watching the officer shake his head, "I can't see how this has anything to do with the situation at ha—"
"Mr. Emily," the police officer interjected, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense. Understand?"
I don't want a lawyer, I want you out of my house, Henry wanted to say, but instead he replied, "Yes. Let's continue with the interview, please."
The officer pulled out a small notepad and began writing, "So, how long were you Mr. Michael Afton's legal guardian?"
"Five years, but I've been in his life since he was born. Since he turned eighteen, I'm not technically his guardian anymore, but still treats me like a father. I haven't gone longer than two weeks without seeing him, at his restaurant or otherwise," Henry answered.
"Would you say you know him well?"
"Yes."
"Has Mr. Afton ever displayed aggressive behavior?"
Henry's mouth ran dry, "Well, yes—but—but he was just a child. After his mother died, he became a very angry boy. He was so young at the time, maybe—I don't know—eight? Nine? He was old enough to know what was happening, but young enough to throw various tantrums and what not. He became very distant with his siblings, and he was especially cold and uncaring towards his little brother, Evan. But something changed when he was thirteen. When I saw him again, he was kind...and caring. I've seen him with my kids; he tries to solve every problem they have. I worried about him all throughout his time in high school because of it. He used to do it so much that he often fainted."
"These aggressive behaviors," the officer ignored his last statement, "What did they manifest in? Hitting, teasing...?"
"Lots of teasing, but no hitting other than the occasional push," he tapped his fingers against the table, "But Mike and Evan are brothers, that's the kind of thing that they do. I roughhoused with my siblings when I was young."
"So, in your opinion, Mr. Michael Afton was a normal kid and a normal adult?"
"Despite everything he endured, yes, somehow he turned out quite normal. Great, even. I've known many people his age, even older, that are much more distant with their families than him," Henry's mouth lifted into a small smile, "He's a good kid."
"They're all 'good kids', Mr. Emily," the officer huffed under his breath, "Now, do you mind if I interview one of your kids?"
"Alright," he sighed, "Let me go see how they're feeling."
"I'll just follow you, Mr. Emily."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Henry walked in front of the officer, "Okay, just...stand behind me, okay?"
Henry walked up the stairs, passing Sammy's room as he took a turn to the left. At the end of a short hallway, he placed the back of his hand on the guest room door. He hesitated, trying to see if he could hear their conversation before he knocked.
The room was uncharacteristically quiet, hushed whispers being the only thing Henry could hear. No coherent words came out. Dejected, the man let his shoulders drop; never did he think he would see the day that all of his children were scared into silence.
Soft and slow, he knocked on the door, awaiting an answer. Just as he was about to knock again, Charlie opened the door.
"Hi," she whispered, "Sorry, Ev fell asleep."
The police officer peered over Henry's shoulder to see Evan laying on the bed, his eyes screwed shut. Even in his sleep, his eyebrows were furrowed. Elizabeth held his head in her lap, stroking his curly locks. Sammy lay next to them, breathing unsteadily with an arm over his eyes. Although he didn't move to address the open door, Elizabeth lifted her head to look directly at the officer. His eyes widened, knowing her face from case file photos, but never seeing it for himself.
"He just needs to interview one of you," Henry continued, "Is anyone...uh...feeling up to it?"
Charlie glanced over her shoulder; with the positions everyone was in now, there was no way they were moving. Frankly, she saw no reason for them to.
"I'll do it," she agreed, stepping past the doorway.
"It would be nice if I could interview one of the Aftons," the officer spoke condescendingly.
Charlie shut the door behind herself, now speaking in her regular tone of voice, "I'm sorry, but one is sleeping and the other is exhausted. They don't want to do an interview, and even if they did, they won't give you good answers in that state. It's best if I do it. Plus, I'm older than Lizzie, so technically I've known Mike the longest."
The officer sighed, "Alright, alright, fine. I can't guarantee, though, that we won't interview them in the future."
"And in the future, they will be ready for that interview. As of right now, it's just me," Charlie said as she walked down the stairs, "We're sitting at the dining room table, right?"
The officer nodded, slumping down in the seat in front of her. Oh, how he hated doing these interviews.