Calm Before the Storm - Prequel to Stuck in the Middle

8 [What We Can't Be]

Glitch's POV - Time: 18:31

"DARKIPLIER, GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Crashing.

Roaring.

Screaming.

I ran back to my bedroom and locked the door, covering myself up with the blankets as I blasted my music, hoping to drown out whatever Wilford was going through this time.

After a few hours of that, I opened the door, and saw that the house was a complete mess. Dents in the wall, rips in the wallpaper, furniture strewn all over the floor, either broken or just flipped over. Wilford was lying down in the front, seemingly asleep, but I didn't want to take chances. He wouldn't like this, but I grabbed my bag and headed over to Google's place to stay for a bit. Not forever, though... not yet, at least. Just overnight, since I didn't want to have to deal with him when he woke up. If only I was a bit braver. Brave like Dark. He could stand up to Wilford.

But what was I?

When I got back in the morning because Google insisted that I head home so he can update, I opened the front door to see everything back to normal. It was like Wilford's little fit never happened. Everything was where it should be... except for Wilford's office chair. The big, grand, leather one he told us not to sit on.

It was in the corner, and a man, hidden in the shadows, was sitting on it.

"Hello, Glitch," came a voice from there. I stepped back slightly, and there was cold, heartless laughter. "Are you afraid of your own flesh and blood, Glitchy? We're brothers, for crying out loud." He spoke in a cool, calculated tone, one that I hadn't heard from him since... ever.

"Um... how are you feeling, Wilford?" I asked, ignoring his question. My older brother stood up from his chair, and walked to me. The first thing I saw was his bubblegum hair, which was ironic for me, considering he was nothing close to bubbly and joyful in real life.

"Fine, I've just been... venting," he answered, staring at me with a sly smirk.

"What did Dark do this time?" I chuckled nervously, hoping to lift that heartless gaze from my body. Wilford laughed, throwing his head back, but it wasn't close to anything cheerful.

"Fun fact, Glitch," he said, now inches from my face. I couldn't help but shy away from him slightly. "Your brother's a selfish, two-timing jerk."

"He's a demon, what else do you expect from him, a tea party with Angel?" I scoffed, referring to the older of two angels in the family, Angeliplier.

"No, nothing like that, of course," Wilford replied coolly, and grabbed my shoulder. It made me flinch, and he smirked. "It's just that, well, family sticks together. Wouldn't you agree, brother mine?" he asked, voice dripping with so much forced sweetness, I almost got cavities. I nodded quickly, unsure of where this conversation was headed. "Well, he'd rather stick with a fake friend, a murderer."

"What, you mean Mad Cry?"

"No, idiot," he snapped, then sighed, a smile spreading across his lips once more. "I mean Anti. Antisepticeye."

"Oh, him. Well, Google hangs out with Bing," I reminded him, again talking about my older brother by two years, and Bingsepticeye, Jack's version of Googleiplier. (I'm not even starting with the ipliers and septiceyes. I will lose track, I know.) Wilford sighed, and nodded.

"Yes, but I approve of them, at least Bing knows what he's doing," he said bitterly, and rage flashed scarlet across his brown eyes.

"W... what did Anti do, then?" I questioned hesitantly. Wilford then took the pleasure of pinning me to the wall by my throat, not choking me, but not allowing me to move, either.

"He killed Cassandra," he growled, and his gun appeared in his hand. I stared at it, wondering exactly what he was going to do with the desired weapon, but he laughed. "No, brother mine, I'm not going to use this on you. No, no, no, I have much better plans for this one," he sighed with a grin, studying the gun, then whispered, "I suppose that I can't use you yet." And he put the gun away. I sighed with relief, then realized I acted too soon, as Wilford then slid a knife out of his pocket.

"How many weapons do you keep on you?" I grumbled, still holding the hand that was keeping me stuck to the wall.

"Just these two," he answered. "Now, I'm going to ask you a question." He moved the blade to right between my eyes, smiling widely. "Now, I'm going to ask you a few questions, brother. Answer truthfully and quickly, and this won't end up jammed into your frontal lobe. Understood?"

"O-okay," I whispered, staring at the hilt of the knife as he ever so slightly turned the weapon, almost mocking my fear.

"Question number one: Why are you my brother?" His smile dropped ever so slightly, and his brown orbs turned ever so slightly darker as he muttered the words. Like he regretted me.

"I... don't know," I admitted truthfully. I didn't ask to stay with him. Anyone else, I could have lived with, but not the only iplier other than Dark that's tried to kill Mark. At least Dark knows when to stop.

"I suppose that's truthful enough. But that's the only "I don't know" I will allow." The point of the knife was traced along my jawline, leaving a light trail of blood. "Question two: What did I say earlier about Dark and Anti?"

I struggled to remember Wilford's exact words. The knife travelled back up to between my eyes, and he pressed it in ever so slightly. Unfortunately, it felt like he sharpened the knife recently, and I felt warm blood run down my nose.

"Anti's a murderer, and Dark's a two-faced jerk," he spat, then repeated, "Now, what did I say earlier?"

"A-Anti's a murderer, and D-Dark's a two-faced j-jerk!" I stammered out, fearing for my life. Wilford nodded, satisfied, then released me. I fell to the floor, staring up at him as I felt the bridge of my nose. The cut wasn't that bad, but it would take a few days to heal. Most of the blood got on Wilford's knife, anyhow. He pointed the blood-stained knife at me, and with a devious smile, asked one more question.

"Question three: Do you want to help me kill Antisepticeye and Darkiplier?"