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Michael Afton is obstinate, that is the first thing Henry realizes about the crying bundle in William's arms. It's clear William is unsure how to calm the wailing child, or even hold him correctly, so Henry takes him into his own arms, bouncing him absentmindedly. A set of bright blue eyes look up at him, shining and demanding. Michael, he thinks, his finger rubbing over the baby's jaw. He who is like god, that's what his name meant. In Henry's opinion, it was fitting. He could already tell what the child in his arms would grow up to be.
Stubborn, outgoing, loud, but caring. That's Michael, that's the boy who's staring up at him with all the admiration his tiny body could muster. Henry takes back his finger, but before he can fully move it, Michael's small chubby hands curl around it, bright pink skin against Henry's own. The hospital around them becomes insignificant to the blonde, the sounds of the nurses and coughing patients being nothing but a minor detail as he stares down at his godson. Someone who was born to be loved by Henry. It was just supposed to be an annual check-up, and Henry had said he could go with William to help if needed, but afterward, Michael wasn't having it, he was tired and hungry and nothing William did seemed to calm him down.
Michael cooed up at him, tilting his head curiously. It was the first time Henry had seen him in person, of course, William had shown him plenty of polaroids that Clara wanted him to take, but black and white photos could never compare to the real thing. A smile spread across Henry's lips as he maneuvered the child to rest against his shoulder. "William do you have any bottles in the car? I think Michael's hungry." Henry says, not bothering to give his friend a glance, all his attention being on the baby in his arms.
"Yeah, I should have some..." And Henry doesn't notice how odd William sounds, how jealous his tone is, as he buckles the infant in his car seat.
The footage is shaky as William slowly backs up, showing Michael, giggling and dressed in a onesie as he held onto Clara's hands. The ginger-haired woman beamed down at her son, pride glowing in her eyes as the young boy took a few steps forward, nearly toppling over his own feet here and there. From behind the camera, William chuckles, simple praises for his son coming out of his throat.
Henry beamed, leaning against the couch as he restarted the footage to watch it again, a warm feeling in his chest at the sight of Michael's red cheeks and wobbling feet. Honestly, the child was adorable, and since the first time he met him, Henry used any excuse he could to hang out with the baby. Helen giggled beside him, watching the footage as well.
"He's such a cute child, Clara sure is lucky." She says wistfully, the subtle hint dancing around Henry's head. She wanted a child, just like William had. And what William wanted, he got. So who's to say Helen couldn't have a child of her own either, someone to bounce around and coo at. Henry would like that, and he's sure the Afton's wouldn't mind Henry's visits to slow to a halt because he had his own child to deal with.
Grinning, he wraps his hand around his wife's, pausing the footage. "Helen, all you had to do was ask." He said, and his thoughts revolved around baby carriages and small knitted blankets.
Michael's gaze is curious as he stares at the baby, his long hair falling into Charlotte's face. For a five-year-old, he had surprisingly long hair, but William was sure to cut it soon. Charlotte gives out a tiny wail when Michael's bangs graze her forehead, and the brunette startles, stumbling slightly. It had taken a while, but Henry's little girl had finally been born, and all he had wanted was to show her to Michael.
They were his kids, blood-related or not. Michael had always been his little boy, demanding Henry's love and affection, and now Henry had a girl to go along with him. A princess to Michael's prince. He should build them a playhouse, once Charlotte grows he's sure they'd have tons of fun. "Don't worry, she's alright," Henry assures, letting Michael's hands rest over his own. The boy so clearly wanted to hold her, and no matter how much Henry trusted him, he's sure nobody would let a five-year-old hold a newborn baby. So, this was the closest Michael could get. Maybe, in a few weeks, Michael could hold her sitting down.
"She's so tiny," Michael whispers, awe dripping from his tone. "Was I this small?" Henry nods, being reminded of the sobbing boy he loved to hold. Michael makes a face, but his eyes remain on the child in his arms, and he brings one hand to rub circles into Charlotte's cheek.
"Nah," The boy says. "I wasn't this small. Charlie's just tiny."
Henry raises a brow at the nickname. "Charlie?" He echoes, tilting his head. Michael hums, watching as Charlotte blinks her eyes open, looking at the boy in front of her hazily. In the back of his mind, he hears Helen's gentle breaths from the hospital bed.
"Yeah, Charlie. She seems like a Charlie." Michael says, confident in his answer. Henry shakes his head fondly, taking in the scene before him. Based on this interaction alone, Michael was sure to be a good older brother. Teasing and slightly snotty, probably, but caring nonetheless. They were like a matching set, but Michael was going to have his own little sibling soon enough, another boy according to Clara and Charlotte would be the last thing on his mind, so Henry decided he'd cherish this moment.
There was a soft flash of light behind him and Henry looked over his shoulder, finding William shaking a polaroid photo, the camera in his other hand. "What was that for?" Henry asks quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere. William smiles, looking at his son, then at Charlotte.
"It's a sweet moment, I thought you might want a picture."
And after a moment, Henry answers, slightly breathless. "Yeah, I did."
A small whimper draws from Michael's throat as Henry dabs the cotton ball over the cut, wiping away the excess blood. "What happened this time?" Henry asked. The boy looks away, his eyes finding Charlotte who's sitting in a highchair, ripping away at a mushy slice of pizza. The sounds of the pizzeria flit around them, screaming children, chatting parents, the gentle jazz music coming from the stage. Henry looks up, handing the boy a tissue to wipe away the tears gathering in his blue eyes. Michael takes it.
"These big kids at school wanted my lunch money and when I didn't give it to them they stole it." Michael pouted, huffing. Charlotte let out a small giggle, reaching sauce-stained hands for the boy. Michael smiled a bit, looking back down at his lap as Henry wrapped some bandages around his arm. Frowning, Henry stood, packing away the first aid kit. The six-year-old still had a pretty nasty bruise on his cheek, but there wasn't much Henry could do other than get him some ice and salve.
Fortunately, Henry's pizzeria was near Michael's school, and the boy didn't have to walk a couple of miles home because some bullies made him miss the bus. "I'll get you something for your cheek, just wait here." Henry was quick with his actions, practically running into the security office to dig through the desk cabinets. It hadn't been in the first aid kit so that meant it was probably in here, where the first aid kit is usually kept. After a bit of digging, he does find it, half-empty and stained by something Henry suspects is candy. Grimacing, he heads into the kitchen to find a bag of peas or something.
When he gets back to Michael, the boy is wiggling his fingers above Charlotte's face, occasionally letting her grab onto them. Henry smiles, something soft and affectionate in his chest as he sits back down, catching the children's attention. "C'mon, let's get you healed up." And with that, Michael is leaning forward to let Henry rub the salve against his cheek, and continues to hold that bag of frozen vegetables against his cheek for the rest of the evening.
The boy nursed Charlotte in his arms, letting her suck on the nipple of the bottle, downing the milk with ease. While his shoulders were relaxed as he bounced the baby slightly, Michael's grip on the bottle was tight and his face was screwed up. Henry frowned, gently lifting Charlotte's head to be held by Michael's forearm. "I'm sorry.." The boy murmured, adjusting his hold on the baby. He didn't even seem to want to hold her in the first place, which was rare because Michael always talked about wanting a little sister.
"It's fine," Henry says, taking the girl into his own arms. She blinks sleepily but adjusts to her father's warmth with ease and Michael watched, not with his usual wonder but with a bitterness Henry usually sees William with. Like father, like son, he supposes.
"Is something wrong?" Henry asks, standing from the couch to place the snoozing baby in a portable bassinet. Subconsciously, Charlotte pulls a plushie to her chest and the worry he holds for Michael lifts slightly. Michael shifts, moving to stand next to him and peer at the baby. His fingers curl around the edge of the bassinet, rubbing circles into the soft material.
"Mum said something about a divorce, so I asked my teacher what it meant and...are Mum and Daddy gonna break up?" Michael looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, sniffing quietly, and the sight breaks Henry's heart, and he's long since tried to pretend that he wasn't aware of the distaste Clara holds for her children and her husband, but she was pregnant, with the third child, and that's the only reason she hasn't filed for a divorce yet.
Henry clears his throat, albeit awkwardly as he brings a hand to rest on Michael's back, gentle and reassuring. "I don't know Michael, I really don't. But everything will be fine, I promise. You always have your father and me." The boy shakes his head in response, his hair covering his face. Luckily, Henry had managed to convince William to not give him that awful bowl cut after seeing how upset Michael was last time.
"I don't," Michael says, and Henry watched as the tears start to slip off his flushed cheeks, a reminder of how human Michael was. No matter how strong and rough the boy pretended to be around his little brother, he was still sensitive, he was still a child. Henry tugs the boy closer, letting him fall against his side. Michael wastes no time in burying his head in Henry's sweater, rubbing tears all over the itchy fabric.
"What do you mean, Michael?" Henry whispers, coaxing the boy to sit on the ground with him.
"Daddy yelled at me today," The boy hiccuped, hands shaking as they grabbed uselessly at Henry's sweater, nails digging into the fabric. "He told me I was bothering him while he was working. I just wanted help with my homework!" Sighing, Henry lets the boy climb into his lap, a bittersweet reminder of all the times he used to crawl on his lap, asking to be read a story. Of course, Michael had always fallen asleep but it was adorable nonetheless.
"I'm sure he's just stressed with your new sibling and Evan, it'll all work out, I promise. And, if not, you can always come here for a break. Helen, Charlotte, and I would love to have you." Henry coos, bringing a hand to scratch at Michael's scalp, just the way the boy liked.
And if Helen silently left a box of tissues and a tin of cookies on the coffee table, Michael didn't need to know.