Chapter Text
The Maverick, Mikhael, was finally trying to bake bread with Daphne and Bowen. The problem was that he kept insisting he knew what he was doing.
“I know what I’m doing,” Mikhael said confidently. He did not know what he was doing, because right now he was trying to microwave the dough.
“That’s… that’s not how you bake the bread. You put it in the oven,” Daphne said.
“I know what I’m doing,” Mikhael said again, this time with a small chuckle, and waved his hand dismissively. Daphne sighed. Trying to convince him he didn’t know what he was doing was a lost cause.
His older siblings showed him how to use the oven, what the buttons did, how to preheat, and various other things, though he acted like he already knew that.
Mikhael insisted he place the dough into the oven, so his siblings let him, but watched to make sure he somehow didn’t screw that up.
While they waited, Mikhael started rambling about his adventures with his friends. While lot of the things he said sounded exaggerated, his passion for these little stories were rather charming.
The oven beeped when it was done, and Mikhael grabbed a random bottle from off the counter, a bottle of cooking oil. “You don’t need that to open the door, it’s already done cooking,” Daphne said, a bit more annoyed, but keeping her cool.
“I told you I know what I’m doing!”
“But it’s done cooking, there’s no need to put oil on finished bread.”
“Didn’t I say I know what I’m doing?!”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” Mikhael slammed the oven door open. Bowen had half-expected it to break from the force.
“That’s not how you open the door.” Daphne said.
“I keep telling you, I know what I’m—”
“No, you don’t ,” She tried to grab the cooking oil from him. One or two accidents taught Bowen and Daphne that having anything flammable near a heat source was a safety hazard and just a bad idea in general.
He quickly moved it away, spilling a small amount on the floor. Daphne still tried, fighting to grab the cooking oil. This only spilled more oil on the floor, invisible puddles that Bowen saw form. He wanted to diffuse the situation before something happened.
“Uhm, guys…” Bowen tried to speak up, but was ignored.
“Give that to me!” Daphne kept trying to reach for the bottle, but Mikhael was somehow still the one holding the cooking oil.
“ Guys ,” Bowen spoke with more urgency. They’d been edging closer to the open, burning oven with an unsealed bottle of flammable liquid. Alas, he was still ignored.
Mikhael continued to defend his grip on the bottle, letting out a little yelp when his legs brushed against the oven door and hopping forward slightly.
Daphne made a lunge for the bottle, and, in a bout of rage after having had enough of this, yelled at him, “ MIKHAEL! Just give me the cooking oil!”
Mikhael initially flinched, and Bowen assumed he’d back down, but instead, Mikhael doubled down.
“No! I said I know what I’m doing! ” Mikhael shoved her away with all his might, and a horrific chain reaction of events followed suit.
Mikhael stumbled backwards from a combination of his own force and slipping on spilt cooking oil. He fell onto the oven door. He cried out and tried to get up, but only spilled more oil onto his body, which reacted violently to the heat of the oven.
Daphne rushed to go and help him, but Bowen had to yank Daphne backwards when a fireball exploded from the oven.
And then they heard Mikhael, their little brother, shriek .
It was an awful, grating noise. They were frozen in complete shock at what had just happened. Bowen was first to snap out of this trance. He rushed to find something to put the fire out.
He returned quickly, grasping a bucket half-filled with water. Daphne still had her gaze fixed on the blaze. The screaming had stopped, either because Mikhael simply couldn’t scream anymore, or he was…
Bowen didn’t want to think about the second option.
Bowen splashed the fire with the bucket water, but smoke still billowed from the oven. Daphne averted her eyes at first, lifting a hand to possibly avoid looking at what was left of their brother.
Bowen approached the charred cadaver that was almost unrecognisable as having once been human and drew in a shaky breath.
How? How had it come to this ?
One moment they were simply trying to spend time with their brother, the next, he had been lit aflame.
He kneeled down and reached out to his neck. His arm shook lightly as two fingers made contact, sending a chill down his spine at the texture of Mikhael’s cauterised skin, and felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
Bowen stood up, the pressure of tears felt intense to the point his eyes felt like they were about to pop out. His limbs felt heavy while his lungs seemed to shut down, breaths becoming uneven and laboured.
Daphne wasn’t taking it any better. She screamed at the sight when the smoke cleared, getting onto her knees and embracing the carcass. Her fingers dug into the singed and wrinkled fabric of his shirt. The fire had burnt almost all colours from it, leaving nothing but charred black and small, scattered remnants of aqua-blue.
“ I’m- I’m sorry! I’m s-so s-s-sorry, Mikhael!”
There was a sound that made both jump. Mikhael had suddenly started coughing. His breaths had turned to ragged, harsh wheezing. Mikhael’s eyes were twitching wildly, unfocused and darting in all directions.
Bowen suddenly preferred that Mikhael be dead. Not in this awful state of suffering.
Hadn’t he suffered enough already?
Bowen creeped over to Mikhael. Mikhael’s eyes had slowed in their twitching, focusing on Daphne, then listlessly moved to look at Bowen.
Mikhael tried to speak. Tried.
What came out was a guttural hiss of singed vocal cords, and after a few tries, Mikhael managed to grit out something.
“I-I…m…s-sh…s…rry…Dh…Dkh…f-feen…n…Bo-Bh…Bo…”
The little life in his eyes began to fade, and Daphne started wailing again.
They stayed where they were for a long while. Silence mostly filled the room, occasionally broken by either sibling’s now quiet sobs and sharp inhales. Mikhael—or rather, what was left of him—was silent, he did not suddenly come back to life after that.
Tears had spilled onto the floor, mixing with the little puddles of cooking oil left behind.
“What do we d-do now?”
Bowen looked up. His own red, puffy eyes met the redder, puffier eyes of his sister.
“I…” he started, but the feeling of tears returned and cut him off. He crossed his arms and hugged himself.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. And he didn’t know. He felt detached from his own body, staring at what had been their little brother only mere minutes ago.
How would their parents react? How would their friends react? How would Mikhael’s friends react?
“Sh…should we call the hospital? Or… our p-parents?”
Bowen took a long time to think. He didn’t know the answer to this, either. He didn’t know anything right now.
Daphne sighed. “I… I think I should call the hospital.”
Bowen knew Mikhael would be declared dead on the scene. Wishing for him to suddenly cough and wake up again was simply a pipe dream, the chance had long since slipped away.
Like Mikhael slipped away.
Much like Bowen anticipated, Mikhael was pronounced deceased when the paramedics showed up.
And while their parents weeped, crying rivers of tears, neither Bowen nor Daphne shed a single droplet. All of those tears had been shed already.
It seemed like the lack of crying and mourning wails from them was attributed to them being in pure shock.
They were in pure shock, but that moment had passed by a while ago.
When Mikhael died.
It was only after they’d left the hospital, while their parents were arranging the funeral, that Daphne realised they’d have to break the news of Mikhael’s passing to his friend group.
Daphne and Bowen exchanged glances.
This would not be fun, to say the least.