#'really? crying on the floor like a baby? great example you're setting for your siblings there'

[crumbleclub]

one-shot for @lonelyfreddles dream theory revamp au, except i destroyed any semblance of a timeline to make this interaction possible

Footsteps fell quietly against shag carpet. The caution with which he carried himself was deeply ingrained; it told him to be smaller, quieter, and escape notice at every opportunity.

Sometimes, he wondered if his life depended on it.

Evan had one goal in mind: a cold glass of apple juice.

Father wasn't home. He hadn't been home all week, actually. Evan had been told ahead of time, for once; the man had rattled off something about a meeting, or a conference or... something, but his words hadn't made much sense. He'd been frazzled at the time; rambling and agitated, as he often was these days. The behavior was odd enough for Evan to note, but he knew better than to question William directly.

Normally, Evan and Michael would have been left home alone. They were old enough, after all. They'd been old enough for as long as Evan could remember.

This time was different, though; Henry was coming to look after them. It was a precaution, Father had said. He hadn't seemed very happy about it, and Evan didn't think it was his idea. It didn't matter, though; Henry was nice, and Evan hadn't seen him in a long time. He was happy to hear that the man would be around.

Michael hadn't been home for very long, yet. He'd only been in the hospital for a week or so, but he'd had to stay in another place for a few. Evan wasn't sure what it was actually called– Father had called it the looney bin, but he knew that wasn't right– but it hadn't seemed so bad when he'd gotten the chance to go visit. Mikey had seemed healthier there than he had in the hospital.

Evan had jumped at the chance to go see him. Of course he had. He needed to see him; to see that he was still real and still here. He didn't want his brother to die. Evan had been so scared when—

His hands were red the towels were red red red red the voice on the other line said to keep him awake they said they said—

Evan felt tears starting to well in his eyes, and he wiped at them with his sleeve. He didn't need to do this right now. He needed to get his drink first, and then he could go cry in his room. It felt good to cry, sometimes; to let things out, even if the kids at school teased him for it.

There was no use in getting rid of something that obviously helped. He'd just have to hide it as best as he could.

His steps continued again; past the grandfather clock, into the living room. He'd get his juice, go back to his room, and hang out there for a while. It was going to be fine; everything would be fine.

Michael hadn't scared him since he'd been back home; Evan thought it might have been because he still didn't feel very good. Why did Mikey want to die?

Still, Evan checked underneath the sofa; behind the TV.

No Michael.

He pressed on towards the kitchen, but stopped when he heard voices.

Evan recognized his brother's first. He heard Michael almost every day; his voice was higher than most men's, and accented, just like Father's. Unlike their dad's, though, Michael's voice was quiet, and he dragged his words. William's speech was much more clipped.

The other voice, low and clear, was Henry's.

"You can't keep acting like this, Michael."

"Yeah, well, why not?!"

Mikey wasn't quite shouting, but his voice was louder than normal. Was he in trouble?

Evan paused to listen.

"You know it doesn't help to keep egging him on like this."

Michael laughed, but something about it was wrong. The sound was short, sharp, and almost shaky. Evan thought he'd heard him laugh like that before, but he couldn't place where.

"There it is again. You know." There was a pause. "That's the worst part. You know exactly what he's like, and you don't do shit."

Evan wandered closer to the door; he wanted to hear what they were talking about.

"Michael..." Henry's sigh was barely audible from the other room, muffled through wood and paint. "Language."

His last remark felt strange. Evan furrowed his brow; he didn't think that had been what Henry really wanted to say.

"Fucking really?!"

Evan flinched back. Michael was angry.

He took a deep breath.

It was going to be okay. Mike wasn't angry with Evan; he didn't even know his younger brother was nearby. Nobody was going to hurt him, and everything was going to be fine.

Evan didn't think he'd ever seen Henry angry. He hoped he wouldn't snap and hurt Mike, the way that Father did. Evan hated that, even when Michael had been especially cruel to him. Something was wrong with the way it made his brother stiffen and cry, even when it was just words. Sometimes, Evan thought, the words hurt the worst.

"I'm just trying to keep things from getting any worse."

Henry's tone was insistent, but Michael was having none of it.

"Keep it from–" The teenager cut himself off, steadying his breath to keep from shouting. "You could have stopped it from happening in the first place, Uncle Henry."

He spat the man's name. Evan wasn't sure if he'd ever heard him sound so...

Evan didn't have a name for that emotion, he didn't think. It wasn't anger; his brother sounded hurt, he recognized, but there was something else. Disgust, maybe?

"Michael..."

"You could stop it now." The pace of Michael's speech picked up again, his tone rising. "We still live here. He's mad at me for this, you know that?"

Silence.

When Mikey spoke again, his voice was becoming frantic.

"Don't you believe me, Henry?" Evan could hear the sound of fabric rustling. "Do you see this? Do you think this was an accident, too?"

Evan froze.

His mouth was dry; something in his chest felt cold. He suppressed the urge to shiver.

They were talking about Father.

Evan hadn't seen it happen, this time, but he'd heard Michael crying. Michael hardly ever cried.

He lost track of the conversation for a moment, falling into his own thoughts. Evan knew that Father would be livid if he knew one of the boys was talking about the way he could be sometimes; he had a reputation to uphold, after all, and the way a man raised his children was nobody else's business. The idea that Mikey might have actually talked to anyone about it was alien to him.

"You know," he'd said, but that couldn't be right.

Henry wouldn't ever hurt them, Evan didn't think. Maybe hitting sometimes was okay, but he'd definitely intervene if he saw it get really bad...

Right?

Henry's voice pulled him back.

"–sorry, Michael."

"Then do something!" Michael was yelling now; every breath came short and quick. A small collision sounded; a noise Evan easily recognized as someone's hand being smacked away.

Mikey didn't like to be touched. He knew that sound very well.

Evan felt his cheeks burn, tears brimming. The turmoil taking place in the next room was overwhelming, and he felt it bleeding into him with each word that was spoken.

He made no move to leave, though. He couldn't.

He needed to know.

It was quiet for a little while.

Sometimes, Henry would start to speak, but stop before getting any words out. Evan wondered if he was struggling with what he wanted to say.

It seemed like ages before he really spoke again.

"Mikey, you know I can't do that."

Evan dropped everything, looking up at the door in disbelief.

Henry did know.

He knew, and he...

He didn't do anything.

Henry left them there.

Evan felt sick to his stomach.

Maybe he just needed a moment to process it. Sure, he wasn't always certain what was normal and what wasn't, but it had been bad enough for Mike to reach out for help, right? It had been bad enough to make Evan cry himself to sleep every night. It left scrapes and bruises, and, sometimes, it was too bad for either brother to even talk about.

It had been bad enough that Mikey had wanted to die.

Evan wasn't feeling very thirsty anymore. He turned to leave; to run back to his room and never, ever look at Henry the same way again.

As he left, he heard a sob echo from behind.