Male OC/Reader Slasher One Shots

Brahms - A Project to Remeber

Request by: Auberyinnit

A!N: I wrote this on my phone so don’t hesitate to correct any spelling errors you see! Thank you!

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Mikey sifted through the available FM stations with interest. He was disappointed that all he could find was country. There was one station with a pop song he didn’t recognize, so Mikey shut it off, opting for silence instead.

A ways down the road, it got closed in with trees. They were tall and old, dark and brooding. An object appeared in the road. Mikey squinted – he still couldn’t make it out past it’s blurry outline – trying to see if he could bring it into focus.

As he grew closer, he could tell it was a dead raccoon. Mikey frowned. The speed limit was low on this road, so the driver should have seen the animal before it was too late. That made him grimace, unsure of why someone would be speeding through here.

He simply forced himself to shrug it off, trying not to think about it. His attempts were successful as all thoughts vanished from his head at a rapid pace when he neared the picket gates of the Heelshire Manor.

Mikey gulped, reminding himself he was only there to ask the Heelshire's a few questions about their deceased son.

It was for an English project. Unfortunately, Mikey had gotten last pick and was stuck with giving a summary on the Heelshire's dead heir.

Exiting the car, he opened the gates. The driveway was long and winding. Sometimes it was gravel and other times it was dirt. There was a patch of mud that Mikey had nearly gotten his car stuck in.

The Toyota was certainly not built for off road adventures, he thought aimlessly to himself.

The trees grew thinner as he came to his destination. The house was large, – it was a manor, after all – must have been three stories, Mikey reckoned. Maybe an attic or a basement. Maybe both.

It was a large contrast to his small dorm room, that was for sure.

He parked his car in the curved, gravel driveway, shutting the door to his car behind him.

Being this far up at the end of the day made it chilly, and the wind nipped at Mikey's nose, causing him to sneeze.

He walked up the steps, finding a doorbell. With some hesitation, he fixed his jacket and his notepad before pressing the button.

He could hear the bell ring from outside, and it echoed through the house. Mikey figured it must have been a large foyer before him. Nervously, he pulled his glasses off, breathing on them and then he lowered the glasses to the hem of his shirt so he could clean them. Back on his face, he looked back up.

The door opened, and a girl’s face poked out. “Hello?”

Mikey pulled on a smile, “Ah, hello, Miss. Are the Heelshire’s about?”

She furrowed her brows. “Are the… what?”

Mikey realized she was an American. “Sorry. Didn’t think an American would be all the way out here. May I speak with the Heelshire’s?”

She nodded. “Sure! They’re getting their things ready to leave, so I suggest you be quick.” A smile and the door opened wider to let him in. “I’m Greta, by the way.”

“My name is Mikey. A pleasure to meet you.” He smiled in return, stepping into the foyer – the one he presumed would have been there – with a big stride.

“How old are you?” Greta asked. Mikey hummed.

“Twenty-four. I’m a college student in an English and Psychology major. I’m here for a project.” Mikey answered, briefly glancing at Greta to see she had no shoes on.

Must be an American thing, he thought.

It looked like she was waiting in the foyer too. “What are you here for?”

“A Nanny position. For Brahms.” She said.

Mikey furrowed his brows in confusion before glancing at the new figure approaching.

“Good evening.” The woman said, hands clasped in front of her.

“Mrs. Heelshire.” Mikey greeted, hugging his notepad closer.

“You must be here for the interview?” Mrs. Heelshire confirmed. Mikey nodded.

“Yes, ma’am." He smiled. Mrs. Heelshire glanced at Greta, eyeing her up and down.

“You must be the new nanny." She began. Mikey glanced away, looking at the family portrait resting on the wall above staircase.

“Your son is beautiful.” He complimented, fixing his glasses so they sat further up on his nose.

“Thank you, son.” A new voice laughed. Mikey looked to find Mr. Heelshire.

“Now, Mr. uhm… I don’t believe you’ve given me your  name.” Mrs. Heelshire stumbled. He waved her off.

“Mikey is fine.”

“Alright, then. You can wait over there in the drawing room.” She smiled, carefully guiding Greta along until she noticed the girl had taken off her shoes.

Mikey caught something about Brahms liking to be playful before their voices disappeared altogether.

He looked around the room, noticing the bookshelf and trinkets, as well as the expensive looking chairs and grand piano.

Mikey loved to play piano. He particularly enjoyed Mozart and Beethoven. Mikey liked to play the faster pieces that he felt had a deep meaning to them.

He felt the piece would be more powerful if he had a deep connection to it.

Which is why his favorite was Mozart's Turkish March, and he played it so often he remembered it quite well.

He couldn’t resist the itch much longer before he sat down at the piano, placing his items on top. When he pulled back the lid, he noticed the keys were well used and wearing down at the sides.

Mikey loved seeing instruments well-played. It made him happy to know the owner of the instrument took great joy in using it.

He let his fingers dance lightly over the keys, playing two of the C's. C5 and then down to C4. A smile teased his lips upon hearing the notes.

He began to play, his fingers pressing the keys with haste. Soon his left hand joined in with the second half of the piece. His smile broadened as the song progressed.

He loved when the piece got louder and more dramatic, only to quiet down with a winding spiral of notes. Each one happy and high on the piano.

His arms were stretched as the song found it's climax. Then it began to repeat the part before, dramatic and amusing to Mikey.

He loved the way images of short bursts of energy filled his mind. The song in itself was energetic and quick.

Another dramatic part followed the quiet, as if saying everything is cycles. Music, life, emotions.

The song sped up a bit, causing Mikey's fingers to strain, but they were well trained and adept to the feeling.

He let his fingers rest on the final notes, drawing out the wonderful sound.

Clapping sounded to his right and he jumped in surprise. Mikey rose off the seat with haste, shutting the lid of the piano gently. He grabbed his things, shuffling over to where Greta, the Heelshire's and an unfamiliar man stood.

“My apologies.” Mikey said, awkwardly.

“You play wonderfully.” Mrs. Heelshire smiled. “Who taught you?”

“My mother taught me how to read notes. From there I taught myself.” He grinned. The man on the left of her rolled his eyes, causing Mikey's grin to fade.

“Well!” Mrs. Heelshire said, suddenly. “Malcolm, this it Mikey. Mikey, Malcolm. Malcolm is out delivery man.”

Mikey smiled and waved at him. “Hello.”

Malcolm grimaced, only halfway returning the wave. “Hi.”

“Now, Mikey.” Mr. Heelshire began. “We were wondering if maybe you’d like to help Greta out with being a nanny.”

“Brahms likes you.” She smiled, referring to the doll on her hip. “You’d be paid, of course.”

Mikey smiled. “Sure.”

Greta seemed relieved.

That was how Mikey ended up there the next morning, just about everything he owned with him.

Mikey had given his teachers some notice, saying he was going to be working on his project at the manor itself.

He had only managed to fish out some well known details. The only thing that had been a somewhat of a surprise was how they replaced their dead son with a doll.

Strangely, though, the doll felt alive. At least, it did to Mikey.

Stop being stupid, Mikey thought to himself, the doll is not alive.

Mikey stood in his temporary room now, setting things in different places.

He piddled around for a bit, choosing to explore until he bumped into Greta.

“Hi.” He smiled, but it faded when he didn’t see Brahms. “Where is Brahms? You know you’re not supposed to leave him alone.”

“O-Oh, well, he’s on the chair in the foyer, c-covered I’m a blanket.” She answered, fidgeting a bit. Mikey frowned, hurrying into the foyer to find him uncovered on the chair, head turned in their direction.

Greta let out a tiny screech which startled Mikey. He shushed her, picking Brahms up.

“H-How?” Greta asked, shakily. Mikey frowned.

“It might have just fallen off.” He said.

“Maybe.” She agreed after some time. Mikey smiled at Brahms.

“I’ll play him something on the piano. Why don’t you make some lunch for the three of us?” Mikey offered, already stepping into the drawing room. Setting Brahms in the chair next to him, he played a note, an A. Then a C, followed by a G.

Then he made his way to middle C, beginning to play Für Elise. The song, to Mikey, at least, felt sad.

He imagined someone with a past lover. Maybe their lover left them behind for someone new.

Almost like the person had passed, but still witnessed their lover’s life after they left the earth. Wishful thinking, Mikey supposed.

But since he’d never had a serious lover before, how would he know if he’d rather see his lover happy after he passed or be welcomed with dead arms into the void.

I suppose I’d like to see them happy, He smiled to himself as he continued to play.

A part of him wished that Brahms was real. That Brahms could hear him. See him. Like he saw his doll.

Somewhere deep down he could tell he would want that to happen.

When the song came to an end, Mikey found himself at peace for the first time since he stepped into the house’s threshold.

Almost like he had come to terms with what he wanted.

Nearly a week later, there was a knock at the door while Mikey was reading to Brahms. He glanced up at the door, but Greta flew down the stairs.

It hadn’t taken Mikey long to realize how much leeway Greta felt this job offered. Free food, free house, free wine.

It made Mikey sick. She was practically freeloading off the Heelshires while he looked after Brahms. Not to mention Mikey already had to remake Brahms' food since Greta threw it away, claiming he wouldn’t need it since he’s a doll.

Greta unlocked the door and Malcolm strutted in with some groceries. “There’s still some more out there.” He grinned.

Greta nodded and went outside. Mikey watched the two go back and forth, bringing in new groceries. He glanced down at Brahms.

“Do you like Greta, Brahms?” He asked the doll. In reply, the porcelain double of Brahms stared up at him with those eyes that Mikey couldn’t decide if they were lifeless or not.

Mikey sighed to himself, setting down the old book. He looked at the piano, deciding to play.

He began to play one of his favorite songs, Creep.

He wished to do so simply because he felt as though he nearly fit the story.

Mikey knew he was different than a lot of people, and that’s why he figured no one ever wanted to hang out with him, much less date him.

Slowly, Mikey began to hum the words to himself under his breath. The melody got stronger and louder, making Mikey's fingers strain a bit. His hands flew across the keys with precision.

The song continued until it fell into a slow decent, and Mikey imagined someone laying to rest, never wishing to wake up again. When the song ended, Mikey realized he was crying. He pushed the tear away, which lifted his glasses a bit, upon seeing Greta in the doorway.

“You.. uhm…you play really well.” She said. Mikey shrugged.

“I suppose.” Mikey agreed. He stood up, grasping Brahms. “So. You and Malcolm then?”

Greta blushed. “He asked me out on a date, actually.”

Mikey nodded, adjusting his glasses again. “And you’re just going to up an leave like that, then?”

“What?” She questioned, brows furrowed. Mikey noticed she was fiddling with her hands. Greta was nervous.

“You’re going to leave me here?” Mikey said, more as a statement rather than a question as he had previously intended.

“Well, I will be back-" She started.

“Okay. I’ll let it slide this time.” Mikey frowned. “I should go get dinner for us.”

Malcolm waved to Mikey on the way out, deciding to spare Greta a glance Mikey could only recognize as infatuation.

Mikey sighed, fully believing he would never get to love like that. Or love at all.

He rubbed at his eye, which had begun to tear up. His glasses were off centered so he fixed them. “How about you help me with dinner, okay, Brahms?” Mikey said, setting Brahms down onto the counter. Mikey looked at the doll with a bright grin.

He started to pull ingredients from the cabinets, setting them onto the counter next to the stove. Surveying the new items, he tapped his chin.

“How about breakfast for dinner?” He questioned, excited.

“Sounds good! Can I help?” Greta asked from the kitchen doorway. Mikey turned to her.

“If you’d like, you could work with the bacon or scrapple. Your choice which one you’d like.” Mikey said, gathering the needed ingredients for pancakes.

“What’s scrapple?” Greta questioned. Mikey paused in his tracks, slowly turning around to face her.

“’What’s scrapple'?” He repeated. Greta nodded. “Well it’s what we’re having tonight.”

After cooking everything, the three sat at the table. Greta hesitantly listen the scrapple to her mouth. Mikey egged her on. She took a bite and chewed, before swallowing.

“It’s good.” She smiled. “What’s in it?”

Mikey paled a bit, pushing his glasses up. “If you like it, then it’s best you leave it at that.”

Greta's brows furrowed, and Mikey decided to keep shoveling food in his mouth, to avoid the question.

Later that night, after Mikey had brushed his teeth, he changed Brahms into pajamas. He set Brahms in bed, tucking the blankets over to him.

“Goodnight, Brahms.” He smiled, leaning down to peck Brahms on the forehead.

Greta appeared in the doorway. “Mikey?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going on that date with Malcolm tomorrow around noon. Just to let you know.”

“Okay.”

The next day was normal until Malcolm pulled up in the driveway. Greta came down in a bright pink dress, all sorts of jewelry and makeup on.

Mikey thought she looked pretty and he knew Malcolm would enjoy seeing her like that.

He watched them through the window, Brahms sitting across from him. Without looking away, he asked, “Do you think I’ll ever find love like that?”

Brahms sat lifeless when Mikey looked back at him. He took off his glasses and let the tears fall freely this time, much to his dislike. He hugged his knees to his chest, leaning against the window to stare out at the growing storm. The rumbles of thunder lulled Mikey to sleep.

When he came to, it was morning and he was in his bed. Mikey sat up, smacking his hands to his forehead. “Brahms! I didn’t tuck him in!”

Greta opened the bedroom door, food on a tray. “Don’t worry, I did.” She set the tray on the bedside table. “It’s just some cereal and toast.”

“Thanks.”

The rest of the day proceeded as normal. The next few days did. Malcolm was around more often.

One night, when Mikey was tucking Brahms in, he thought he heard a creak in the wall. Greta had claimed she’d been having dreams about Brahms. That he was real.

Mikey shrugged it off, and went to bed. He couldn’t catch a wink of sleep with the constant sound of someone playing pool downstairs. He sat up, confused. Greta didn’t play pool. He got out of bed to see Greta doing the same. She was nearly half way down the staircase before he started his decent.

He heard two voices, so he hurried down the stairs to see Greta conversing with a man he didn’t know. He sounded American to Mikey, which meant he was either a relative, a friend, or that guy Greta mention once or twice.

He went back up the stairs to get Brahms. “Hey Brahms,” He said, upon entering Brahms' room. “Sorry to wake you up, but I think you should see this.”

Racing back downstairs, he could hear the voices escalating.

“You are coming back to America with me!” The man shouted. Mikey’s frown deepened. He approached the room and the man looked at him. A weird smirk settled across the man's face. One Mikey didn’t like very much.  “So. Been fucking someone else. Your such a whore, Greta.”

“W-What? No! Mikey's not a part of this!” Greta said, worriedly. The man came towards Mikey, shoving him against the wall. Mikey winced.

The man held Mikey by his collar, and punched him across the face. Mikey’s eyes watered when he heard the grinding sound that came from his nose. It was definitely broken. As we’re his glasses, which were shattered on the floor. It left everything far away pretty blurry.

The man punched Mikey's face repeatedly and tears mixed with blood, which trailed down his face and neck. The whole time, he hadn’t let Brahms go. The man noticed and took the doll from his hands.

“N-No.” Mikey wheezed. “Don’t let hum hurt Brahms, Greta. Please!”

Mikey's voice was raspy and tired. He could taste the blood in his mouth. The man grinned, “Come back with me Greta, or I’ll break it.”

Greta shook her head. “No!”

The man started to swing the doll around, coming near to crashing him several times.

“Don’t!” Mikey pleaded.

The man teased her, pretending to drop the doll and another voice came from the doorway. “What the hell is going on here?”

All of them turned to find Malcolm. The man glared at Greta and started to punch at Malcolm. Mikey winced as he stood up. He was bruised, but from what he could tell, only his nose was broken.

He touched it with caution, watching Malcolm and the man start to throw punches, as much as his eyes allowed. Malcolm gets knocked down and the man pulls at Greta who clutched Brahms with her life.

The man got upset and snatched the doll, throwing it against the edge of the pool table. It's head shattered and Mikey cried out.

“What have you done?” He shouted, back on his feet. He threw a punch at the man's face. The other flinched back, rubbing his jaw.

“You’ve got a strong arm. I might have liked you had you not seduced my girlfriend.” He growled.

“I didn’t seduce anyone." Mikey grumbled, tackling the man.

“Yeah? Then why do you fight for her?” He questioned, flipping them to throw a punch at Mikey's face.

Mikey glared up. “I fight for Brahms.”

Then a mirror swung open to reveal not only was the mirror two sided, but there was a hole in the wall. Which progressively grew larger as someone bashed through it.

A man with a porcelain mask appeared. Greta glanced at Mikey to see him still underneath her ex. She noticed his glasses were missing and she found them next to the corner. Greta picked them up, turning to see as Brahms shoved a piece of the doll into the side of her eyes head.

She screamed, dropping the glasses.

Mikey flinched as blood dripped onto his face. When he opened his eyes again, Brahms, or as he assumed, stared down at him.

“Brahms?” He asked. The man nodded, wiping the blood off of Mikey's face with the edge of his sweater.

“Wh-What the hell?” Malcolm stumbled. Brahms' head snapped up to Malcolm's general direction. Mikey couldn’t really tell seeing as he couldn’t see anything.

How ironic, Mikey snickered to himself. He sat up, accidentally bumping into Brahms' chin. “Ouch.”

Brahms let out a breath of laughter. More so like giggles. “It’s okay, Mikey.”

Mikey did a double take, whirling around to fully look at Brahms. He squinted, seeing Brahms’ eyes. “Your eyes are pretty.”

He blushed immediately after. By then, the front door had shut and Greta was noticeably gone. Malcolm stood confused and Brahms made his way to his feet, taking lumbering steps towards him.

Malcolm ran for the stairs, tripping here and there. Brahms followed in hot pursuit. Mikey sat there, still trying to see what was happening. He started to feel around for his glasses.

Mikey looked up upon hearing a scream. Malcolm’s perhaps. Greta ran back inside, seeing Mikey searching for his glasses. Racing over, she handed the glasses to him.

“Here.” She said, shoving them into his hands. Mikey took them, re-situating them on his nose, despite the fact they were crooked, bent at the rim.

Mikey started to feel light headed when he stood to his feet. Perhaps Greta's ex had hit him a bit harder than he thought. He collapsed onto the carpet, startling Greta. She let out a squeal, dropping to his side.

Greta shook him, “Mikey! Mikey, wake up, dammit!”

Mikey groaned, half way out of consciousness.

“Mikey! Don’t go to sleep!! You might have a concussion!” She shouted, sitting him upright and shaking his shoulders. His eyes fluttered open, staring off past Greta's shoulders. Despite wearing the glasses, his vision was fuzzy. There was another scream from Malcolm’s direction, and Greta set Mikey against a chair. “Don’t go to sleep!” Greta called, racing up the stairs.

But Mikey could not help it. The desire to shut his eyes grew and grew until he gave in. His head lulled to the side, broken glasses falling to the tip of his nose.

Upstairs, Greta had decided to play along with Brahms' wishes. She tucked him into bed and everything went smoothly until the goodnight kiss.

Greta hesitated. She did not want to kiss him.

Holding a screwdriver behind her back, she shook her head. “No, I think as your punishment for today, you won’t get a kiss.”

Brahms let out a whine in response, taking hold of Greta's wrist. She struggled in his grasp.

“Brahms! Let me go.” Greta said, tugging harder. Brahms pulled her down, forcing her to leave a kiss on his porcelain lips. Greta shuddered, disgusted.

Greta, without thinking, plunged the screwdriver into Brahms side. He let go of her with growl, holding his side in pain, fingers wrapped around the handle of the tool.

He fell to the floor and Greta took no time in running to find Malcolm. She clambered back into the wall, searching for him.

Once found, she shook him lightly.

“Malcolm?” She questioned, lifting him up. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if to rid himself of a headache, then he opened them.

“Oh, Greta. Thank god." He said, pulling her into a hug. Greta blushed and hugged him back. His grin faded when he realized Mikey wasn’t with her. “Where’s Mikey?”

Greta’s eyes widened, and they both rushed downstairs to see Mikey on the floor.

“Oh shit! Oh- Oh god!” Malcolm screamed, gripping at his hair. Greta kneeled down, checking for a pulse.

“He’s fine. He just might have a con-" She started, only to stop when Mikey bolted upright. He blinked twice, turning to Greta.

“What happened?” He asked. Greta shook her head.

“I- I killed Brahms.” She said, fiddling with her fingers. 

Hearing that, Mikey raced to his feet and stumbled upstairs. He tripped, landing on the edge of a step. He groaned, but continued to make his way up.

Mikey nearly fell into the door of Brahms’ room, a sickening feeling washed over his upon seeing Brahms laying there. Presumably dead.

He kneeled down next to Brahms’ head.

“Brahms?” He asked, waiting for him to move. Nothing happened. Greta came in.

“Mikey, we have to get you to a hospital.” She said. He shook his head.

“No. Leave me. I’ll be fine.”

“Mikey, stop this. You’re scaring me.”

“I said go! Leave me! You- You killed the one person I thought might want to be my friend.” Mikey sobbed, tears falling down his face.

“Mikey-"

“GO!” He shouted, chucking a book at her. Greta dodged and ran off with Malcolm in tow. Mikey reached down and hugged Brahms.

He felt a pair of arms reciprocate the hug.

“Brahms? You’re okay?”

He nodded in response. Mikey smiled and hugged Brahms closer.

Four Years Later

“Brahms?” Mikey called. He appeared suddenly, startling him. “There you are. How about pasta tonight?”

“Okay.” Brahms agreed, taking a seat at the table to watch Mikey cook.

When everything had been finished, Mikey handed Brahms a plate and a glass, making up his own things to eat in the drawing room. Brahms preferred his privacy when it came to things like eating.

Mikey went to leave when Brahms caught him by the elbow. Lightly, with the other hand, Brahms pointing to the chair next to him.

“But I thought-" Mikey started. Brahms pulled him over, pointing to the seat again. He sighed and sat next to Brahms.

Mikey pushed his glasses further up his nose, taking a fork to start to eat. Brahms took his mask off, and Mikey dropped his fork.

It startled Brahms, making his shoulders hunch over as he tried to hide his face. “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

Brahms shook his head.

“Maybe I should, then.” Mikey smiled, looking at Brahms' face for the first time.

Brahms looked away, a small smile on his lips. Mikey leaned over, placing a small kiss on Brhams' cheek.

“I assume you got the burn from your parents, then?” Mikey questioned, thinking about the note they had sent Brahms before their death.

He nodded, a frown appearing.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.” Mikey said, twirling his fork in the pasta.

“It’s fine.” Brahms said. His voice always cheered Mikey up. It was warm and soft. Sometimes, after he hadn’t spoken in awhile, it was rougher – Mikey still thought it was a beautiful sound either way.

Mikey grinned, resuming to eat.

After they had finished dinner, the two sat while Mikey played piano. He had even taught Brahms some.

“Yeah, this one is C, and then that one is C and E. Play them like this,” Mikey said, demonstrating the beginning notes to Heart and Soul. He figured it was a good song to start with. Brahms played the notes, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Now what?” He asked, excitedly, after playing the notes.

Mikey laughed. “Then A for one hand, and the other hand on A and C.”

Mikey demonstrated again. Brahms giggled, repeating the notes.

Mikey taught Brahms the entire song, and a week later Brahms had mastered it. It had become a new part of the schedule.

Every night, Brahms learned a bit of a song.

One night, Mikey decided to teach Brahms how to play the lullaby that Greta had played for him once or twice. The thought of Greta made him sad. He wished he hadn't been so mean to her.

Mikey played it through first, showing Brahms. The over the next month, Brahms had been glued to the piano. He was determined to master this song as well.

Mikey brought out a sandwich for Brahms, setting it on the top of the piano. Brahms was playing the correct notes, much to Mikey's excitement. When Brahms finished, a bright smile grew across his lips.

“Did you see that?” Brahms asked, jumping up from the piano. He grabbed Mikey’s shoulders.

“I did! Good job!” Mikey smiled. Suddenly, Mikey felt Brahms kiss him. His eyes widened in surprise. Brahms pulled back, with an awkward smile.

“S-Sorry.” He said, letting go of Mikey.

Mikey shook his head. “No, no. I liked it-" He didn’t even have time to finish before Brahms kissed him again.

They pulled back and Brahms settled for a hug, resting his chin on the top of Mikey's head.

The End!

-

Phew! All done. I will admit, I sort of sped up the ending and such. But uh, overall, I enjoyed writing this!

Thanks Auberyinnit for the request!

-ghost