Chapter Text
The Afton house is quiet, but that's normal considering how late it is. The quiet wasn't peaceful, it was more eerie, like something is holding its breath in or like something is getting ready to pounce at you from the shadows. Mike noticed the usual smell of the house as soon as he stepped inside. Since we don’t smell the way our homes smell, other people's houses have a much more prominent smell and that was exactly what Mike could smell. It smelt like cold air, metal and something faintly chemical (cleaning products maybe, or oil). It reminded him too much of Freddy’s but that kinda makes sense since this is where Freddy’s started. Michael locked the door behind them then turned around and slid down it briefly, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to release what happened this night from his lungs.
“Next time,” Michael muttered, pushing himself back upwards. “We’re breaking into literally anywhere else.”
Mike let out a tired huff of a laugh. “You say that like this was my idea.”
Michael looked at him. His eyes were glinting faintly in the dim light. “Wasn’t it?”
Mike opened his mouth then closed it again. He honestly couldn't remember. Somewhere between Springtrap and the vents and the way Michael almost tried to walk back into hell for him blurred the details of any small event that happened prior.
“...Maybe.” He admitted.
They both just stood there for a second, staring at each other. Mike’s eyes stern and heavy and Michael’s narrow and sharp. They don’t go into the kitchen right away. Michael paused in the hallway, head tilted slightly as if he was listening for something.
“Abby’s asleep.” he murmured.
Mike’s shoulders loosened just a fraction. “Where?”
Michael hesitates. “My sister’s room.”
Mike stopped walking. “...You sure?”
Michael nodded once. “It’s the quietest room in the house and she probably would like it the most out of them all. Also, she wouldn’t want the couch.”
Mike doesn't comment on the fact that Abby chose that room. Or that on the way there Michael murmured the name ‘Elizabeth’ under his breath multiple times. They moved down the hall slowly as if they were burglars. The door was cracked open enough to let warm light spill into the dark hallway just like Abby always had it. Mike peeked in first. Abby was curled on her side on the bed, covered by a pink duvet with small red hearts. She hugged one of the pillows to her chest. Her hair spread across the fabric and her face was peaceful in the way only children ever really managed. Mike exhaled silently.
Michael poked his head over his shoulder. “She lookes…comfortable.”
“Yeah, she was exhausted.” Mike whispered back.
Michael smiled faintly. “She snores, by the way.”
Mike freezes. “She does not.”
“She absolutely does. I heard her on the way out.”
Michael then began to demonstrate with a quiet, exaggerated little snore. Mike immediately elbowed him in the arm. Not super hard but enough for Michael to feel a stab of pain.
Michael winces dramatically, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Ow- okay, okay, point taken.”
“You’re gonna wake her up.” Mike hissed.
“I didn’t even do anything!” Michael whispered back just as aggressively.
They both glanced at Abby. She hasn't moved an inch. They froze to make sure she hadn't woken up. Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.
Michael let out a slow breath. “Crisis averted.”
Mike rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. He gently pulled the door closed the rest of the way, careful not to let it click. He noticed there were letters on the door that he must have missed before. There was an ‘E’ then an ‘i’, ‘za’ and then ‘eth’ at the end. That’s definitely not Vannesa’s name. Is this who Michael was muttering about before?
Mike averted his gaze to Michael. For a moment, they just stood there in the hallway quietly but both feeling the same feeling of relief.
Then, Michael murmured softly. “She’s safe here.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah.”
And that’s when they finally head for the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “You wanna…sit?”
Mike nodded immediately. His legs were starting to feel like they’ve been replaced with static from all the movement that occurred tonight. They end up sitting at the kitchen table again - same places as before. The overhead light flickered once before settling into a dull yellow glow. Michael tossed his jacket over the back of the chair and rolled his sleeves up. Mike noticed then, like REALLY noticed, the dark smear of blood on Michael’s forearm, half dried, half smeared from where he must’ve brushed against a wall.
“You’re bleeding.” Mike said.
Michael glanced down. “Huh. That’s new.”
“That is not new.” Mike replied flatly, already standing. “That was probably from when you shoved me out of the way like a lunatic.”
Michael smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”
Mike disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a small first aid kit that looked like it’s been used more than it should've been in a place that supposedly only has one resident.
“Sit still.” Mike said, pulling out antiseptic wipes.
Michael watched him with open amusement. “You’re very bossy for someone who refuses to admit he cares.”
Mike shoots him a look. “I care about you not bleeding all over the furniture. Sit.”
Michael obeyed, mostly because Mike was already there, already kneeling slightly in front of him. Before Mike started cleaning the wound, Michael wandered toward the counter and opened cabinets one after another.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Making tea.” Michael replied. “Or attempting to. There’s like…five boxes here and all of them are expired.”
Mike blinked. “Why do you even have tea if you don’t drink it?”
Michael shrugged. “It feels like something a person is supposed to have.”
Mike stared at him for a moment before quietly grabbing a mug and setting it down in front of him.
“Here.” He said. “That one’s chamomile. It doesn't taste like dirt.”
Michael looked mildly impressed. “You’re full of surprises.”
Mike snorts. “Not as much as you. Aren’t you British? I thought you’d be more knowledgeable about tea.”
Michael didn't respond but he tried to make sure his face wasn’t showing the pang of sadness and guilt he felt at the memory he got from tea. Truth is, he is but he always avoided making tea after his mother’s death since it was her favourite drink and she always had one with her. William never bothered to make tea either since he preferred coffee.
They both stood there in silence as the kettle heated. It wasn’t uncomfortable but not quite comfortable either. Just…there. It was weird but nice. Mike gently took Michael’s wrist and turned his arm over to examine the cut more closely. Michael froze up. Not dramatically, just more like his body forgot what it was supposed to do next. Mike cleaned the wound slowly and carefully. He has done this a hundred times for Abby, since her passion for robotics ended up with this kind of stuff, and for himself but this felt different. More…meaningful.
“You’re not very good at hiding that you're hurt.” Mike said.
Michael scoffed. “You say that like I have a choice whether I get hurt or not.”
Mike pressed the gauze gently against the cut. “You could stop throwing yourself in front of things.”
“I don’t just throw myself in front of everyone you know…”
A pause. “What do you mean?”
“It's nothing, forget I said anything.”
There was silence again for a moment. Michael stared at the table.
Then, almost casually, said, “William never used to say ‘good job’. Or ‘you did well’. Or anything like that.”
Mike stilled.
Michael continued, voice light but slightly cracking. “It was always ‘that could’ve been faster’ or ‘you missed a spot or ‘try harder next time’. I don’t think I ever heard him say something was enough or that he was pleased.”
Mike swallowed. Why is he telling me this? Is this why he always felt like he had to do something even if it wasn’t much?
Michael shrugged. “I guess I just learned not to expect it.”
The words settled between them, both processing what has just been said.
“You did good tonight.” Mike said eventually.
Michael blinked. “I-”
“And not just ‘good’.” Mike added without looking up, the words kept coming out before he can think them through. “You were…perfect.”
The room went completely still. Michael froze like he forgot what came next. Mike looked up and immediately regretted everything and nothing at the same time.
Michae;’s eyes were glassy. His breath stuttered once. “...No one’s ever called me that.” he admitted quietly.
Mike’s chest tightened painfully. “Michael-”
Michael laughed softly. It broke in the middle. “You really don’t think before you speak, do you?”
“I didn’t mean- I mean, I did, but-”
“Don’t.” Michael interrupted gently. “Just… don’t.”
He looked down at his bandaged arm and flexed his fingers slowly. “I don’t know what to do with that.” he murmured. “With being seen like that.”
Mike swallowed. “You deserve it.”
Michael shook his head faintly. “You say things like that so easily.”
“I don’t say it easily.” Mike replied. “I just don’t say it often.”
Silence returned. Mike became acutely aware of how close they are. Of how his hand still loosely held Michael’s wrist. Of how Michael hadn’t pulled away. He let go slowly.
Michael leaned back, exhaling. “So.” he said, lightly. “Not a date.”
Mike snorts. “Definitely not.”
“You brought medical supplies.” Michael points out. “Very romantic.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Michael smiled faintly. “you keep coming back.”
Mike doesn't answer. Instead, he sits beside him now, closer than before, and rubs his eyes. “So,” he said quietly. “She’s in one of his workshops.”
Michael nodded. “The one furthest north. Outside Ely.”
Mike blinks. “That’s…really far. At least a 4 hour drive.”
“Yeah.” Michael replied. “Which is probably why she chose it.” There was something bitter in his voice when he said she.
Mike leaned back in his chair. “Ely’s basically the middle of nowhere.”
Michael huffed. “Exactly.”
Silence settles between them again, both of them deep in thought.
“How do we even get there?” Mike asked. “We can’t just…walk in to the place.”
Michael rested his forearms on the table, fingers lacing together. “We drive up early. Leave before dawn. Less traffic and fewer people.”
Mike nodded slowly. “And when we get there?”
Michael tilted his head and his eyes narrowed. “We don’t go in loud.”
Mike snorted. “That would be a first.”
Michael smirked faintly. “We stick to the perimeter first. See if the place is active. Lights, movement, anything unusual.”
“And if Charlotte’s there?” Mike pressed.
Michael’s jaw tightened. “Then we don’t engage her directly unless we have to.”
Mike looked at him sharply. “You planning on fighting her alone again?”
Michael met his eyes without hesitation. “I’m planning on making sure we save Vannessa and for you to not fight her alone either.”
That made Mike pause. “...We go together.” Mike said firmly. “No hero stuff. No sacrificing yourself. If this goes wrong, it goes wrong for the both of us.”
Michael studied him for a long moment.
Then, he quietly said “Okay.”
Mike exhaled like he didn’t realise he was holding in his breath. “And Vanessa?” Mike asked. “If Charlotte still…”
Michael looked down. “Then we get her out first. No matter what.”
Mike nodded. “Good.”
They sat there, side by side, both picturing it - a dark, frozen workshop in the middle of the woods, some angry killer robots waiting inside.
Mike rubbed his hands together slowly. “We’ll need flashlights. Extra batteries and something to defend ourselves with.”
Michael arched his eyebrow. “Define ‘something’.”
Mike glared at him. “Not whatever you’re thinking.”
Michael grinned. “Rude.”
He paused. “You scared?” Michael asked.
“Yeah.”
Michael smiled faintly. “Me too.”
Somehow, saying that out loud made it easier to breathe.
Mike stood, stretching stiffly. “I’ll tell Abby tomorrow. We should try to sleep."
Michael scoffed. “You’re funny.”
Mike glanced at him. “You’ll have to try anyway.”
Michael looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “...Yeah. I will.”
Because tomorrow, they’re driving north into the woods. Into William Afton’s remaining work. Together.