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blue-rose-soul · 1 year

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Michael makes a deal with God - or something like a god - and the crying child makes a miraculous recovery. The price? Well, he’s not entirely sure yet. So far he’s simply trying to adjust to his new life in a strange land full of bizarre, magical creatures.

Aka, the self indulgent FNAF x PL: Arceus crossover nobody asked for. Includes some themes of suicide and child murder, as well as a graphic description of (what should be) a fatal injury. Read at your own discretion.

Edit: Now on AO3

His mattress smelled kind of funny and Michael found himself thinking that he probably should be washing his sheets more often. It was the first coherent thought to enter his mind since he’d stopped crying. He lay curled on his bare mattress, greasy hair pressed to the side of his head, face streaked with mucus and tears, and he thought about how funny his mattress smelled.

His room was uncomfortably bare. Bed stripped of sheets. Posters and drawings scattered on the floor with the thumbtacks missing. Drawers ripped open and emptied of every single pencil, pen, and even his paintbrushes. William had been sure to strip his room of anything that might possibly be of use before locking him in and leaving the empty house for the hospital where Evan had been admitted the night prior.

Evan’s screams still echoed in his ears. The shrill wailing. The deafening crack. The silence that followed. He could still feel Evan’s blood on his skin. It was on his face. In his hair. On his hands. Nausea crawled up Michael’s throat, and if he’d not already emptied his stomach twice - first on the floor of the Diner, and later in front of the house - he might have vomited again.

Michael’s eyes burned, but he didn’t know whether to fight the tears or let them fall. What right did he have to cry? He was the monster. He was the one who shoved his screaming brother face-first into his death. And yet what kind of monster wouldn’t even shed tears over his brother’s death?

Evan wasn’t dead yet, but Michael had seen the wound first hand. He’d seen the way his skull caved, eyes all but crushed inside the sockets. He’d heard Henry assuring his father that Evan would make it, the doctors would do everything they could, but Michael knew the most likely outcome. The image was seared into his mind, playing out even with his eyes closed.

If only he could go to sleep and never wake up.

If only Evan would open his eyes.

If only he could take Evan’s place.

If only.

He wished.

And prayed.

And something answered.

I HAST HEARD THY PRAYER.

Michael opened his eyes. Nothing in his vision changed. It remained dark. For a moment he thought he’d actually fallen asleep and the sun had set, but when he moved to sit up he realized he could no longer smell his crummy old mattress, nor feel its weight below him.

FOR WHAT PRICE WOULD THOU SEE THY WISH GRANTED? WOULDST THOU TRADE THY LIFE FOR ANOTHER?

The voice came from everywhere, and nowhere. It thundered in the empty void that surrounded him. It whispered in the back of his mind. Some part of Michael knew he should probably be freaking out and maybe some small part of him was. But amid the slurry of his dampened emotions he felt a glimmer of something that he thought he’d lost; hope.

“I-if... If I give you my life...” He wet his lips, heedless of the acrid taste of bile on his tongue. “Will you save Evan?”

A glimmer shone in the darkness, and faded out just as quickly. Then another, just over his shoulder. Another one, and another, hundreds of golden lights swirling around him and gathering together, coalescing in the air before him into a towering creature of light. Michael raised his hand to shield his eyes, squinting at the spaces between his fingers in a feeble attempt to make out some features of the radiant thing before him. Were those ears? Horns? Did it have a mane or was that the shape of its head? Did it have two legs? Four? A thousand?

IT IS WITHIN MINE POWER TO ANSWER THY PRAYER.

Slowly, Michael realized the brilliant light didn’t actually hurt. He lowered his hand. He could look right at the creature, but still make out nothing concrete. A bit of the fear he’d thought himself beyond feeling began to trickle to the surface of his mind. The thing’s head - what he thought was its head - dwarfed his entire body. Worse than its sheer size, however, was the sensation that, somehow, this thing could peer into him, his mind, his thoughts, his very soul laid bare before the creature’s gaze. Every private thought, every intimate detail - no matter how small - that shaped Michael Afton was this creature’s to know. Even so, the fear he felt remained an echo of what he knew it should be. There was something almost comforting about the light he found himself bathed in.

“Then I’ll do it.” His chest ached, head dizzy with hope. “Whatever you want. But-” He swallowed thickly. The creature’s gaze bore down on him. “You can’t just keep him technically alive. I want... I want you to heal him. Like he was before. A-and you can’t just kill him right after. Please.”

No sense being rude to the bizarre alien creature offering to undo his mistake.

THY TERMS ARE AGREEABLE. THE BROTHER SHALT BE SAVED. IN EXCHANGE, THY LIFE IN THIS REALM SHALT COME TO AN END. DOST THOU FIND THESE TERMS AGREEABLE?

“...Yes.”

No sooner than the word had left his lips did Michael feel a warmth budding in his chest. The creature’s golden light enveloped him, filling the vast expanse and banishing the darkness.

As his eyes slipped shut for presumably the last time, Michael found himself thinking it wasn’t such a bad way to die. He only wished he could have told his brother he was sorry.

2 Years Later

Michael’s eyelids fluttered open. For a very brief moment he’d forgotten where he was. As the last vestiges of the dream faded he became aware of the cool summer breeze, the hum of insects nearby. The branches of the tree he’d chosen to nap under swayed as a birdlike creature took flight. Despite the season, the leaves retained the crimson hue for which the area had been named, and the surrounding grass shimmered gold in the breeze.

He sat up, stretched his arms overhead with an unrestrained yawn. As he did the billowing sleeves of the garment he’d taken to wearing pooled around his shoulders. Loose, billowing sleeves were designed to be easily gathered up and tied off for work or let loose to protect his arms from sun or stinging plants. It was the same dark blue as worn by the rest of his adopted people, trimmed with silver and marked with the crest of their almighty Sinnoh. The outfit had felt strange at first, but after a full two years in this place he could no longer imagine wearing anything else.

A leather-bound notebook lay in the grass at his side. He instinctively reached for it, and reassured of its presence, settled back against the tree. Just for a few more minutes. Before him the setting sun shone over the mire, muddy waters dappled with gold as the creatures that called this place their home milled about. A dragonfly the size of a skateboard zipped by, ignoring the non-threatening human sitting in the shade. A plantlike animal with wide, yellow eyes and three leaves atop its oversized head emerged from the grass, spotted him and, upon determining he was not interested in it, scuttled closer after the overripe fruits that had fallen from his shade.

Michael cracked a soft smile as he watched the petilil eat. It was funny how the sight of such creatures had filled him with terror before. How perfectly ordinary they seemed now. He was tempted to reach out to it and stroke one of its leaves, but he kept his hands hands interlaced in his lap, not wanting to startle the timid pokemon. It was out of arm’s reach besides.

A light nudge at his arm drew Michael’s attention from the petilil. Looking down he found a small fox-like creature staring up at him with huge, lipid eyes. The fox’s dark grey body was trimmed with puffy white fur that trailed off into curling blue wisps, ill-suited to the hot marsh. Like Michael, this creature was an outsider to this land. Perhaps that was why they were drawn to one another, though the pokemon at least was of this world.

“Guess we should start heading home before the ghastly come out, huh Smoky?”

Smoky yipped at him. Michael smiled, threading his finger’s through Smoky’s silky white mane and startling the nearby petilil with his sudden movement. He paid it no mind. Pushing himself to his feet and gathering up his sketchbook while Smoky ran ahead. Like the strange clothes and the strange creatures, this place had become comfortable to him as well. Enough so that he didn’t think twice about calling this land his home.

Some nights he still dreamt about his old world, and about the night he had been pulled from it. He wondered how Evan was doing, and if he and Elizabeth were well. Sometimes those thoughts extended to his father, though hardly to the same extent. He still didn’t understand why exactly the almighty Sinnoh - for that was who he had come to understand that creature of light was - had brought him to this place. So far it had asked nothing of him, simply leaving him to his own devices. Had it even kept its end of the bargain? But then, why would a being powerful enough to propel him through time and space to a whole other world bother making a deal if it didn’t intend to keep its end? No, he was certain Sinnoh had healed Evan, and that Evan and his family were living happily in that world.

For his part, he was perfectly content in Hisui. Strange and frightening as the pokemon were, they were also the most amazing things he’d ever seen. Just ahead of him, Smoky paused and stared back, waiting for him to catch up. When he did the zorua darted ahead and again paused to wait for him as they made their way back to the clan. His family. The ones who had welcomed him in and given him a life where he thought he had none. Whatever Sinnoh’s reasons, Michael considered himself blessed to have been taken from Hurricane, to have been brought here of all places, of all times.

For the first time in his life, he was glad to be alive.

They called his recovery a miracle.

Doctors couldn’t explain how it had happened. It shouldn’t have happened. His skull had been crushed into his brain! Yet when Evan finally opened his eyes after what felt like a week of nightmares he felt no worse than he had before. Better, even. There were no problems with his speech or hearing, no gaps in his memory. Though there were certain things he wished he could forget. When the doctors took an x-ray of his skull they couldn’t find so much as the tiniest hairline fracture. Truly, they said, it was a miracle.

Elizabeth was waiting for him when he woke up. Her and Father. But she was the one who climbed into his bed and wrapped him in a hug and said how happy she was he was okay while Father stood off to the side, offering him merely a bewildered stare and a satisfied nod. He didn’t ask why Mike wasn’t there. He was pretty sure he knew why.

The doctors wanted to keep him for some tests, but after they could find nothing wrong in two days Father put his foot down. Evan was discharged that afternoon. He was allowed to ride in the front seat on the way home, which was weird because that was usually Mike’s seat. But even on his final day at the hospital, Evan’s brother still hadn’t shown his face. He squeezed his stuffed bear tight in his arms the entire ride home, stomach twisting in on itself the nearer they got to their house.

Would Mike be there?

What would he say to him?

Would Mike try to hurt him again?

Was he even sorry?

Questions rattled around his miraculously-intact skull, and before he knew it Father was pulling is purple car into the driveway of their home. For a moment Evan thought he was going to throw up.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried.

Mike wasn’t home. Mike wasn’t anywhere.

At first, Father said it was nothing to worry about. Michael had probably gone over to a friend’s house or run off somewhere to avoid facing the guilt of what he’d done. He didn’t mention the lock he’d put on Mike’s door. Elizabeth was the one who told Evan about that. It was another five nights before the police were finally called, and they simply said the same thing Father had. Mike had probably just run off somewhere out of guilt.

Not a month passed before Father packed up all of Mike’s stuff and put it in the attic. That made Evan feel sick for reasons he couldn’t begin to put into words. Eventually Evan worked up the nerve to ask where his brother had really gone. All that got him was his father’s ire and the same answer as always. Elizabeth was the only one who told him the whole truth. After the accident - everyone called it an accident, it wasn’t an accident - Mike had tried to hurt himself. If he really did run off, he probably tried again. If they hadn’t found him, he was probably dead.

Evan couldn’t accept that answer. Not without proof. They never found a body. One year after Michael’s disappearance, Charlie died. They found her body right there in the alley where she’d been killed. Then more kids started to disappear. Their bodies were never found either. And yet everyone in Hurricane wrote them off as dead, without any proof whatsoever.

Another year passed. A suspect was finally arrested - a night guard at the local pizzeria, the one Evan’s father happened to own - but they never found any proof and so the charges were dropped. Still, the stigma stuck and eventually the poor guy was harassed out of town. Everyone seemed satisfied the incident was over, even though those kids were still missing. Vanished into thin air, just like Mike.

Father changed. He became more withdrawn, more nervous. People said it was grief, but they hadn’t seen how quick he was to box up every last trace of Mike’s presence in their house and store it away or sell it off. Evan started fighting with his father. A lot. About school, about work, about Mike. Elizabeth learned to stay away from the both of them when they were angry, though she at least tried to help Evan calm down after. She was never successful though because she always insisted on sticking up for their father. No, of course he cares about us, he’s just busy with work. Of course he hasn’t forgotten about Mikey, it’s just painful for him to be reminded. He didn’t mean it when he hit you, he was just stressed...

Sometimes Evan wished whatever ‘miracle’ he’d gotten had just let him die. His family was shit. This town was shit. Life was shit.

And he was shit too.

The fifth anniversary of Mike’s disappearance came and went. It seemed he was the only one who noticed. He was fourteen now. Michael would be nineteen, an adult if he were still alive. That night, Evan slipped out of his room. He had plenty of practice moving without making noise. He snuck into Mike’s room, cold and empty and devoid of any trace of the person who’d once lived there. He didn’t pray often. In fact, the last time he remembered praying was when Mother had been with them, though his memories of those days were fuzzy. Still, as he laid himself down on the musty mattress that had once been Mike’s, he hoped there was someone who would care enough to listen.

As he drifted off into sleep, Evan thought he saw a golden light.

I HAST HEARD THY PRAYER.