Chapter Text
Michael Afton was bored. His crybaby brother's birthday was in a week, and he was pissed. His father insisted on holding it at Fredbear's, and Michael hated everything about that place. It wasn’t just the animatronics or the creepy atmosphere—it was what the place represented: his father’s obsession with his work and the widening distance in their family.
But more than that, Michael hated that his mom wouldn’t be there.
He missed her.
Not a day passed without the ache of her absence. Every time he saw Evan clinging to his stuffed bear or Elizabeth braiding her hair the way their mom used to, the memories came flooding back. Some nights, he even dreamed about her, dreams so vivid that he woke up thinking she was still alive—only to have reality crush him all over again.
Michael stared at the ceiling in his room, gripping the old karate trophy that sat on his bedside table. He had been six years old when he’d won it. That day had been one of the happiest of his life. But it was also the last day he ever saw her.
Flashback
They were in the car on the way home from the tournament. Michael sat in the backseat, holding his little brother, Evan, who was just two years old. His trophy rested beside him, and his chest swelled with pride. He’d worked so hard to win, practicing every day after school, and now he could finally show off the shiny gold figure kicking in midair.
“You were amazing, Michael!” his mom said, turning around in her seat to look at him. Her smile was radiant, her green eyes full of warmth. “You kicked so hard I thought the other kid would fly out of the ring!”
Michael grinned, his brown curly hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Sensei said I was fast! He said I could be a champion one day!”
“I don’t doubt it for a second,” she replied, reaching back to ruffle his hair. “You’re my little champion already.”
Elizabeth, his four-year-old sister, chimed in from the front seat. She was holding his trophy like it was her own. “Daddy, you should’ve seen him! He was like, ‘Hi-ya!’ and then the other kid just fell down!”
Their father, William, chuckled softly, his eyes fixed on the road. “Good work, son,” he said with a nod.
Elizabeth kept going, practically bouncing in her seat. “I wanna do karate too! I wanna kick like Michael!”
Michael smirked. “You’d fall on your butt just trying to spin.”
“Nuh-uh!” Elizabeth shot back, crossing her arms. “I’d win just like you!”
“Alright, enough,” their mom said, laughing as she reached for Elizabeth’s hand. Then she turned back to Michael, her voice softening. “With great power comes...”
Michael finished her sentence without hesitation. “Great responsibility!”
She laughed again, the sound so warm it made Michael’s heart swell. “Exactly. You’re my little superhero.” She glanced at Evan, who was snuggled against Michael’s side, half-asleep. “Your brother looks just like you, you know. You should be his protector.”
Michael tilted his head. “Like a superhero?”
She nodded, her expression serious yet loving. “Exactly like that.”
Michael beamed, feeling like the luckiest kid in the world.
But perfect moments never lasted.
When they got home, their father told them to go inside while he made a phone call. Michael was still glowing from his victory, teasing Elizabeth about her imaginary karate moves while Evan toddled after them, dragging his stuffed bear.
Then William came inside. His face was pale, his eyes hollow.
“She’s gone,” he said, his voice low and trembling. “Your mother is gone.”
Michael didn’t understand at first. Gone where? She’d just been with them. She’d just smiled at him, laughed with him, told him she was proud.
But the look on his father’s face made the truth sink in.
His mom wasn’t coming back.
The karate trophy, which had felt so important just hours earlier, was forgotten on the floor as Michael’s world crumbled.
Michael rolled the trophy in his hands, his fingers tracing the scuffed gold figure. He could still hear her laugh if he tried hard enough, still feel her hand ruffling his hair. But no matter how hard he tried, she was gone.
“I miss you, Mom,” he whispered, his voice breaking in the quiet of his room.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. But they came anyway, hot and bitter. No matter what he did, nothing would bring her back.
And somehow, that made the emptiness even worse.
Scene Change
Michael sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the line of trophies on his shelf. Karate, Judo, Thai boxing—each one gleamed under the dim light of his room, a testament to his hard work and skill. His most recent trophy stood at the center, taller and shinier than the rest, awarded just last month at a local tournament.
He ran his fingers along its polished surface, but instead of pride, he felt a hollow ache. His mom would have been so proud to see all of them, to see how much stronger he’d become. She always believed in him. She said he was a protector.
A superhero.
Michael’s jaw tightened as his thoughts drifted to his brother, Evan. Mom had said Evan looked like him, but Michael couldn’t see it. How could they be alike when Evan was so soft, so scared of everything? He was seven years old now, but he still clung to that dumb Fredbear plushie like it could protect him from the world.
Michael’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. Maybe it was time to teach Evan what the real world was like.
He got up and walked over to his desk, where an old, battered Foxy mask lay among a clutter of action figures and books. He picked it up, the plastic cool against his fingers. The red paint was chipped around the edges, but the eyepatch and sharp-toothed grin were still intact. Michael slipped it over his head, the mask fitting snugly, and turned to look at himself in the mirror.
“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice muffled under the mask.
Quietly, he crept out of his room, his steps light and practiced from years of martial arts training. He knew exactly where Evan would be—hiding in his room, probably with that stupid Fredbear plushie clutched to his chest. Michael stopped just outside the door, listening for a moment. He could hear soft humming, the kind Evan always did when he was nervous or trying to comfort himself.
Michael grinned under the mask. This was going to be too easy.
With a sudden burst, he flung the door open. “RAWRRR!” he growled, lunging forward with his arms stretched wide.
Evan screamed, his wide blue eyes filling with terror as he scrambled off his bed, clutching the Fredbear plushie like a lifeline. “N-no! Stop it!” he cried, his voice breaking as he backed into the corner of the room.
Michael growled again, taking a menacing step closer. “What’s the matter, Evan? Scared of a little pirate fox?”
Evan’s face crumpled, tears spilling down his cheeks. “S-stop! Go away!” He darted past Michael, sobbing loudly, and bolted out of the room. His small footsteps echoed down the hall as he ran to hide, leaving his brother behind.
Michael pulled off the mask, tossing it onto Evan’s bed. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to make him cry that much—he just wanted to toughen him up a little. The world wasn’t kind, and being scared all the time wouldn’t help Evan.
“You’ve got to learn, Evan,” Michael muttered to himself, staring at the door his brother had fled through. “Mom wanted me to protect you. But maybe you need to protect yourself too.”
Even as he said it, guilt gnawed at him. The look of fear on Evan’s face wouldn’t leave his mind.
“Michael?”
He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Elizabeth’s voice was unmistakable. It had the same lilting quality as their mother’s, a soft, familiar warmth that made his chest ache every time he heard it. And when he looked at her—her blonde hair, her green eyes, the way she always smiled despite the chaos in their lives—it was almost too much.
She was a walking reminder of Clara. Of everything they had lost.
“Michael, did you hear me?” Elizabeth asked, stepping into the room. She was holding one of her dolls, twisting its hair nervously around her fingers. “Evan’s been crying all morning. You didn’t scare him again, did you?”
Michael clenched his jaw, refusing to meet her eyes. “Go away, Liz.”
“But—”
“I said go away.” His voice was sharper this time, almost a growl. He didn’t want to hear her voice, didn’t want to see her standing there looking so much like their mom it made his stomach turn.
Elizabeth hesitated, her small face falling. “I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, don’t,” Michael snapped, his gaze fixed on the trophies. He heard the soft click of the door as Elizabeth left, but he didn’t turn around.
The guilt settled in immediately, heavy and suffocating. It wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault that she looked like their mother, just like it wasn’t Evan’s fault that he was scared all the time. But that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.
Michael pushed himself off the bed, walking over to his desk where an old, battered Foxy mask lay. The red paint was chipped, and one of the ears was bent, but the sharp-toothed grin and eyepatch were as menacing as ever. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, the corners of his mouth curling into a grim smile.
If he couldn’t get Evan to toughen up, who would?
Scene Change
The next day, Michael sat on the steps outside his house with Charlie. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the cracked sidewalk, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. Charlie, as usual, had her sketchbook open on her lap, her pencil flying across the page in focused strokes. Michael was lazily bouncing a rubber ball against the brick wall of the house, his mind elsewhere.
“What are you even drawing?” Michael asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look.
Charlie shifted slightly, hiding the page. “It’s nothing,” she said, though her tone betrayed her pride. “Just an idea for a toy.”
Michael leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “C’mon, let me see. You always have cool ideas.”
Charlie hesitated before tilting the notebook just enough for him to glimpse the rough sketch. It was a mechanical bird, with articulated wings and glowing eyes. “It’s supposed to be friendly,” she explained. “Not creepy like the ones at Fredbear’s.”
Michael nodded, impressed despite himself. “You’re gonna put my dad’s whole business under one day with stuff like that.”
“Maybe,” Charlie replied with a faint smile. Then her voice softened. “How’s Evan doing? He seemed upset yesterday.”
Michael’s smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl. “He’s fine. Probably still hugging that stupid Fredbear plushie.”
Charlie frowned but didn’t press further. She knew how quickly Michael’s mood could shift when it came to his family. Instead, she focused on shading the wings of her drawing.
Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sound of laughter and shouting from down the street. Michael looked up to see Jeremy, Max, and Fred approaching. The trio was loud and boisterous, shoving each other playfully as they made their way toward the house.
Michael stood up, tossing the ball aside. “Be right back,” he said to Charlie over his shoulder.
Charlie blinked, surprised. “Wait—Michael, where are you going?”
But Michael didn’t answer. He jogged down the steps, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he met the boys at the fence.
“Michael!” Jeremy called, grinning widely. “What’s up, man?”
“Not much,” Michael replied with a nod. “What’re you guys up to?”
Fred leaned against the fence, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “We were just talking about your little brother’s birthday party. It’s at Fredbear’s, right?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
Jeremy smirked. “We were thinking... maybe we could make it a little more exciting.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What kind of ‘exciting’?”
Fred straightened up, his grin widening. “You know the Fredbear animatronic? The big one with the moving jaw? What if we, you know... put Evan in it? Just for a second. Imagine his face!”
Jeremy burst out laughing. “Yeah, he’d probably scream so loud they’d hear him in the next town.”
Michael chuckled, the image forming in his mind. Evan’s terrified expression, the way he’d cling to that dumb plushie even harder—he could already hear the sniffling and see the tears. “That’s not bad,” Michael said, nodding. “He’d probably never go near that stupid plush again.”
“Exactly,” Max chimed in. “It’s perfect. Just a little scare, no big deal.”
Standing a few steps behind the group, Charlie’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t wanted to intrude, but now she wished she’d stayed behind. Her grip on her sketchbook tightened as she watched the boys laughing and scheming. Finally, she spoke up, her voice firm but uncertain. “Michael... That’s really dangerous. You shouldn’t mess with the animatronics like that.”
The laughter died down as the boys turned to look at her. Michael’s expression darkened, his easygoing smirk disappearing. “Relax, Charlie,” he said, brushing her off. “It’s just a prank.”
“But what if something goes wrong?” she pressed, her voice shaking slightly. “Those machines aren’t toys. They’re dangerous—”
“Come on, Charlie,” Jeremy interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be such a buzzkill.”
“Yeah,” Fred added. “We’re not actually gonna hurt him. It’s just a joke.”
Charlie looked at Michael, her green eyes pleading. “Michael, you know this isn’t a good idea. You’re better than this.”
But Michael wouldn’t meet her gaze. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight. “It’s fine,” he said flatly. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Charlie’s chest ached at his indifference. She wanted to argue, but the boys had already turned back to their plans, their laughter bubbling up again as they walked down the street. Michael didn’t glance back as he followed them, leaving Charlie standing alone on the sidewalk.
She sighed, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. Michael wasn’t the same boy she used to know. The cracks in his bravado were showing, and Charlie feared that one day, those cracks would shatter—and someone would get hurt.
Scene Change
The next day, Michael sat slouched on the school bus, staring out the window as the town blurred past. His classmates chattered around him, most complaining about the trip to some research lab.
“Why do we have to go look at animals in cages?” Max grumbled from the seat behind him. “We’re not ten.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy chimed in. “If I wanted to look at spiders, I’d check my basement.”
Michael rolled his eyes, leaning his head against the cool glass. Unlike them, he didn’t mind the idea of visiting the lab. Science trips were rare, and besides, he’d always had a soft spot for spiders. There was something about the way they moved—graceful yet deadly—that fascinated him. He wasn’t about to admit that to the guys, though. They’d never let him hear the end of it.
When the bus pulled into the parking lot, the students shuffled out in a lazy line, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. The lab was a sleek, modern building, its white exterior gleaming against the blue sky. Inside, the air was cool and sterile, with the faint hum of machinery in the background.
A man in a white lab coat greeted them near a row of glass enclosures filled with various creatures—lizards basking under heat lamps, birds flitting nervously in small cages, and a section dedicated to spiders, their webs glistening under soft lighting. Michael’s eyes immediately went to the arachnids, a small thrill running through him.
The scientist clapped his hands to get their attention. “Welcome, everyone,” he began, his voice stiff and rehearsed. “Here at the lab, we study the behavior of animals and how their unique traits can inspire technological innovations.”
Michael leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
“For instance,” the scientist continued, gesturing to the spiders, “spider silk is one of the strongest materials found in nature. It’s lightweight but incredibly durable. We’re researching ways to replicate it for use in medicine, construction, and even protective gear.”
“Cool,” Michael muttered under his breath, snapping a quick photo of a sleek black spider with red markings on its legs. The creature was perched in its web, motionless except for the occasional twitch of a leg.
“Cool?” Max whispered mockingly from behind. “It’s a bug. How’s that cool?”
Michael ignored him, focusing on the spider’s intricate web. It was almost hypnotic, the way the strands shimmered like silver threads. He leaned in closer, trying to get a better angle for his photo.
And then it happened.
The spider moved faster than his eyes could track, scuttling up the glass and slipping through a tiny gap in the enclosure’s lid. Before he could react, it darted across his hand and bit down hard.
“Ah!” Michael jerked his hand back, shaking it instinctively. The spider flew off, hitting the floor with a soft crunch. He stared at his hand, a small red mark forming where the fangs had sunk in.
“Dude, are you okay?” Jeremy asked, smirking as if this was the most entertainment he’d had all day.
Michael glared at him. “I’m fine,” he muttered, rubbing the bite. It stung faintly, but there was no swelling. Still, he felt...odd. His hand tingled, and a strange warmth spread up his arm, but he forced himself to brush it off. It was probably just in his head.
“Watch out,” Max said with a laugh. “Maybe it was radioactive. You’re gonna grow extra arms or something.”
Michael shot him a look. “Ha, ha. Very funny.”
The rest of the trip was a blur. The tingling sensation persisted, and by the time they got back on the bus, Michael felt restless, his energy bubbling just under the surface. When they finally pulled up to the school, he jumped off the bus and made his way home, eager to shake off whatever weirdness he was feeling.
Later that evening, Michael sat in his room, staring at the dumbbell by his bed. It was 30 pounds—nothing crazy, but it usually took some effort to lift. He picked it up absentmindedly, expecting the usual strain.
Instead, the dumbbell shot up as if it weighed nothing.
“What the—” Michael froze, staring at the weight in his hand. He flexed his arm experimentally, lifting it again and again. It was effortless. His heart raced as he placed it back down and stared at his hands. The tingling sensation from earlier had faded, but something was different.
“No way,” he muttered, a nervous laugh escaping him.
A crazy idea struck him. He walked over to the wall, pressing his palm flat against the surface. “Alright,” he whispered to himself, his voice shaky. “Let’s see how nuts I really am.”
He pushed up. His hand stuck. A thrill shot through him as he placed his other hand higher, pulling himself up the wall with ease. His feet followed, gripping the surface as naturally as if he were walking on the floor. He climbed higher, reaching the ceiling, and suddenly found himself dangling upside down.
“Yes!” he yelled, laughing in disbelief. “This is insane!”
He crawled across the ceiling, testing his newfound ability, when a sharp knock at his door made him freeze.
“Michael!” his father’s voice barked from the hallway. “What’s all that racket? Stop messing around and go to bed!”
Michael’s heart jumped. “Uh, sorry!” he called back, his voice cracking slightly. Concentrating hard, he managed to unstick himself and land softly on the floor. He waited, holding his breath, until his father’s footsteps retreated.
Once he was sure the coast was clear, Michael sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing. His gaze flicked to the faint red mark on his hand, still visible from the spider bite. The pieces clicked into place, and his chest swelled with excitement.
“This is real,” he whispered to himself, grinning. “I can actually do this. I can climb walls. I’m strong. I’m...”
He paused, the grin widening as a name formed in his mind.
“Spider-Man,” he said, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Perfect.”