i want my cake and i wanna eat it too

i want to have fun and be in love with you

Lana Del Rey
Lolita

•••••

TW: alternate reality, disillusion, paranoia, vomit, yeah the end of this chapter is pretty fucked so uh??? read at your own discretion. This is a fic based on a horror game lmao

"Michael," I whispered.

Michael. Michael. My sore body thrummed with electricity that sung his familiar name. An overwhelming sensation that I couldn't quite decipher had my throat tightening, choking on surprised tears.

He looked the same, but also different - different in the way that a field changes seasons. I knew his curves and edges, could trace them in my sleep. His body was a geographical map that I'd traverse absentmindedly, that I knew like that back of my hand. But he was bigger, now, stocky. His hair was shaggy again. His stubble was thicker. The sparse beginnings of greys shot through his dark hair and it made him so foreign, yet so constant. His eyes hadn't changed a shade.

Michael's stride faltered at my look. I didn't know why I was astonished - maybe because out of everything that was confusing me, he was the only part that made sense. His relieved gaze pinned me into place, made my head stop spinning. He was a breath of fresh air, a glass of cold water.

I sat up straighter. The sheets crumpled beneath me, folding and bending into my lap as I tried to draw myself closer to him. He started at my movement, striding across the room in three long steps and sweeping in with my name on his lips and his hands on my jaw. Calloused. Gentle. His.

"My precious thing, my superstar," Michael murmured while his prismatic eyes searched my face. I could smell him - leather and Hurricane dust and motor oil - and it made me tear up with a unforeseen, unexplainable hit of sweet nostalgia. Michael wiped away the wetness as he bent over me in the gurney, protecting me from the awful hospital and the awful memories it held.

"Mikey," I hiccuped. I couldn't tell where this sense of longing came from, but it'd arrived, and it had catapulted me through a million different colours of grief.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, voice silk over pebbles. A kiss to the bandage over my temple. "It's okay. You're okay. You're safe now, superstar. You're with me."

His words only succeeded in feeding the forlorn storm within my chest. I sobbed into his hands as he held me, and everything hurt, and nothing made sense, but he said that I had him and Michael had never lied to me before.

"I know, baby, I know." He brought me into his shoulder and soothed me like a child, stroking my hair, murmuring reassurances. His warmth was inebriating. "You've had it rough, haven't you? You're okay now."

My fingers clung uselessly at his flannel. When another person entered the room, I held him tighter, selfishly. His embrace was too sweet to pull away. Some tiny part of me told me to savour his touch while I could.

Michael's thumb stroked my cheek in circles. His hazel eyes stared at me again, taking in my unruly state; greens, browns, blues. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

I tried to think but nothing greeted me. I couldn't remember what my last memory was - a shuffle of images, of scenes and faces that followed no timeline. It unsettled me, but I should've been more frightened by it. It was hard to when Michael was touching me so softly, when he looked at me in reverence.

I shook my head. I couldn't remember.

"You got into a car accident." Michael carefully tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear, cautious of my bandage. "You hit your head on the window. You've been in and out of consciousness for the past couple of days, the kids have been worried sick."

My eyes bore into his as my slow brain ticked over his words. "... kids?"

Michael's face paled. "Y/n-"

"Patchy memory is normal when it comes head trauma," the observer, Dr. John, jumped in. We both looked to him - me, dumb with uncertainty. "Everything should be back to business in a week or two, but we'll run some tests to be sure."

The worry on Michael's face didn't waver. His concerned gaze dropped back to me.

"It's a good sign that you remember your husband." Dr. John approached with a plastic cup full of water. I nearly ripped the drip out of my arm in reaching for it. Michael stroked my thigh as he watched me scull the water back in record time, doing little to soothe my throat but leaving my head feeling clearer.

"Home," I choked out when I lowered my cup. I looked from the doctor to Michael, suddenly exhausted. "I want to go home." I wanted to go home and sleep. Sleep in a bed that smelled of Michael, not of impersonal clean linen and the vaguest feeling of hundreds of people before me.

Michael squeezed my thigh, took my cup. "I know, honey." Doting.

"We just need to do a few tests before you can be discharged," Dr. John promised.

I sighed and linked my fingers through Michael's. I got distracted by the ring again, glistening in the sunlight of the outside world. I stared at his fingers - rough and callous of the life he'd led.

After being poked and prodded and tested on, we were finally left alone while the doctor assessed my results. Michael had stolen a guest chair and pulled it bedside, arm wrapped around mine, fingers touching. I had so many questions, and yet, none at all. I wondered how long I'd feel this discombobulated.

"Hey." Michael's lips brushed against my cheek as I slouched in the gurney. He was touchy, only content when we were connected somehow. I'd seen the doctor give a few annoyed looks when Michael was in his way and it'd raised my hackles, though I was too tired to act on it. "We won't be here much longer."

The sun was already beginning to set. I didn't know how long I was in the hospital for, but hospitals were always liminal spaces. Time never worked normally in them. Minutes could feel like eternities. Hours could feel like mere seconds.

At least Michael looked good in golden hour. He looked good at any hour, really, but there was just something in the way that the rosy-gold dusk highlighted him that made me stare.

"You don't have to worry about work," Michael continued, now against my temple. His warm breath had goosebumps prickling my arms, as if unused to intimacy. "I called in for you. I'll be off, too. And then Matt and mom will take turns spending the day with you until you're back on your feet."

My heart warmed at his care. He always looked out for me-

Even dead, he looked out for me.

I was startled by that thought. Where had that come from? Michael wasn't dead, he was sitting right beside me, toying with my fingers as though he didn't dare put space between us. He was alive - I could feel his breath, his warmth, smell his skin.

I decided to push that away for now. Instead, I latched onto something else that had me stumped.

"Mom?" I asked, sending him a surprised look. "When did she move back to Hurricane?"

Michael blinked. "... from where?" And then, with more hesitance, "she's always lived in Hurricane, sweetheart. Hasn't left your childhood home."

No, that was wrong. She left Hurricane when I did for college, travelling up north to be closer to her sister, and then finding and marrying my step-dad. But now my memories were fighting one another. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe I'd made up that memory. Maybe I didn't even have a step-dad.

"Here." Michael pulled out his phone. "This should spring some memories. I have photos. Lizzy, Carla and Evan." He showed me the screen, a photo of three children in a bath, each sharing brown hair and freckles and a hat of bubbles from the soapy water. The twin girls had Michael's hazel eyes. Evan had mine.

"Oh..." I instinctively reached for the phone and cradled it, staring at the photo as though entranced. "They're..."

I was speechless. Beautiful didn't cover it. Magical didn't, either. Wonderful or incredible were adjectives that paled in comparison to the nameless emotion that the photo pulled in me. It transcended words.

"I know," Michael agreed with a grin, knowing my thoughts.

My eyes narrowed slightly. "... did we name Carla after that vampire show we watch?"

Michael turned his eyes up to me. "Yeah. Yeah! We did."

"And I let you?" I asked in disbelief. "Did I have amnesia back then, too?"

He chuckled, swiped his fingers across my forehead. "At least your humour's still intact. God forbid the day that disappears."

I exhaled through my nose in soft amusement before returning my attention to the photo. My fingers twitched, itching for them. I could already hear their voices, their laughs. I yearned to hear the real thing, to see if reality matched my imagination - or my shrouded memories.

When I was discharged - under strict conditions to keep device usage to a minimum and reduce strong lights - Michael helped me into his jeep. He had a jeep. A newer looking one, too. Where did he get the money for this? His security job didn't pay this well.

"Where do you work?" I asked as he helped my wobbly body into shotgun. I tensed myself for the answer while I pulled the belt towards his waiting hand. "Freddy's?"

"What? No." Michael shook his head with a patient smile. He clicked me in. "That all ended a decade ago, remember?"

The relief was insurmountable. It was awful enough waiting for him to come back from evading death alone, but to have those same trepidations while we had three young, dependant kids would be another battle entirely. "And... William?"

"Piece of shit is dead." He said it nonchalantly, happily. His hand patted my bare knee before departing to climb into the drivers seat. He turned the key and the jeep rumbled into a satisfying purr. "That chapter of our lives is over, superstar. I work at BrightTech."

My brows furrowed. "... BrightTech?"

"Henry's new start-up?" Michael said with a bright smile. His voice wavered, though, shook with uncertainty. "We make robots for a range of industries. You run the accounts."

My blink was slow. "Oh. Right, of course." I didn't have a clue of what he was saying. I watched the dark streets pass and changed the topic. "Where are the kids?"

"At Charlie's," Michael answered. "They're having a sleepover."

"All of them?"

Michael nodded. I fell silent again, stewing. I recalled Charlie leaving for an impressive college across the states, and then further away to an even more impressive job offer in the UK. Why was she back in Hurricane?

Unless she, like my mother, never left either. Apparently.

And Henry was... alive.

We turned down unfamiliar streets, houses fancy and white-picketed, dream homes. Like the old Afton home. Or like Henry's farmstead - that he probably still lived in.

"How is he?" I asked. The streetlights set my retinas on fire and I winced, turning to Michael instead. "Henry."

"He's good." Michael side-eyed me. His hand found mine in my lap and latched. I stared at them and at our obvious differences - his fingers were so large, tanned with tough skin from years of hard labour in the garage, callouses catching in the palm of my hand and dragging softly against my flesh. His hand swallowed mine absolutely. "You remember Henry?"

I nodded slowly. "We used to call him dad because..." I frowned slightly, words escaping me.

"Because neither of us had fathers," Michael finished helpfully. He squeezed my fingers. "And 'cause it pissed off Charlie."

A smile brightened my face. "Yeah. That's right."

"See?" He sent me an elated smile. "Your memories are coming back already."

I smiled weakly at him. My head still hurt, pounding out of rhythm and cresting waves of irregular bouts of pain. Light stung my eyes and my ears faintly rang. I wanted to ask how long I was out for, but I found myself fearing the answer - and then just not wanting to know.

"Here we are," Michael murmured as the jeep smoothly sailed from the street onto the drive of a beautiful house that made me stare in wonder. There was no way this was ours - it looked to be newly built, beige panels and white window frames and a balcony on the second floor. A white-picket lawn of green grass and a family-built treehouse beside a trampoline. I felt my shock slowly rise into my ringing ears.

This was, by far, the prettiest, dreamiest suburban house I had ever seen. This was ours?

I kept my bafflement to myself. I didn't want Michael's worry to rise any further, and me being surprised by my own home would be sure to make him stress. I tried my best to keep my face neutral as we entered the darkened abode while Michael, mercifully, kept the lights off.

"Are you hungry? I'll order us some dinner," he offered. I nodded while my stomach ravenously growled, clawing for food. His amused smile at the sound was heartachingly handsome.

While Michael ordered, I wandered the place. It looked like one of those homes that you'd see on a magazine, showcasing a cosy, neat atmosphere; lived-in but chic. I kept a hand to my chin to cover my disbelief as I toured myself through my own house.

I lingered outside the kids' bedrooms longer than I intended, choked up with emotion I didn't realise I had. I had kids. I was a mother. How could I forget they existed? I would walk on water for them; they were the centre of my world.

The master bedroom was similarly decorated; clean and white with not a pillow out of place. Silk nighties greeted me when I pulled open a drawer, and my bewilderment rose; just how much of my memory was missing?

When I padded back downstairs, head re-bandaged and sporting a modest navy sleep dress, dinner had arrived. The dining room was lit by candle, easy on my tender eyesight, romantic in every other aspect.

"If we ignore the hospital thing and the take-out, we can almost pretend this is just another date night," Michael grinned playfully. He unwrapped his McDonalds burger and the sight of the greasy fast food was such a mismatch to the classy dining room that it made me smile. This was more normal. This part felt right.

Michael hovered just-in-case while I showered in the dark bathroom, then helped me into bed. It was plush and large, but I still found myself curling right against Michael's side. The extra space was unneeded.

Sleep that night was peaceful.

•••••

I woke to birds chirping in the trees beside the window while splintered sunlight stretched across my languid form.

The white covers of the master bed that draped across me were soft and I stretched out slowly, in love with the way my body calmly woke. The weight of an arm over my waist reminded me why I felt so well-rested; how could I not be, when Michael cared for me so well?

He sleepily sighed into the space behind my ear, sharing my sleepy contentment. The ache in my head stung but was bearable enough to allow me the option to snuggle back into Michael's chest and remain there for the rest of the morning. From the soft exhale he gave and the nuzzle into the back of my neck, I had a feeling that he felt the same.

I had no idea how long we stayed there, lounging in our crisp-clean bed while the sun slowly rose and the birds echoed a sweet chorus. I drifted in and out of sleep multiple times until, finally, I gave in to the aches of my head and slipped out of bed in search of the painkillers I brought home.

After popping some pills, failing to find a cup and then sipping said pills down by way of the sink's tap, I returned to bed. It was empty, now, Michael having risen. I curled against my pillow and focused on re-bandaging my head.

"Knock knock." The door spoke. I smiled at Michael's voice.

"Who's there?"

"Breakfast in bed for my lovely wife," Michael answered as he nudged the door open with his back and entered carrying a coffee and a plate of toast.

"Breakfast in bed for my lovely wife who?" My smile grew when he perched on the edge of the bed beside me and handed over the plate.

Michael tapped my nose with a grin. "You, of course."

My cheeks warmed. I was smiling so wide that my wound began to throb, so I forced it to lessen in size. It was difficult to when he effortlessly made me so giddy. I watched as Michael placed the coffee on a coaster atop my bedside table. He was still shirtless from bed, and I found myself appreciating the sight more than appreciating the toast. I quickly turned back to my meal.

"Thank you," I said sincerely as I gnawed on a bit of crust. Michael just responded by swiping his thumb down my jaw with affection.

"Charlie's coming over soon to drop off Peanut and the kid's stuff," Michael explained. He pulled one of my legs onto my lap and began to subconsciously massage my calf, and I almost moaned in delight. "You don't have to see her if you're still feeling unwell."

"I want to," I said. It probably wasn't true, I'd prefer to sleep for another twelve hours, but it felt as though I hadn't seen my friend in a long, long time.

Michael smiled. He seemed relieved that I was eager to catch up with Charlie. I hoped my memories would return quickly, so that he wouldn't have to be so worried anymore. It was okay. I was back.

The rest of the morning swept past in a blissful blur. I read my book slowly on the couch, words blurry, while Michael fluffed about the kitchen
- preparing lunches, dinner plans, snacks. The clatter of him cooking and the scratch of paper turning made for a peaceful ambience.

Charlie arrived early afternoon to drop off sleeping bags, suitcases and toiletry bags. She unloaded her car at the garage's entrance and I watched from the doorway, half-hidden. She, too, had changed. My last memory of her seemed to be back from when she was young- much younger. Charlie was an adult, now. The thought scared me.

We also had a dog that Charlie looked after for us. A golden retriever named Bobby, just to add to the nuclear family that we were.

Michael thanked Charlie profusely while helping unload. I wanted to go out and offer my assistance, but I knew that I would just stare at Charlie until my startled brain came to terms with her age. I wasn't so sure that would be too reassuring for Michael.

Eventually the moment passed and I bounded down the stairs to pull Charlie into a hug. That feeling was back with vengeance - the feeling that I hadn't seen her in years. But Charlie didn't seem to share the same sentiment as she calmly hugged me back, and I was left once again wondering which of my battling memories were right.

After Charlie left and the kids' things were packed away, it was time to pick them up from elementary school. We parked and waited at the gate with the other parents, making conversation until our children appeared for us to take home. I quickly tired from talking, so I leant against Michael while he tackled the sympathetic questions about my accident. I watched the concrete with a troubled frown. I still couldn't recall any memories of the kids.

Clearly, they remembered me.

"Mom!" one of the twins yelled in glee upon spotting Michael and I outside the gate. She grabbed her sister's wrist and hauled her along at a run.

"Gentle," Michael reminded before the two of them could rugby tackle me into a hug. "Mommy's still sore."

The twins nodded seriously before carefully (and still eagerly) wrapping their arms around me. I returned it with a strained smile. These kids were smart, I could see it in their eyes. No matter what I'd do, I'd never act the way I used to around them. They'd know I'd forgotten.

"How was your day?" I asked. The girls shared a look before hesitantly talking me through the events of their day.

Evan came out a little bit later, small legs and oversized backpack carrying him through the gates. He was the youngest, looking barely five. He toddled over with wide eyes and quietly slotted himself into the hug between the twins.

My heart swelled with the sight of them, of their soft hair pressing against my cheek and small hands holding my clothes. I may not remember them, but I was sure that I loved them just as much.

The drive home was as rambunctious as a drive home with three children was. Michael effortlessly spearheaded conversations away from potential fights and tantrums while driving the jeep down the streets of Hurricane. I could only watch and observe, staring at my wonderful, beautiful family and thinking how lucky I was.

Michael and I made dinner side-by-side with him reminding me which utensils laid where. He was patient the entire time, occasionally glancing over with a smile that made his eyes crinkle. I'd catch him and smile back.

We put the kids to bed together, reading storybooks and kissing foreheads. Bobby curled up on the floor of Evan's room, clearly his chosen human. We patted him goodnight, too.

"Mike," I whispered into the darkness as the sun set through the curtains. He hummed, in the middle of changing into his sleep shorts. "What if my memories never come back?"

He went quiet. I stared at my toes, my hands looped around my knees. The bed was still crisp and white and it felt too soft for the thoughts in my head. Michael turned to me and the movement made me look up. Even in the darkness I could see his face clearly, worried and caring and loving. He crawled onto the bed beside me and captured my hands in his.

"Then we'll just make better memories."

As much as that was sweet, it wasn't the answer that soothed me. "Mike..."

"Superstar," he murmured. He placed a palm against my cheek and I leant into him, melting into his calloused warmth. "No matter what happens, if you get your memory back or not, we're all supporting you. What matters is that you're home and safe."

I smiled, but it was small and unsure and worried. Sleep that night was not as peaceful.

•••••

"We're leaving in five!" Michael called.

The house was a flurry of activity, of kids rushing to get ready for school and Bobby barking at the chaos. Michael and I made an efficient team of making lunches for three while Evan contently ate his fruit loops on the dining table.

"Is it always like this?" I giggled, placing two halves of a sandwich into a keep container. Michael grinned at my amusement.

"Everyday," he answered.

"Moooom!" Carla, or maybe Lizzy, cried as she came barreling down the stairs. "I can't do my hair!"

I patted Michael's shoulder. "I'm tapping out." I took a seat at the dining table and turned my daughter's back to me. "What do you want done?"

She sent a beam over her shoulder at me. "I want to look like a princess!"

I smiled. "Then you'll look like a princess."

An oddly nostalgic feeling swelled in my chest as I pulled my daughter's brown hair into a plaited fountain. Except that it was me getting my hair done, and the hands weren't... human.

I frowned at the fleeting feeling. It slipped away before I could get a solid grasp on it, and I shrugged it off. I gently tugged my daughter's hair. "Done."

"Thank you!" she gushed, before dashing back upstairs to change out of her pyjamas.

The rest of the morning was a blur and by the time we dropped the kids off at school, miraculously on time, I was ready for a nap. But we were parents, and parents had to do parent things, like getting the groceries because a family of five was akin to feeding an army. 

MIchael pushed the shopping cart while I retrieved the things on the list. We were halfway through the store when I stopped in front of the milk aisle, glancing between the different brands. What was our usual brand, again?

I picked up a random carton to check the back and frowned upon finding it completely blank. I glanced around in confusion before swapping it with the carton beside it, but that was blank, too. The carton seemed to glitch for a split second and I jumped, before blinking hard and staring at it again. Nothing happened.

I placed the carton back down onto the shelf with a knot between my brows. That was eerie. Was my head playing up? Or maybe-

The train of thought trailed away from me. I blinked hard again, and stiffened when the entire store glitched. My heart began to race. What was going on?

I turned, only to startle when the woman beside me picked up a punnet of yogurt with a face that was nothing but a skin-coloured blur. My feet stumbled back, bumping into a man behind me. I turned with an apology on my tongue only to stifle a gasp when his blurry face turned to me.

My head was buzzing. I spun on my heel and darted off, dodging between blank-faced customers and trying hard not to cry. Why was my head doing this? It'd been fine since I woke.

"Mike!" I gasped when I spotted his familiar flannel shirt. He turned at my call, body flinching, and I sighed with relief when I found his face to look completely normal. "Oh, my god-"

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. He dropped the packet of chips he was holding in favour of cupping my face. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"It's my head, I think..." but then my voice faded away. I stared hard at him, frozen still, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Michael's face was glitching.

I turned a slow circle, ignoring his concerned call of my name. The entire store was glitching like the screen of a ruined computer, flickering purple and black and distorting reality. A confused sob caught in my throat.

It was as though I were stuck in a video game.

At that thought, the world splintered. Michael splintered, and just as I reached for him with a gasp, everything shattered and turned black.

"No!" I cried. My outstretched hands weren't visible, but I could feel them, holding out for Michael, for anything. "Michael!"

No, no, no. This world had to be real, it had to - it had everything I wanted; Michael, kids, my family, the perfect house. It was everything I wanted, everything I dreamed for, the world I craved for through my lowest moments - but it wasn't real. What did that mean? That my children weren't real? The twins, sweet little Evan, they were never real? The love I felt for them was only a trick?

Michael. Michael. Michael - he was dead. He was stuck in Freddy. He disappeared, and we found each other, and the entire situation was so, so fucked and children were dying and-

Fuck, Gregory! Gregory! Gregory! I was meant to protect him! Dread trickled down my spine. What happened to him? Where was I? Was I dead? Was this death?

I gasped for breath as panic settled in. No, I couldn't be dead. Death had to be more peaceful than this; I couldn't have a panic attack if I was dead. My head wouldn't hurt like this if I was dead.

I reached up to grasp at my pounding head, only to stop when my fingers brushed something plastic. My breath hitched.

The dark room greeting me was horrible, but it wasn't as horrible as the endless void the VR headset was. I stared at the device with disbelief as it rested in my palms, wet with my blood. I was sat in a chair in a dark room with a VR headset in my palms and a headache that made my heart want to curl in on itself. What the fuck?

"Hello, old friend."

I scrambled from the chair and looked around the dark room. It was small - small enough that the shadows couldn't hide anything. I think it was an old storage closet, judging by the empty shelves that stood behind the chair.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?

My head throbbed and one of my eyes was fuzzy, but I pushed my worries about my state aside as I turned my gaze over the room. The voice was dark and familiar, a british drawl to leering words. They rung in my head, circling, haunting each corner of my mind.

My lips trembled. Maybe I was dead, because I remembered that voice. I knew that voice all too well.

The wall beside me fizzled with purple static before producing a yellow rabbit with a purple bow and unblinking, manic eyes. I stumbled into the shelves behind me with a startle, headset swinging against my thigh. My horror was a palpable, living thing, twisting my stomach into knots of nausea.

He smiled wider, the image terrifying. "It's amazing what the soul can withstand with a little bit of remnant."

"William," I whispered.

Disbelief and terror sent my heart racing, made my wound throb worse. It was excruciating, and William seemed to notice that and laughed cruelly. I winced as it rang through my head, felt the vomit crawl up my throat but I stabled myself against the shelves and glared at the rabbit. The distaste for him was familiar, the rage and anger was an old friend. My free hand curled into a fist.

"It was you," I said, voice as strong as I could make it despite my fear. It still shook. I lifted the headset. "What the fuck was this for, you bunny-ass prick?"

His laugh was horrible. It glitched at random, looping guffaws and making my ears ring. I whined against the pain and lobbed the headset at him to get him to stop, but it just passed right through with a wash of static and shattered against the wall behind him.

"That-" he said between screeching, hysteric giggles, "-was just a bridge to gap."

My brows furrowed. What the hell was he talking about?

All of a sudden, the golden rabbit disappeared with a glitch and reappeared a breath away. I jolted back painfully against the shelves.

"You don't get it yet, do you?" William whispered as he leant towards me. He grabbed my chin and I gasped, fear rolling in my stomach. His touch felt like static. "Poor, idiotic Y/n. I'm inside your head." His grin turned cheshire when realisation settled over my face. "You're never getting rid of me. I'll haunt you until your grave, and I'll make Michael watch as you suffer."

"You're sick," I spat, before dropping to my knee with a sharp crack of pain from my head. My breath shuttered and my sense of defiance faded away, right back to horror.

William was inside of my head. The thought made my resolve shatter; I fell to the floor and vomited. William watched as I shivered.

"It's fascinating, isn't it?" the bunny said as he began to slowly pace the room. I lifted my head to glare at him with effort. "The human brain. It knows just what it wants." He turned his glassy gaze to me and it made me physically flinch, as if struck. "Tell me, child, what did you experience? Were all your dreams a reality? Did you want for nothing?" William's head tilted, predatory. "Did you have my son?"

You're fucked in the head, I wanted to say. Cruel and twisted and deserving of a long rot in hell. But all that came out of my mouth was another rush of vomit.

William tsk'd in disgust and stepped away from the puddle. "Humans," he muttered, watching reproachfully as I coughed and hacked. "So abhorrent. I told Michael not to fall for anyone's charms. You'd weaken him - but he ignored me, as children do, I suppose." He stared me down with a reproachful turn of his lip. "And now look at you; at my mercy. Retching on the floor like an animal."

"Fuck you," I snarled. I flinched back when he swooped towards my crouched form and sneered into my face.

"Mortality fits you," he whispered tauntingly. "Just as immortality fits me."

I glared daggers at him as I heaved, the sour taste of vomit heavy on my tongue. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to watch him beg for mercy. After what he did to Michael, to Liz and Evan - even the lowest layer of hell wasn't enough for him.

William smiled coolly. "You cannot kill what isn't alive."

"Try me."

William rocked back onto his heels with a shrieking giggle, another one that made me wince. I swallowed tightly, ignoring his cackles as he vanished with a glitch. Where was Gregory? Was he still alive? How long had I spent imprisoned by my own mind?

Despair ran through me. What if he was killed? I couldn't live with myself if he was murdered in cold blood. I couldn't live with myself if I failed to protect him.

I shakily stood and inhaled deeply. I could feel the blood clotting my hair and hissed at the pain. I was surprised I was even alive, though was sure I was concussed and was seeing slightly double. Blood had stained in itchy rivulets down my face.

Where had William gone? Was that even something I was worried about, now? I had bigger priorities; I had to get to Gregory, I had to find Michael. William being in my head was terrifying as shit, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of curling into a ball and crying. Not if I was knocking on death's door.

I started for the exit of the storage room and stopped when my foot hit something. I looked down. A crowbar sat discarded on the floor, its end stained dark red, turning brown as it dried. I stared at it unflinchingly before bending to pick it up, testing its weight, considering its usefulness.

I think I was in shock. I was definitely in shock.

My Faz-Watch was gone. I had to find my boys the hard way, so I gripped the crowbar tighter and opened the door to the storage room. A security bot greeted me with a flashlight pointed to my face.

"Good morning," I said, and swung the crowbar.