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farfromstrange · 9 months

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 19: My Castle’s Crumbling Down

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You meet some of Michael's family, and Birdy pries a little too much for your liking.

Warnings: ANGST, nightmare (includes gun violence and death), smoking, drinking

Word Count: ~5k

A/n: I have a few more chapters in store, but I don't want to overwhelm you. The angst is going to continue for quite a while now, but we have some hurt/comfort and a little bit of spice in the next chapter.

Your sleep is restless. You fall asleep in his arms and it goes well for a while, but the dark void soon starts to twist.

Fog clouds your mind. The air thickens. You shift on the mattress, but your mind is somewhere else entirely. The second you slip out of Michael's embrace, your thoughts turn dark and the demons start to use the blank canvas to start their evil plot.

You find yourself in the parking lot of a gym, or what you believe the parking lot of a gym would look like, and the scenery confuses you. You can't think further than what is in front of you. Each step you take echoes in the eerie silence.

A voice calls out your name. You turn around, and there he stands. You pushed all thoughts about him away for years, and now he's right in front of you again.

You conditioned yourself to have nightmares about everything but him. It took a long time, but your mind managed to morph different traumatic events into something else so you could forget his face. Of course, you would always remember it, but you tried not to do it consciously. You kept it all bottled up. Now that you recalled what happened, your subconscious has all the leeway to transform your thoughts into dreams.

His voice sends chills down your spine. “I warned you, didn't I?” he says. “I told you to stay away from her. But you never listen, do you?”

You try to back away, but your legs refuse to move. He's standing right there, and Maya is there, hiding behind him, but she's so much younger. She's just a child and you're an adult, and you wonder what you did wrong to end up here. You have nowhere to go.

Panic rises within you as you realize you're trapped, caught in the clutches of your darkest memories. Your heart pounds in your ears as it races against an invisible clock.

“You thought you could escape me?” he says, his lip curling up into a bitter smile. “I'll make sure you never leave. Just like your mother.”

His threat makes your blood run cold but boil at the same time. You're sweating, yet freezing deep inside. Your head gets dizzy and you want nothing more than to throw up.

Tears well up in your eyes as you fight to maintain composure. He's not supposed to have control over you anymore.

“No,” you whisper. “This is...this is a dream,” you try to tell yourself. Your eyes squeeze shut, but you just won't wake up. “You can't hurt me anymore. I won't let you.”

Nightmares are cruel. Whenever you're asleep and your subconscious draws up a dream, whether it's bad or good, it can change the setting and the plot in a matter of seconds. You're not prepared for what’s to come. The sky darkens, all lights go out and you hear the clicking of a gun. You hold your breath.

Footsteps sound from a distance and come closer, gradually, with every step. You turn toward the sound, your lips parting in a silent scream.

Michael steps out of the dark; you recognize his brown hair and those beautiful eyes you fell in love with the first time you looked into them. You recognize his outfit and the way he carries himself, and the protective nature of his voice fills the air as he tells you to get out of the way. But it's too late.

The sound of gunfire fills the air. You scream again, but no sound comes out. Michael jumps in front of you, even though it looks like slow motion. He's right before you when the shots ring out and the bullets hit him like a stable wall. You scream his name, but he doesn't hear you because the sound just won't come out.

He falls to the ground. You're quick to get on your knees next to him, his fragile body now covered in blood and torn to shreds by the lead your father pumped into him. When you look up, he's gone. It's only you and Michael in that abandoned parking lot, and the lights come back on so you can see just what you caused.

“I’m sorry...I tried to protect ya...but I couldn't,” he chokes out.

The words cut through your soul. You can taste blood on your tongue from where you bit your lip. Your heart is bleeding into your chest. You reach out for him, but he disappears when you touch him.

“No!” you whisper. “Michael, please... Don't leave me.”

But your pleas fall on deaf ears as darkness engulfs you, swallowing Michael from sight. Your heart shatters into a million pieces.

“No!” you cry again, but it's too late.

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your heart pounds in your chest. The room spins for a little while until you’ve grown accustomed to the lack of light and realize you’re no longer in the parking lot you dreamt about. Instead, you’re lying in a soft bed, covered by a blanket and an arm draped over your waist.

Reaching out to your right, you search for Michael. His body is there and he feels warm, not cold.

Carefully, you inspect his body, your hands tracing over his arms and chest. There are no scars or unseen wounds. His chest rises and falls. He's alive.

Your touch and the sudden movement slowly stirs him back to consciousness. His eyes flutter open. He blinks, taking in his surroundings before his confused gaze falls on you.

He rubs his eyes. “Wha's wrong?” he asks. “Everythin' alright?”

Your heart aches. You quickly shake your head, not wanting him to worry. He's not fully awake yet and needs his rest, so if you tell him the truth, he will wake up fully and won't go back to sleep. You don't want that to happen. He has been through enough.

You reach out to brush the hair out of his face. “It's nothing,” you reassure him. “Go back to sleep, darling. I'm alright.”

His sleepy eyes search your face for a moment, and a drowsy smile forms on his lips. The second his head hits the pillow again, he's back asleep. His breathing steadies.

With a kiss on his forehead, you silently slip out of bed. You can’t stay in bed any longer. The tears have started welling up in your eyes, but you can’t cry, not in this room, not with him asleep next to you.

The fear that kept you locked in your nightmare falls off your shoulders, but instead of relief, all you can feel is pain and dread, and your father’s face moves back to the forefront of your mind. You try to tune him out, his evil smile, his empty eyes, and the sound of his voice, but it won't stop. The hole in your heart grows. He keeps stabbing the knife deeper into your already bleeding wounds, repeating the same motion in a way that won’t kill but paralyze you and force you to face him no matter what you do, and you feel the air in your lungs starting to dissipate.

You tear the blankets off your body, get out of bed as quietly as you can, and make your way out of the bedroom. You remember the steps you need to take back downstairs. Michael’s house isn’t big, but you’re not in your right mind and you have to be careful where you walk.

The stairs creak. You make your way downstairs as fast as your feet can carry you. The sliding door to the backyard is closed, but you unlock it with ease. The cold night air hits you right in the face, and the change in sensation snaps you out of whatever panicked state you were in. The breath returns to your lungs in its rawest form of oxygen and it hurts a little, but at least you managed to steer off the panic attack.

Part of the sky is still dark, but it’s starting to lighten up in the east. You haven’t checked the time, so you simply assume that it must be around six in the morning already.

Whenever you have an early shift, you stay at your kitchen window and watch the sunrise, which is how you know when the sun rises in Dublin every month. In summer, it rises pretty early, and then in winter, it rises later in the morning. Most of the time, the sunrise is a simple change in light and the morning is greeted by dark clouds and rain, but it’s not much different for London. You love Ireland; at least here, you’re safe. Or so you thought. You don’t feel so safe anymore, and it makes your heart race in your chest as if it’s about to run a marathon.

You wipe a stray tear. It’s frustrating. You talked to Michael, you told him everything and he told you he would protect you. You know you aren’t alone and yet you feel like you are. You feel so alone, so trapped in your own mind, and it ties a knot around your stomach. You have been alone for so long, accepting help turns out to be harder than you thought it would be, and it doesn’t immediately start getting better. It’s a process, you realize, but you don’t have the mental capacity for this.

You want to scream, but the houses on Michael’s street are pretty close together and you’re surrounded by his family–waking any of them up feels like it would be a death sentence.

Your breath forms a faint cloud of condensation in the air and you watch the wind carry it away. Then, the scent of nicotine meets your nose. You know it all too well. You remember the taste that forms on your tongue. Turning your head to your right, you search for the source of the smoke. It doesn’t take long for you to catch the boy–he can’t be older than sixteen–in the neighboring backyard leaning against the fence, nurturing a cigarette.

When he catches you watching him, he tries to hide what’s in his hands, but he’s already been caught. He turns away, screwing the bottle of liquor you only now catch in his hands shut.

You chuckle softly, taking a step forward. “I’m not gonna snitch on you,” you say. Your voice is still thick from the few tears you shed, but you put on a smile for him.

He looks terrified. Stepping closer, you notice the red in his eyes. You don’t know how many members belong to Michael’s family, who lives where, or who has how many children. You’ve met Amanda, you learned about Jimmy and Birdy and now you know about Jamie, but that’s all. The dynamic seems a bit more complicated than it would seem at first glance, and you didn’t bother studying up on everyone before rushing to Michael’s aid. You love him, not his family.

The boy keeps his back turned to you, contemplating whether or not to go back into the house.

“You have a cigarette to spare?” you ask him.

When he turns around, you’re standing right at the fence. He hesitates, eyeing your outreached hand before handing you the pack together with his lighter.

You pull a cigarette from the pack and place it between your lips, flicking the lighter to ignite the flame. As you take a drag, the smoke fills your lungs. You never did hard drugs before, but nicotine has ways of calming your nerves when you need it most. It's a bad habit and you hate the taste most of the time, but it's familiar, and the brand he smokes reminds you of the one you used to buy as a teenager. With your fake ID and pocket money, it was fairly easy.

The boy glances at you. He watches you take a drag, staring out into the distance as you exhale, the smoke heavier than the condensation of your breath. The second time, it comes out of your nose, and he seems almost amazed.

You chuckle. “What, never seen a lady smoke before?” you joke.

He blushes and looks away, showing you that he probably isn't the type of guy to talk to strangers. He was probably told he shouldn't; given his family name and what happened last night, it doesn't surprise you.

“I used to smoke like a chimney, you know,” you confess then, exhaling another plume of smoke. “Even before school sometimes. And I'd sneak a few drinks–” You point to what you can now tell is a bottle of Whiskey, probably from his dad's collection. “Just to numb everything,” you say. “Thought it would make it all go away.”

His eyes widen, perhaps finding solace in the fact that he's not alone. Many kids smoke and drink, but it's not often those who use it as a coping mechanism for emotional pain show it. Mental health issues are still something many get judged for, especially around his age. Maybe that's also why you chose to engage him. He looks like he's in pain and you can't let a child suffer in silence the same way you were forced to.

His voice comes out in a hesitant whisper. “You did?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. I smoked for a very long time. I stopped before I came here, but sometimes I still have a cigarette because, in my mind, it works.”

“And does it?”

“No,” you smile sadly, “Not forever, at least.”

“Oh.”

Silence settles between you. You take another drag from the cigarette.

“Smoking doesn't really help, you know?” you say. “It just masks the pain for a little while. Makes everything feel a bit numb, but it never really goes away. I tried, and I still do. I mean–” You look at the burning white paper in your hands, “I had a shitty night and when I smelled it, I thought it'd help me forget, but it doesn't. And that sucks.” You let the cigarette fall to the ground and stomp it out.

Were you trying to teach him something or yourself? That's a question you can't answer.

The boy breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are ya...are you Michael's girlfriend?” he asks you.

The question catches you off guard, but you find yourself nodding, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's of no use denying it, you think.

“Yeah.” You introduce yourself to him and he tells you his name is Anthony.

Michael never told you about him, but from what he tells you, he's Jimmy and Amanda's son. For a moment, you wonder if he's the result of yet another night between his mother and Michael, but he would have told you if that was the case, so Anthony must be Jimmy's boy.

It hits you. Jamie was Anthony's brother. He's grieving, that's why he's drinking and smoking so early in the morning. You should have figured as much.

“He's an amazing man, you know,” you try to lighten the mood. “Michael, I mean. And he cares so much about you and your family. It's remarkable...what you have. Family is important.”

A mix of emotions flickers across Anthony's face. He studies you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face before he nods.

“You're cool,” he finally says.

The silence stretches again, but this time, it's more comforting.

As Anthony glances back toward his house, a hint of worry crosses his features, and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I lost my sister too,” you tell him. You know it won't do much, but you don't want him to feel like he's stranded with no one to understand what he's going through. “I'm so sorry for your loss, Anthony. I know it hurts, but it's okay to let it hurt. Just...don't get drunk before school,” you say. “That sucks, too.”

His gaze meets yours, and you can see the gratitude in his brown eyes. He nods, acknowledging your advice, and answers, “Thanks.”

With that, Anthony turns away, slipping back into the house, leaving you standing in the quiet backyard. You watch him disappear, knowing you tried to help him, at least. You did a good thing. He's just a boy. He's innocent the same way Jamie was. You never met Jamie, but if he was anything like his brother, he was more than a good kid.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you let out a deep breath, releasing the pent-up emotions that have threatened to consume you, and some of the smoke left over in your lungs.

Another tear slides down your cheek. You wipe it away. Your chest tightens. You don't want to cry. You can't. It hurts, it's what you told Anthony not just a moment ago, and it's okay to allow yourself to hurt, but it hurts to allow yourself to grieve. You're not ready for it.

You straighten up, catching a glimpse of the rising sun, before making your way back inside. You need coffee.

Once inside, you think you can finally find some peace. You find Michael’s coffee maker and some instant coffee powder, which isn’t ideal, but you can work with it.

Just as you’re about to start your morning in a way that will somehow calm the storm that is raging inside of you, there is a knock on the door. You peek out of the window of the kitchen, seeing a brunette woman standing at the front door.

You’re not ready for another confrontation. Meeting Amanda was enough, and talking to Anthony put some things into perspective. Having to face someone else from Michael’s family sounds like something you don’t want to do, and you could just pretend you didn’t hear it and join Michael in bed, or make coffee and then disappear into the backyard again. Either way, you have options.

But you’re not that type of person. You can’t turn whoever it is away because what if they’re worried about Michael and shutting them out would make them worry even more? His family lost someone dear to them and it would be only natural for people to come knocking on his door, wanting to talk.

Whoever this woman is though, you’re hesitant. Michael wouldn’t want you opening the door to a stranger, and his family essentially consists of strangers to you.

What if the woman is one of the bad guys that shot Jamie? You’re panicking now, you’re well aware of that, but your mind is all over the place, your father’s voice keeps echoing in your mind, and you don’t know what choice to make.

The woman knocks again. This time, you follow your gut.

“I was just trying to have coffee,” you mutter.

You clasp the handle, hesitating only once more before opening the door and facing reality.

The woman doesn’t look surprised to see you. Her brown eyes trail over your frame curiously, then come to rest on your face. She’s a little older, and she’s smiling at you. In her hands, she’s carrying a tray of two coffee cups and a brown paper bag with what you suspect might be breakfast.

“Good mornin’, dear,” she says, not even allowing you to take the first step. “Ya must be the girl Michael told me about. It was about time we finally met.”

She knows your name. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to think she also knows who you are. Your grip tightens around the door handle. It’s too late to pull out now.

“I’m Birdy,” she introduces herself.

You relax. The alarms in your head calm down and you let out a breath of relief. “Oh, so you’re Birdy,” you say. “Michael’s told me about you.”

She chuckles. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, only the best.”

“Well, he’s talked about you too, and he sounded very happy. Made ya sound like an angel on earth.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks. “I wouldn’t know about that,” you murmur.

Has he really praised you this highly or is she just trying to make conversation?

She lifts the coffee tray. “I thought I’d bring ya some breakfast. I know that boy doesn’t keep ‘round much food. I figured it’d be a good excuse for me to check in on him,” Birdy says, her lips parting in a sad sigh. “Mikey’s been through so much, but he never asks for help from anyone. May I come in? I won’t be long.”

Her smile seems genuine and she sounds so nice, you can’t deny you feel comfortable around her. Against your better judgment, you step aside and invite her in.

She takes a quick look around, placing the coffee on the table. She doesn’t waste time jumping into the conversation. “I actually saw you two at the Garda station last night. I was there to pick up Mikey, but then I saw you two huggin’ and I didn’t wanna intervene. Figured he must have called ya,” she says. “So I thought I’d at least check in on him now.”

You nod slowly. “He just needed someone to be there for him,” you answer.

“I know. Michael doesn’t like talkin’ about his feelings, but with you, he seems different.”

“I’m just trying to be there for him.”

“And I appreciate that. Especially now…You know, with Jamie gone, we’re all a little shaken up. Surely, he told ya all about that.” Birdy eyes you again.

“I heard,” you say. “And I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, dear,” she answers. “It’s been a rough night, indeed. We’ll have t’support each other now. The whole family, I mean, including Michael. Grief is never easy, and losin’ a child…it does things to a mother. So I feel for Amanda, and I think Michael understands well enough what we’re all goin’ through. We’ve encountered our fair share of losses, but losin’ someone so young and innocent like Jamie…I feel sick.”

Your eyebrows furrow. For someone Michael claimed was so understanding, she doesn’t seem capable of seeing the bigger picture.

“He lost someone close to him too,” you try to tell her as kindly as possible. “And from what he told me, he’s lost a lot in the past. But he also never got to properly heal, so he has to grieve. You all have to grieve, but Michael was there when it happened, so he might need some more time. I don’t think he’s in a state where he can take care of anyone, not even himself. That’s why he called me. He’s not doing so well and while family is important, so is his mental health.”

Birdy looks a bit taken aback. Your words hold power, but your voice is calm. You have a small smile playing on your lips. Your intentions aren’t to enrage her, you simply told her the facts as you see them, and she’s surprised at how well you execute frustration and anger without bubbling over. You’re reserved, something she didn’t expect you to be, mostly because of the kind of women Michael brought home in the past. She’s surprised at how calm you are.

You can see it in her brown eyes that she didn’t see your reaction coming, maybe she’s even a little impressed, but you continue to stand your ground.

“Anyway,” you say. “He’s resting now. We talked most of last night and he’s still sleeping, so you can either stick around or come back later, but we went to bed pretty late, so I won’t wake him up for you. No offense, of course.”

You want her to leave, but this is not your house and Birdy has known Michael for far longer than you have. You just want to do right by him, focus on what he would want, and he seems to hold her dear to his heart.

You can’t blame him; she seems like the kind of woman that would easily substitute for the lack of a mother, which reminds you that you don't know that much about his childhood and you should have asked that instead of asking about his wife, but you were both worked up. You got the most important issues out of the way. Or at least you talked about it. It can’t ever be fully out of the way because these are your lives.

Birdy nods understandingly. “Well, I appreciate ya lookin’ out for him,” she says, her voice holding what you would consider honesty. “It's been a difficult time for all of us, but you’re right, he needs someone by his side right now. I’m glad he called ya and didn’t choose to suffer in silence.”

“I’m glad he called me, too.”

“After Allison...he's never been the same. But ya seem t'be the right person to give him hope. He needs hope.”

You take back any suspicions you might have had. She genuinely cares about him. From what you heard, his family is unpredictable, and she’s still a Kinsella, but she cares about him, which is something you have in common. Michael’s well-being is your priority, and Birdy seems to think the same way.

You swallow thickly. “I love him,” you say. “And when you love someone, you’re willing to fight for them.”

Birdy steps closer and cradles your face. She doesn’t ask, she simply places her hands on your cheeks and smiles at you. “Yer a good girl,” she says.

You stiffen. “Thank you.”

Birdy's touch is surprisingly warm, her presence comforting in a way you hadn't expected. There's a tenderness in her gaze as if she understands the weight you carry on your shoulders. It's a fleeting moment of connection, a passing of unspoken understanding.

“You take good care of him, ya hear?” Birdy says. “Michael has had his fair share of hardships, and he deserves happiness. If you're the one who can bring it to him, then I'm glad to have ya by his side.”

She lowers her hands again while you still stand there, dumbfounded. Her attention shifts back to the food and drinks she brought in.

“That reminds me,” she turns the bag enough for you to see the logo, “I heard you got him a job so he could get his daughter back. Is that true?”

You would recognize the blue butterfly anywhere. You freeze. The words ‘Butterfly Effect’ adorn the white circle that surrounds the insect your workplace has taken on as the unofficial mascot thanks to the name of the café. You know this logo because you face it every day.

“I didn’t realize you liked going to the Butterfly Effect,” you say, ignoring everything else she said. Your eyes are colder now, more calculated.

Birdy chuckles. “This?” she asks. “Oh no, this was my first time. I thought I’d check it out, see where Mikey works now. You work there too, right?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you answer, “It’s where we met, actually.”

“Right. Well, I heard you had good coffee.”

“We do.”

“How long have ya been workin’ there, dear? I hear your accent, I know yer not from ‘round here. London, is it?”

Our eyes remain glued to the bag. “Yeah, I’m from London,” you say, trying not to give away too much. “Came here four years ago, got the job, have been working there ever since.”

Surely the time you’ve lived in Dublin doesn’t mean much to her. This has to be some sort of trick, one you are not a fan of.

“Four years?” she repeats back to you. “Impressive. Of course, it’d be easy for ya to get him a job then. Yer familiar with everyone at work and you know the owner, I imagine.”

“He worked for it,” you correct her. “He asserted himself and that’s how Michael got the job, not because of me. I may know the people I’m working with and I know the owner of the franchise, but they’re work relations and Michael had to go through the same application process as everyone else. We have to give him that one; he’s trying. For Anna.”

Birdy lifts her arms in surrender. “Of course. For Anna,” she says. “There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t do for her, and he hasn’t seen her in eight years.”

“He’s a good man, Birdy, but he needs to hear it more often.”

“You sure are right about that one, dear.” She sighs. “I always try to show him I care, but the rest of the family…they’ve never been particularly warm.”

You decide to be bold and tell her, “That’s not good for him.”

“I know Mikey doubts himself,” says Birdy, “but he has you now.”

He shouldn’t have to rely on his girlfriend to give him the love his family lacked to give him, but you sure as hell are determined to keep trying until he believes himself to be worthy. His family seems to fail time and time again, and from what Birdy just told you, hoping for a change is a losing game. Perhaps they’re all a little damaged.

“Well,” she says then, “I have some matters I need to attend to this mornin’. Last night has left quite a gapin’ hole and I need to sort out some things. But I would love to have a chat with ya sometime. Only if you have the time, that is.”

You don’t like this. You don’t like this at all. “Okay,” you answer, and you curse yourself for being so stupid. But you don’t know how to say no.

“Grand.” She cups your cheeks one last time before heading for the door. “Tell Michael I said hello and tha he should give me and his brother a call.”

You blink wildly, focusing back on where she stands. “Sure.”

Birdy offers you a gentle smile. “Take care of yourself,” she tells you, and before you know it, she’s gone again.

You’re left with this weird feeling of not being able to classify the nature of her questions; you can’t tell what she wanted or if she had a hidden agenda, you only know that it made you feel exposed. She dug, maybe not deep, but she was ready to, and the goosebumps the realization leaves spread over your entire body.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #kin amc #reader insert #charlie cox #chaos theory #in honor of speak now (Taylor’s version)

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