Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By the time the fire washed it all away, Michael’s ill fitting, rotting skin hardly had enough nerves left to feel the immense heat that surrounded him. As he sat there, in that accursed office chair, a smile crept it’s way to his withered face. Finally. It was over. He leaned back hard enough to cause the chair to roll backwards and let his head slump back. He closed the eyes which were no longer his, and as the flames slowly claimed him, he felt at peace for perhaps the first time in his life. 

Only, it wasn’t the end.  

Michael didn’t awaken with a start. Instead, his eyes drifted hazily open. It was a strange, confusing feeling. Firstly, he wasn’t in in pain. That was already odd in and of itself. It had been… a long time… since his body had last been whole, been fully human. When he’d first died, he had been in the worst pain he’d ever known. It faded with time, though he never had been quite sure if it was because he got used to it, or because his body was simply too beyond repair to send the signals to his brain. Still, it had always remained. 

But now… It was just. Not there anymore. 

It felt off, in how normal it was. Michael wasn't supposed to feel normal. He wasn't supposed to feel human. Despite his rising suspicion, he could not help the relief he felt. In a way, it was like taking a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room for days on end. He may have been used to it, but that just made this old, forgotten feeling all the more vibrant.

The ceiling above him was an unremarkable white, with that popcorn texture he’d always disliked. It reminded him of his childhood home, of the long nights spent staring up at a similar ceiling. 

... A very similar ceiling.

That thought finally awakened something in him. Something beyond the foggy thoughts of his tired mind. He sprang up into a sitting position with a sudden jolt, breath hitching in his throat. What awaited him matched that godforsaken ceiling perfectly. His childhood bedroom. In more detail than he could’ve imagined it if he’d tried. The deliberate chaos, the obnoxious Freddie’s merchandize in every corner. Comicbooks, a skateboard. A window with a view to the forest. The room greeted him with perfect silence. It almost felt like it was mocking him.

Michael had never been religious. His family hadn’t been either, and the things he’d seen… well they hardly inspired faith. Despite this, the first thought that made it through the white hot panic searing his mind was as such: 

I’m in hell.

What better explanation was there? How else would he be back here, of all places? He’d died in the fire, he must have. He remembered the words Henry Emily had spoken as the flames began to overtake his humble security office. He was not his father. He was not meant to descend into the darkest pits of hell… but he’d never been promised heaven, either. Perhaps he deserved a hell of his own. He was a killer too, after all.

He should’ve known how to deal with the unexpected by now. He’d survived for so long, longer than any other member of this cursed family, and that wasn’t without reason. He knew how to deal with animatronic bears and poorly disguised death traps, but this, whatever this was, it left him at a loss.

He lost track of how long he spend like that, sitting there, with his head in his hands, attempting to wrap his mind around the world that now surrounded him. He expected at any moment for something to happen. For one of those metal monsters to make their way through the creaky bedroom door, for any noise, any movement. But the only sound breaking the silence was a dog barking somewhere in the distance. 

~~*~~

Michael had not looked at the time when he first awoke. But he knew he did not sleep for the rest of the night, however long that was. He was still awake by the time the first rays of light made it through the window. A part of him was surprised the sun arose at all. It would've made more sense for his personal hellscape to be stuck in nighttime, wouldn't it?

The morning did not bring with it the sense of comfort it usually did. He should have found some relief in it, but in his mind the rising sun brought nothing but questions. He'd somewhat gotten used to the night. At least that meant he didn't have to move. The day however... The analog alarm clock by his bedside table told him it was 6 am. Ironic. Where that number usually let him breathe out a sigh of relief, now it did nothing but make him feel sick.

Sooner of later, he was going to have to get up. And he was going to have to face whatever awaited him downstairs. 

Had the hallways always felt so barren and haunting? So, abnormally long and all too meticulously cleaned? The halls bore no sign that three children lived within them. No drawings on the walls, no colorful toys left uncollected. Just creaky floorboards and dull wallpaper. The only sign of any life at all was an old family picture, taken sometime soon after the twins had been born. Michael had been only a few years old, at the time. It felt so.. Surreal. Too normal. A memory from a happier time… a time he could hardly remember. There was a face hecould recognize only through old photographs, too faded now in his mind to bear any notable features. She was smiling.  Michael broke his gaze away from the painting, planting it firmly on the floor instead. There were more important things to think about.

Michael did his best to keep his breath level as he walked down the steps. He made hardly any attempt to resist the shake in his hands. He’d tried, albeit briefly, and come to the quick realization it was going nowhere. As he reached the hall floor, stepping onto the soft, brown rug, he stopped to listen for any sounds beyond the typical ambience he’d come to expect within his few hours here. But unlike the night, this time his listening bore results. 

There was something in the kitchen.

He could hear it, making faint noises. His immediate instinct told him it must have been Chica. He could still remember hearing the ruckus she’d make in the kitchens back then. He held his breath, standing perfectly still, as he heard the blood rushing through his veins. After a moment however, once the initial panic faded, it gave way to more rational thought. There was no way that was her. The noises were quiet, precise. Chica had always been rather loud, after all, he’d heard her all the way from the other side of the building. These movements didn’t come with the heavy thuds of animatronic feet stomping their way through the halls. They were softer, quieter… human. 

Whoever was in the kitchen, it was no machine. Though fear still Gripped Michael, this realization let him breathe a little easier. He didn’t want to take a step closer to the source of the sounds, but they were the only sign of life he’d heard in his time here… and he needed answers. Maybe whoever was there could provide some. He didn’t get his hopes up. If there was one thing Mike had learned in all his years alive- and dead- it was that answers typically didn’t come easy.

~~*~~

The sight that awaited Michael was painfully normal. There he was, William Afton, his father, sitting by the kitchen table. Alive and well. Looking just like he would have, way back in the 80s. The sight of it made Mike’s stomach drop. It was as if the ground had fallen out from under him. It should’ve been impossible. It had to be. His father was dead. His father was long gone. It had been 20 years since the springlock failure.

He was dead. He had to be dead. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t. He died in the fire. He should have- Henry said- 

Michael should have died in the fire too. And yet here he was.

He could do nothing but stare. Stare at the man who had ruined everything. Destroyed everything. He stared, as William lowered his newspaper. Newspaper and coffee. God it was like every fatherly stereotype. The normalcy of it made Michael feel sick. Sick. Sick. How dare he, pretend to be some- some cartoon of a person. His father had never been a person. Someone so disgusting, so vile, could only be referred to as a monster. A truer monster than the animatronics had ever been.

“Michael..?” 

He heard a voice call out. A hard, cold voice. No less intimidating in it’s quietness. The shake from his hands had spread to his entire body. He quivered. The voice kept speaking, but no longer could he tell what it said. It was white noise to his ears. No. White noise wouldn’t have made his stomach lurch the way that voice did. He leaned against the doorframe, what little strength he might have had entirely drained from his body. 

Maybe this really was hell.

Chapter Text

Michael came to when he felt someone grab him by the shoulder. The sharp gasp this elicited from him seemed to do very little to draw his father’s hand away. Neither did it seem to garner much of any reaction, actually. The only sense of emotion on William’s face was mild irritation. If that. 

Michael had spent much time fantazising about when he’d finally finish off his father for good. It started off as little more than pure anger, lashing off. He’d been betrayed, led to a deathtrap by his own dad… it only made sense to be furious. But over the years, as he chased down ghosts of figures long dead, that anger faded to a simple sense of exhaustion. Where he’d once been all but excited to see the life finally drain out of the eyes of that damn scrap of an animatronic, by the end, he didn’t care how it happened. He just wanted it to be over. 

Now he wished he’d been able to be angrier. He wished he would’ve had what it took to punch that bastard in the face, kick him, bite his damn hand like a child, anything . But instead, he just stood there, frozen with fear. And he waited for something to happen. 

“What’s with you?” William asked with narrowed eyes, ones which seemed to drill down to Michael’s very soul. It was in that moment that the thought finally crossed his mind. This William, this version of him, didn’t know why he was afraid. 

In his father’s mind, there was no reason for it. Not yet.

“I- I think I’m sick..”

It was the only excuse that crossed his mind, born out of the sheer necessity to say something that might explain his behaviour. He hated how weak his voice sounded. Frail. Childish . Hopefully it’d at least make the lie more convincing. 

His father had that cold, calculated look in his eye. Like he was studying Michael for any sign of a lie. He could feel his heart pouding, every fiber of his being wanted to run, do whatever he could to get away. But he forced himself to look William dead in the eye. The one pathetic act of defiance he could muster.

For what must have been a few seconds, but felt agonizingly long enough to be hours, the two stared at each other. 

Then, the hand on his shoulder finally slipped away, and Michael wanted to slump onto the floor out of sheer exhaustion and relief. “I’ll call the school. Go to your room and don’t pass whatever this is to your siblings.” William’s voice was cool and detached. He found his way back to the kitchen table, but kept his gaze on Michael. That no longer mattered to Mike, though. 

Siblings. Both of them. 

They were here. Alive.

Michael muttered an okay, and turned away from the doorway, in the hopes it would help disguise his expression. Elizabeth. Evan. They were both alive. He could talk to them again, he could see them, the way they were supposed to be, alive and breathing. For the first time since he’d awoken, Michael felt something other than fear, confusion or anger. Frankly, it had been a long time since he’d felt that way. He dared, tentatively, to hope.

With a strange feeling alive in his chest, he began to make his way back towards the staircase. He’d barely gotten out of view from the kitchen, when he heard faint footsteps coming from above.

With instinctual haste, he turned his gaze toward the stairs. There was a face, a face from deep within his memories. One he had once tried to forget, lest the guilt of his actions swallow him whole. Of course, he never had succeeded. How could he have, with what he’d done. 

Evan Afton’s sad, big eyes stared back at him. What he saw in them made guilt crawl up Michael’s throat like a creeping vine. It made it’s home there, latched on hard and dug it’s way in. He didn’t know how to force it back down.

He was afraid. 

Evan was afraid of him. 

Michael had spent many long nights thinking about all the things he wished he would’ve done for his brother. He’d longed for a chance, an opportunity, a single moment, anything to make up for the things he’d done. He’d thought of all the things he’d say, he had a million apologies and a million essays pre written in his mind. A thousand useless words, words he thought he’d never have a chance to speak.

But now that he had the did, now that Evan stood in front of him, when he finally had the chance to say something, anything, after all these years… he could not force a single sound to come out of his throat. 

Instead, he simply stood there. Like an idiot. Evan was so.. Small. Everything about the way he carried himself made the child look even tinier than he already was. And god, he was so young. Evan had never made it past the age of eight. It was one thing to know that, remember it as a fact. It was another thing entirely to see it. To see just how much he truly was a child. That round face, those short, stubby limbs… A small, innocent child.

And Michael had killed him. He’d looked at this fragile thing, so precious and so easily broken… and he’d done just that. Broken.

Why did he think he even had the right to be here? What made him think he deserved a second chance?

How the hell could he be so selfish? 

He was just like his father.

While he stood there, held in place by his spiraling thoughts, Evan did not say a word. Michael knew he wasn’t going to. They were at a standstill, Evan too meek, Michael too stunned. He had to be the first to move. 

Slowly, he took a step forwards, his gaze glued firmly to the floor. For a moment, it was only his footsteps echoing against the wood floor. Soon enough, he heard Evan’s lighter movements alongside them. The two passed each other wordlessly, each deathly silent. Michael did not stop to look behind him, too afraid, too ashamed of what he’d see. He had eyes only for the cracks between the floorboards. He didn’t notice, then, that Evan’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, before he disappeared out of sight.

~~*~~

Michael laid in bed for a long time. The thought of getting up and doing anything felt insane to him. What would he even have done, if the very idea of it didn’t seem so utterly pointless? So he just laid there, listening to the sounds of the house and his venomous thoughts. 

At some point, he heard Elizabeth’s voice from downstairs. She was talking with William. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. 

He thought about Circus Baby’s Entertainment & Rental. About how stupid he’d been back then. Why was that the first memory that floated through his mind at the sound of his sister’s voice? She wasn’t baby, not really. Typical, just thinking of himself and his own suffering. She was the one who’d died. 

Someone walked up the stairs again. The sound of a door opening and closing. His best guess was that Evan had gone back up to get something. 

Michael stared up at the ceiling, and he tried not to think about anything at all. He pretended that he didn’t remember that day. That he didn’t remember the blood, or the mashine or that horrible, deafening crunch…

Michael never did inherit his father’s skill in pretending. 

He heard the front door open and close. Nobody was talking anymore. If he remembered correctly, Evan and Lizzie left for school at the same time. That meant he was alone in the house with his father. 

He stared at the ceiling, and he thought about nothing at all. Slowly, in the silence, he let the emotion drain from him. Down, down, down, till there was nothing left at all. Till he was nothing but an empty husk. It was better that way. 

~~*~~

William left for work at 8:20 am every morning. This had been the overarching truth for most of Michael’s childhood. He shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when at precisely that time, he heard the front door shut, followed by the rumbling of a car starting. A part of him had thought his father would simply… not leave. It seemed entirely counterproductive to his idea of this being some kind of specialized hell. 

Slowly, Michael was beginning to consider other options. The first was that this was some kind of dream, nightmare, whatever. That he’d fallen into a coma after the fire and… this was what he was left with in the meantime. But if that were the case, it would be the most realistic dream he’d ever had. That, and he could feel pain, smell things, time made sense… this reality bore none of the telltale sings of a dream. 

Secondly, he considered that maybe, he had finally lost his mind for good. Maybe he was just making all of this up. In the later years, after his death, he’d begun to hallucinate. He hadn’t been safe then, not even when he’d left those godforsaken jobs for the day. Who was to say this wasn’t just the next step toward grander, fuller falsehoods? While it was something he considered entirely likely, he had seen enough strange things in his lifetime to know it was better to be paranoid and safe than in denial and dead.

The third option was the least believable of them all. That he had, somehow, legitimately arrived in the 80’s. That this was all real. That he’d what, traveled back in time like the plot of some cheesy movie? It sounded impossible. Sure, Mike had seen the impossible before. But it was a specific brand of it, one that made some sort of sense to him. Souls trapped in robots was one thing. It was consistent. Time travel? That, was a whole different ordeal. 

Even still, despite his hesitation to believe that such a feat was possible… all evidence seemed to be pointing at the third option.

Chapter Text

The house was empty. Silent. Michael might not have been able to remember when exactly his siblings came home, but it wouldn’t be for a while. William would be gone even longer. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed from his little reunion with his father. But in that time, very little had happened. There was the occasional background noise, cars passing by, the clock in the hallway… and that was it. Everything was still. Calm. 

It was around 11 am when he finally forced himself out of bed. Now faced with the task of actually figuring out what to do… he found himself at a loss. He had to do something. He couldn’t just… lie in bed all day. Well, he could, but he shouldn’t . So instead he settled on idly wandering around his room with no real sense of purpose. 

To his surprise, Michael felt an odd sense of nostalgia, rummaging through his old belongings. Most of them had long since been left behind, lost or otherwise gone from his life. Of course, everything from Freddie’s filled him with nothing but disdain… but it was almost nice to see the rest of them again. 

Foxy had always been Michael’s favorite animatronic. Chica was too childish, Freddie came across too annoyingly friendly and Bonnie… well he’d just never cared for the character for whatever reason. But Foxy? Foxy was cool, he was rebellious. He was often seen playing villainous roles, but as a kid, Michael would always root for him anyway. Foxy never won, of course, but he’d swear by the fox anyway. He was 13 now, too old to find genuine amusement in these things, or so he told himself. Still, whenever foxy came on stage, he found his gaze lingering just a little longer.

Michael threw the foxy mask onto the ground hard enough for it to bounce up and against the wall before finally clattering down onto the floor. It’s empty, hollow eyes stared at him. Mocking him. A burning reminder of what he’d done. A scar that would forever mark him. Flaming red. He stared back. And he felt as that veneer of calm nothingness began to crack. 

He barely even noticed his breathing picking up pace. 

That goddamned mask. 

He hated it. Hated everything it stood for. 

It was smiling at him, with it’s hollow jaw and sharp teeth. 

It smiled with the sadistic glee of a child.

Michael just needed it to stop. To wipe that grin off it’s false face. To destroy it. Destroy it so thoroughly it had no mouth left to mock him with. He brought his foot down on the wretched thing. The plastic did not budge. It just stared at him. It did not stop smiling.

So he hit it again. 

And again. 

And again. 

As he heard it crack a grimace spread across his face. It could at best be called an expression of satisfaction, for it was certainly not one of joy. The mask had fractured down the middle of the face, dented where his foot had hit the surface. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

He picked the mask up again, and threw it against the wall. He did not wait to pound on it again. He punched it, like it could feel something. Like it could tell how much he hated it. Like he could hurt it. He tore on the fissures till the cheap plastic broke off into separate pieces. 

Soon enough, he was left panting over scraps of red, where there once had been a mask. But he could still tell what it was supposed to be. Could still spot the eyes and the mouth amidst what had been broken. 

Michael slumped onto the floor, staring silently at the fruits of his anger. 

What was he doing?  

He covered his eyes, curled up on himself as he sat on the floor. 

God, he was pathetic.

He could do nothing to quiet the sobs that escaped him. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Taking his anger out on an inanimate object. What was this supposed to achieve? Destroying the mask didn’t do anything. Didn’t change anything. He was nothing but an angry fool. 

Michael wrapped his arms around his legs. Only now that the adrenaline had begun to fade, did he begin to feel the ache in his foot and his fists. God, he was stupid. What had been the point of any of this? Why was he even here? What was he supposed to do? He buried his face against his knees and tried to ignore the fact that he was shaking. He was behaving like a child. He was supposed to be better than this. Stronger than this. He’d been through hell and back. He’d seen enough pain and horrors for multiple lifetimes. He’d survived most of them.

So why was he still so weak?

~~*~~

~~*~~

Michael burned what remained of the Foxy mask in the woods behind the house. He watched as the smoke billowed up with clenched fists, and he did not leave till cinders were all that remained.

~~*~~

Michael had returned to the bed. He’d been doing a whole lot of staring up at the ceiling in the past twelve hours… and he suspected that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. He was roused from his hazy thoughts by the distinctive creak of the front door. Though this did not get him to so much as lift up his head, it did put him on guard enough to listen to the sounds of the house once more. Most likely it was one of  his siblings, returning from school… but he couldn’t count William out, either, with how inconsistent the man’s schedule could be. So he laid there, and he listened. 

Footsteps, coming up the stairs. Too light to be his father’s, and Elizabeth was unlikely to have any business upstairs… That left Evan. 

Evan was home. 

Despite himself, Michael found himself holding his breath as he listened intently to every sound the young boy made on his way up the stairs. As Evan came closer to his room, Michael noticed a sound beyond quiet footsteps and the rustle of fabric. 

His brother was crying. 

Not loudly, not in a way that was overtly noticeable… but Michael could still hear his sniffling through the door. While Mike was frozen in his thoughts, he heard Evan enter his room. He had to do something. That’s what a good brother would do, wasn’t it? Michael had never been a good brother. That was one hell of an understatement. But.. he had to try, right? He couldn’t just leave Evan like this.

… at least he couldn’t fuck up wose than last time.

So it was that he pushed himself up and out of bed, exerting much more effort than it should reasonably have taken. As he opened the door and approached Evan’s room with all the confidence of a mouse straying too far from it’s hole, he came to realize the sniffles had become more quiet. Still audible but… barely. 

Was Evan trying to hide from him..?

That realization almost made Michael turn back. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the last thing Evan needed was to see his face. Maybe it’d just make everything worse. Almost. 

He’d told himself he’d try, after all. 

Michael drew in a deep breath, and forced his hands to still as he stared at that familiar door. 

After Evan’s death, the door to his bedroom hadn’t been opened again. Nobody dared to enter, dared to disturb the way things had been left. Nevermind clean out his belongings for some new purpose. It would’ve felt too much like accepting what had happened. Like erasing the presence of his brother. Every day, every single damn day, Michael would pass by that door. He had to, in order to get to his room. He tried not to look at it, most days. Of course, that didn’t make it magically disappear. The door would always be there, in the corner of his eye. Just like the blood on his hands could never be washed away. 

Michael opened the door.

Evan lifted his head up as soon as the door opened. His eyes were red and puffy, and as soon as he’d gotten a look at Michael, they turned to the floor. 

“Hey um…”

Michael began to speak, but could not figure out how to continue. His mouth felt dry. What was he supposed to do? What could he say?

“Are you… okay?”

He hated just how stiff and uncertain he sounded. It was all he could think to say. Such a pathetically bland thing. Regardless, it was enough to draw Evan’s gaze back to him. The boy’s brows were furrowed further in what Michael was quick to recognize as uncertainty. God, how long had it been since anyone had asked that of Evan? Since anyone had cared?

“Can I.. uh..” 

Michael gestured a vaguely circular motion with his hand, one that was highly unlikely to communicate anything other than his own awkwardness.

“Come in?”

Evan’s gaze shifted nervously, and he hugged his Fredbear plush tighter. There was a brief moment of silence, before he finally spoke. 

“O-okay..”

Soft and muffled, it was the first time Michael had heard that voice in 40 years. It took everything he had not to fall apart then and there. He had to be stronger than that. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He had to be stronger. 

Michael stepped inside the room, keeping his breathing as level as he could. He sat next to Evan on his bed. It gave a soft creak under him. “So… what happened?” He could not bring himself to look Evan in the eye, so instead his gaze landed on the blue dresser, as if there was something particularly interesting about it. 

Evan was quiet for a long time. Michael did not push him. He just stared at the dresser and fiddled with his hands. After a long, drawn out moment of awkward silence, he asked another question. “Was it the kids at school?” At this, Evan made a vague noise of affirmation. Should’ve figured. Kids could be real monsters. Hell, he’d been one himself. 

Before he had time to think on what he was saying, Michael finally turned his gaze back to Evan. “Want me to go beat em up?” He regretted those words the moment he said them. Evan looked horrified. What was he anyway, some teenage delinquent? Beating up children, really? Jesus Christ, Michael.

“I uh- Sorry nevermind. Yeah I. Guess I shouldn’t. Um. Sorry.” He fumbled back, scratching the back of his neck and coughing out a chuckle that did absolutely nothing but exasperate his poor attempt at backpedaling.

There was silence again. This time, Michael could not bear it, and so instead he figured out a course of action that would put it to as quick an end as he could manage. “You uh- you hungry? I can go see if there’s something in the kitchen?” At Evan’s weary nod, he made his way out of the room with a degree of haste he did not care to admit to. 

~~*~~

Michael had forgotten how empty the fridge always used to be… But at least he found something decent enough in the freezer. 

“Pizza okay?!” He yelled down from the kitchen, hopefully loud enough for Evan to hear. There was no objection… nor agreement… but he took it as one anyway. 

Once the pizza was heated and Michael had announced it so from the other side of the house, he watched as Evan slowly descended down the stairs. He wasn’t crying anymore, that at least came as a relief, though he had not managed to hide that he had been not too long ago. 

Evan’s darker eyes met Michael’s, and he faltered. “I can.. Do you want me to go?” 

Both brothers looked to the side, almost simultaneously. “No.. that’s okay.”

Oh. 

Michael blinked. He’d been half prepared to leave already. He’d expected Evan would want nothing to do with him. He wouldn’t have wanted his own company, with what a dick he had been back then. He’d already begun to wonder if going to talk to Evan had been a mistake after all. He supposed, maybe it hadn’t. “... Okay.”

The brothers shared a meal of soggy microwave pizza in silence. Barely any words were exchanged between the two. But once or twice, Michael found the courage to look at his brother across the table. 

It was the best meal he’d had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth was the next to arrive home. By that point, Evan had long since disappeared back into his room, and Michael was standing in the kitchen, staring at the wall. 

He wasn’t certain how he hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyes had finally spotted a small, plain calendar hanging on the wall. It only made sense to check, to figure out what time he’d gone back to, exactly. 

He wasn’t certain what he’d expected. Maybe he’d thought it’d just be blank, like some kind of dream logic. It wasn’t of course. He could read the date loud and clear. 

7th of March, 1983. 

One week before the death of Charlie. One week before everything began. 

Michael was left staring at the thing in sheer shock. One week. There was one week before Charlie turned 11. Before she became the very first life William Afton ever claimed. Before it all went to hell. 

He would have continued this staring match with the calendar for while longer, had it not been interrupted by a loud voice. 

“I’m home!” 

It called out, the voice of a young girl. Elizabeth. It nearly made Michael jump out of his skin. He’d been much too focused to even notice the front door opening and shutting. Now, as she passed him by in the hallway, he could not help but shoot a frightened look her way. It was like he had to see, had to confirm that it was really her and not… not the thing she would become. 

What met his gaze were indeed the green, very much human eyes of his sister. They looked at him with clear confusion. Not like the look in Evan’s eye, apprehension and fear, more studious, more… curious than anything. He turned his gaze away, though it seemed to do little to deter her now. 

Michael had never been close with Elizabeth growing up. Unlike Evan, she wasn’t an easy kid to pick on. She’d kick and bite and fight back all she could. That, and… she’d always been their father’s favorite. Michael had never really been sure why, but William had made little attempt to hide that fact. He was still hardly a good parent, but it was obvious he preferred her over the brothers. She got gifts she actually wanted, there was an off chance she’d be listened to. Sometimes, Michael even thought their father might actually have liked her. He certainly didn’t like Mike and Evan. 

All of this had combined into an odd sort of jealousy mixed with indifference. Michael knew he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t bully her the way he could Evan. But the way she received special treatment made him far too angry to have much of a positive relationship with her either. And so, he’d in large part simply avoided her when he could, argued and fought with her when he couldn’t. 

He’d regretted that after her death. Maybe if he’d been there, if he had cared, she wouldn’t have died at all. 

Now, the young girl was walking towards him, and he found himself at a loss for what to do. “Hey, Mike. Dad said you were sick?” She looked up at him, something of a glimmer in her eye. She didn’t seem particularly concerned, but he couldn’t blame her. 

“Uh. Yeah.” Michael fiddled with his hands and looked off to the side. He really needed to remember what his younger self’s mannerisms had been like… because he was pretty sure it wasn’t this. 

Elizabeth seemed fairly nonchalant. She simply waltzed up to the fridge and began to scan it for anything to eat. “I can tell, you look awful.” Michael couldn’t help but let out a small snort. He was sure he did, but as long as he wasn’t a rotting corpse, it was a hell of a lot better than what he was used to. “ Thanks, I know.”

He paused for a moment, watching as Elizabeth closed the fridge door with a frown on her face. “There’s pizza in the freezer.” Mike pointed out. 

Michael did not know how to feel. He was happy, of course, to see her again. Talking to her came easier than it had with Evan, with the absence of guilt looming over his head like the blade of a guillotine. And yet… he could not help but feel some deep seeded spite toward her. He hated himself for that. For not being able to look past everything and see her for the kid that she was. Elizabeth was a child. She was. And yet, the sound of her voice made him feel slightly sick every time he heard it. 

It wasn’t a one to one match with Circus Baby. But it was close. Very close. Elizabeth had killed him, once. He told himself it hadn’t been her. That the machine she’d been inside had changed her somehow. That Elizabeth wouldn’t have killed him.

But the fact of the matter was, he didn’t know that. He hadn’t known her well enough, he was ashamed to admit that, but it was true. He didn’t know if she really would have been capable of such an atrocity. The thought was there, a constant noise he could not shut out. He wanted to stamp it down, quiet it for good. She’d been a child, he told himself. She wasn’t some evil murderer. It didn’t work, though. He simply could not convince himself. Maybe, just maybe, she’d known exactly what she was doing. 

Elizabeth’s eyes were on him again. She looked at him, her head slightly tilted. It felt like she knew something.  Like she was studying him. She could tell something was off, obviously. Maybe she was trying to figure out what it was. She always had been a little too smart for her own good. “... I don’t feel great, I’m going upstairs.” Michael tried to ignore the sound of blood rushing in his ears, and hoped he didn’t sound as startled as he felt. 

Michael fled, like the coward he knew himself to be.

~~*~~

~~*~~

William came home late that day. Michael could not help but be glad for it. The absolute last thing he wanted was to see him again. He was having a hard enough time wrapping his mind around all this already. The fact that the man wasn’t a stellar parent was hardly news at this point. 

Eventually his father did arrive, a fact to which Michael would have been, perhaps blissfully so, oblivious, were it not for the noise of the car engine that could be heard outside the house. One of the things he’d found while digging through his belongings was his old Walkman- of course it wasn’t old now, technically. He’d gotten it for his twelfth birthday.. Making it in theory less than a year old. Still, it wasn’t like he’d seen the thing in decades.

While the quality and music selection weren’t exactly up to date with the inventions he’d come to see, it nonetheless provided a more than welcome distraction. Instead of just laying in bed… now he was laying in bed and listening to music. Well.. it wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was something? Certainly a little more pleasant. 

It did not surprise Michael that he had a hard time falling asleep that night. Sleep hadn’t come to him easily for most his life, well, past the bite, anyway. As he laid there, with little hope of blissful nothingness soon to come, his thoughts began to wonder. If his insane idea was right… if he really had gone back in time to 83’... that meant he had a chance to change things. 

Charlie’s death had been the catalyst for everything. The very first event to begin the domino effect that would result in the deaths of dozens. One week. If this was all real, if he really had gone back.. In one week, he could save someone’s life. 

Maybe, he could finally help someone.

So, he got to thinking. And in the dead of night, Michael set three goals for himself. Firstly, he would be a better brother. The first time around he’d been distant at best, and at worst… well... No more of that. 

Secondly, he would prevent all deaths that were to occur at Freddie’s, beginning with Charlie’s. He had a week before anything would occur. Hopefully that should be enough. 

And lastly, he had to kill William. 

That was the key to everything. William had to die. Without him, there would be no tragedy. Anything he did to push back the deaths of innocents would be in vain, so long as that bastard of a man was loose to find another victim. He would have been a liar had he said this conclusion did not bring him a sense of catharsis. It seemed correct, fitting, satisfying even, that he'd be the one to finally end his father's reign on terror. And well... the thought of seeing William suffer did bring a small, wicked smile to his face. 

How exactly he’d achieve this was a different question. Considering he was what, 12 years old, he’d face a whole lot more issues than he’d wished. Both the acquisition of dangerous items and anything requiring physical strength would be nigh impossible. 

Still, one way or another, he would find a way. 

William Afton was going to die.

Chapter Text

Michael stared at the mirror. A boy much younger than he was stared back. 

He’d half expected to wake up in the latest shitty apartment he’d holed up in that morning. Instead, he was greeted by those same old popcorn walls, and the sinking feeling that he’d been right after all. 

So there he was now, watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror one cloudy morning in 1983. He’d caught maybe three hours of sleep the night before. Not ideal, but he could deal with it. 

Though it wasn’t the first time he’d seen himself after arriving here, his childish features still took Michael off guard. Frankly, everything about his appearance did. His skin was healthy, a hell of a change from the active state of decay he was used to. No missing chunks of flesh, no random wires, nothing to point at the mess he’d eventually become. Just a regular kid with chestnut brown hair and tired eyes. 

When Michael had finally regained control of his body, one of the first things he’d done was find a mirror. He’d stared at himself for what felt like it could’ve been hours or it could’ve been half a minute. He’d tried to somehow fix the nightmare of rotting skin he now was, and when that failed, hide it as best he could. It was to no avail. There was nothing to be done. You couldn’t reverse the process, once it had begun. So he hid behind layers of clothes and fake medical conditions. He lived his life in the shadows. And he covered every mirror in his dimly lit apartment.

Michael splashed water in his face, in the vague hope it might wake him up some. He didn’t exactly feel like going to school, but he’d waisted all of his first day here doing absolutely nothing but feeling sorry for himself. That had to change. He had six days left. There was no time to waste on something so frivolous. 

~~*~~

To say he felt out of place in the halls of Hurricane Middle School would have been an understatement. It felt like a dream, the kind of nightmare about surprise tests people who weren’t severely traumatized by murderous animatronics might have. He didn’t belong here, among the colorful, childish drawings that adorned the walls and the chatter of prepubecent voices. He was wrong, out of place. He was a plastic bottle in a field of flowers. 

It didn’t matter. However uncomfortable he might feel, he’d have to make some sort of attempt to blend in. 

Michael had very little idea where exactly he was supposed to go. He could navigate the place well enough, it wasn’t that big, but knowing what classes he had several decades after he’d had them? Yeah, no. 

It was for that reason he arrived to class late. As much as feeling the eyes of a few dozen middle school kids on him made his skin crawl, this at least had the perk of not needing to awkwardly guess where the hell he was supposed to sit. With a haste only exasperated by awkwardness, he made his way to a desk near the back of the class. 

Michael could only half recognize most of the class. Old, forgotten faces of kids he’d once spent most his days with. Ones that had long since faded from his memory. The boy occupying the seat in front of him however, he remembered well. 

His name was Paul. They’d been friends, once. He supposed they still were, here. Paul grinned at him as he walked past, but Michael could not bring himself to return the gesture.

He could hardly feel all that happy to see a kid who’d helped him commit the worst mistake of his life. 

As he sat down, Paul turned around to face him, that stupid smile entirely gone from his face. Michael couldn’t tell if he was concerned or just confused. “What’s up?” Paul’s tone was hushed, though not enough so for a fairly quiet classroom. “Nothing. I just… didn’t sleep well.” Not a lie, technically speaking. Paul gave him an odd look, but before he could say anything else they were both silenced by the teacher. 

Michael was glad for it. He had little doubt he’d lose his old friends. The first time, they’d all stopped speaking after… well they’d stopped speaking. This time, he’d likely just alienate himself from them. His plans didn’t exactly leave room for casual hang outs. But that was fine. He had more important things to focus on than pretending in ernest to be twelve years old just to keep up long since doomed relationships. 

Besides, he didn’t need friends where he was going.

~~*~~

Schoolwork was extremely boring. Everything was laughably easy. The day moved on in a slow, mindnumming droll. Michael spent most of the classes doing nothing but idle doodling. It at least helped pass the time. On the breaks he spoke little and made excuses to his friends, something about being sick recently and feeling tired. He didn’t think they bought it, but what was it to him anyway. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the schoolday came to a close. It was time to begin his plans to save Charlie. 

Michael doubted his father would make any move before the party. He’d done it then for a reason. Likely the chaos caused by that many kids and activities going on. That didn’t mean he could just sit by and wait however. Though Michael may not have been too concerned with the week following up to the party, he very much was with what followed. Granting that he would successfully prevent Charlie’s murder, he highly doubted his father would just let things be. 

No, odds were he would try again. And for that, someone would need to be around, keeping her safe. That was where he came in. Charlie had been William’s first victim. Michael did not believe that to be coincidence. It made sense to target someone he knew, someone who would trust him where a stranger might not. That meant his best bet at preventing any deaths was to make sure she stayed safe. For now, at least. 

But he couldn’t just suddenly start sticking by her constantly. It wasn’t optimal, but he figured starting to hang out with her now was a better idea than waiting till the last minute. Besides, it was always a good idea to scout the playing field beforehand.

So Michael set about finding the girl in the schoolyard. 

It was surprisingly easy. As soon as she saw him approaching, the brunette waved at him and smiled. Michael had to admit… he’d missed her. Charlie was perhaps among the kindest people he’d known. Of course, she’d been only a child back then, but he really wasn’t sure he’d ever met a person quite so generous, so openly kind after her. It made the fate awaiting her all the more cruel. 

“Hey, whatcha up to?” Michael returned the gesture with a more casual wave of his own. While Charlie herself seemed nothing but happy to see him, the girl she was with, who’s name he absolutely did not remember, seemed a little more apprehensive. “Oh! Me and Susie are going to Fredbears! They finished installing that new game and I promised to show it to her!” Charlie was absolutely beaming. She leaned towards Michael and spoke in a slightly lower tone. “...And I told her we can get free pizza, but don’t tell my dad okay?” 

Susie. 

He knew that name. 

The girl beside Charlie seemed around the same age as her, maybe a bit younger. Her curly blonde hair was tied up in a high ponytail with a bright pink scrunchie. She seemed a little nervous. 

He’d never connected the name to a face before, Never known her in more than passing. 

Yet there she stood, the first of the five who would disappear at Fazbear’s pizza in two years time.

Michael forced himself to smile. “Course not.” It was difficult to appear casual, carefree. But he knew if he did not, he’d seem all the more suspicious. He couldn’t get hung up now. So he kept going, and tried to just… not think about how macabre this all was. 

“You don’t mind if I join you, do ya? Nothing better to do.” Charlie and Susie exchanged looks, and Michael tried not to feel like he should leave. “I mean it’s okay with me, but…” Michael and Charlie both shifted their gaze to Susie. Though the girl hesitated for a moment, just as he’d hoped they would, Charlie’s glistening brown eyes eventually came to convince her. She was exceptionally hard to say no to.

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

~~*~~

Charlotte’s funeral had been the last time Michael ever saw Henry. 

Michael had grown accustomed to the warm smile that always seemed to grace Henry Emily’s face. It was such a contrast to the face of stone his father wore, that it had once been almost a sanctuary of sorts. There was no sign of it left on the man’s face now. He looked… awful. The well fitting suit or combed hair did very little to hide that fact. The two did not speak aside from quiet greetings. But it was enough for him to see Henry’s eyes stare forwards blankly, as if he himself were dead. Michael would think about that sight for a long time.

Now, as he sat in the front seat of Henry’s yellow SUV, the man beside him was every bit who he remembered before that day. Every bit as warm and smiley. There was something a little awkward about the way he spoke, how he’d chatter just to fill the silence, how his words would tangent into unrelated topics. Sometimes he’d falter and realize he’d strayed too far, and stop abruptly in the middle of a sentence. Michael found it charming. William had always been the real face of the company. He had the business suits and the charisma. It was all fake, of course, but it seemed to fool most people. Where Henry was a homemade cake, rough and unevenly decorated, William was nothing but plastic. Made only for show. 

Michael spoke little during the car ride. Just enough to be present. For the most part, he just listened. Henry made it easy enough. He had to admit he wasn’t quite paying attention when the car slowed to a stop, as it took him by surprise. 

“I’ll be in the back, but you can ask any of the staff if you need me, okay?” Henry’s question was seemingly directed mostly at Susie, which made sense. Michael and Charlie would’ve already known that, after all. She nodded and smiled. The kid seemed excited. Michael had honestly kind of forgotten kids actually liked anything to do with Freddy’s. 

“Well, have fun kids!” Henry lifted his hand slightly as a goodbye, before he dissapeared through one of the doors for employees only. As much as Michael liked Henry, he was glad the man wasn’t hanging around the main area. Were Henry to notice something was up with him, he would likely be quick to mention that to William. Not a risk he was willing to take. Now that it was just him and the girls, he admittedly felt more relaxed. 

“So, what game did they install again?”

The evening was nicer than Michael had expected. They ate a disgusting amount of incredibly mediocre pizza. It was decent enough, even though he’d probably eaten so much Freddie’s pizza in his lifetime it should’ve been considered a crime already. Susie turned out to be surprisingly competitive, she kept attempting to beat Michael’s score until Henry returned to take the lot of them home. He felt kind of bad for doing as well as he had, honestly.

Michael wished he could have simply enjoyed the feeling, without the future’s dark shadow to taint it.

Chapter Text

Five days left.

Michael came home early. He was the first there. The house greeted him like the specter it should have been, with it’s vacant windows and looming walls. He stepped inside, to the tune of a creaking door, with the slowly forming plans for his father’s murder on his mind. 

In the evening he made something for Evan and Elizabeth to eat. Nothing complicated, but at least it was something other than frozen pizza. Evan was mostly silent throughout the meal, but Elizabeth kept asking him probing questions. The dry wit and indirect answers got her to stop, eventually, but they did not extinguish that gleam of curiosity from her gaze. He got Evan to laugh once with his stupid little jokes. It was by far the highlight of his day. 

It felt odd, eating dinner with his siblings so casually whilst knowing what he had planned for the future. He wondered if they’d ever understand why he’d do it. They probably wouldn’t. It was better that way. At least it’d mean they didn’t go through what they once had. 

Four days left.

Michael left his friends with an excuse and spent the lunch break alone behind the school. He did not eat. It felt easier, just him, some music to fill the silence, and the harsh concrete wall behind him. He could pretend, if only for a moment, that he was somewhere else. Maybe nowhere at all. 

As he sat there with his eyes closed and headphones on his ears, it was easy for him to miss the sound of someone else approaching the spot. It was only when the teen spoke that he realized he was no longer alone.

“Hey. This is my spot.” The kid looking down at him was significantly taller, with curly hair and a bad case of acne. He was lanky in that way teenage boys often are, as his body had not yet caught up to the rapid growth. To any normal twelve year old, it might have been intimidating. To Michael, however, it was frankly a little amusing.

“Yeah, well I don’t see your name written on it.” He said as he lowered his headphones onto his neck. 

The stranger rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off. Don’t you have any friends you can go bother?”

“I prefer it out here. It’s quiet. Was quiet, anyway.”

In a very obvious effort to annoy Michael, he sat down against that same concrete wall, and stared him dead in the eye. Michel let out an irritated groan, but he did not get up. It was still better than the crowded hallways. 

Since this did not seem to deter him, the teen tried something different. He dug out a small rectangular box from his jacket pocket. Cigarettes. 

Michael had picked up smoking when he was 15. Someone had offered, and he’d thought, what the hell. So it started. Then it became a way to piss off his dad. A pointless little act of rebellion. The man was a hypocrite, among his many other flaws. In fact, Michael would often steal his cigarettes. Then it became an addiction. He’d eventually swap it out for chewing gum, with varying success. 

Then he’d died, and trying to make healthy coiches hadn’t really felt important anymore. 

The teen looked at Michael like this should have scared or at least alarmed him, with a little half smirk and raised eyebrows. It did not. The kid was trying to seem cool, clearly. He was failing miserably. 

“How old even are you?” Michael asked instead, in a dry way that seemed rather distinctly not like something a kid his age should have asked in this situation.

The stranger just blinked at him, clearly unprepared for the reaction his little attempt had garnered, but eventually gave a straight answer, surprisingly enough. “14.” Ah, so an eighth grader. He should’ve probably guessed.

The responsible adult thing to do would’ve been to tell this kid not to start smoking. It was a terrible habit with no real benefit and a whole lot of cons. But Michael knew nothing he’d say would be convincing. God knows if some younger kid had come up to his 15 year old self and told him smoking kills he would’ve laughed them off and kept on going. 

And there was that part of him, saying, he was probably already fucked. What did it matter if he went down that same old path again. 

And he thought, what the hell. 

“Mind if I take one?”

The stranger was once again stunned. “What?”

“Well, can I?” Michael put his hand out expectantly.

The teen folded. “Sure…” Michael was surprised at how easily he’d done so. From the tough guy persona he’d tried to put up before, one would’ve expected more resistance. Maybe he’d just been caught off guard enough. He supposed he was acting quite strange… but he doubted this random kid was going to bust his whole deal so… he wasn’t going to bother pretending. 

“What’s your name anyway?” The kid fumbled with the cigarette box, opening it with obvious inexperience.

“Jerry… you?”

“Mike.”

As the teenager, Jerry, apparently, handed him a cigarette, Michael began to dig through his own pockets. “You need a lighter?” Jerry asked, doing his absolute best to appear cool and casual. Michael came to the conclusion Jerry was not a very good actor.

“I have my own.”

“You’re fucking weird, Mike.”

Three days left. 

It was a saturday. William was home, surprisingly enough. He spent most of the day locked away in his office, and Michael would not have wanted it any other way. For what remained, he avoided his father like the plague. He managed to get away with only one stilted conversation and a few extra words throughout the day. He did his best approximation of his younger self, but wether or not it was close enough for William to buy remained dreadfully unclear. His best hope was that the man was neglectful enough that he just wouldn’t notice… or care.

Frankly, the odds were pretty decent.

He spent some time with Charlie. They were alone, this time. The dark circles under his eyes must’ve been getting noticeable, because she asked him if he was okay. He lied. Of course he did. What else was there to do? He couldn’t tell her she’d be dead in three days unless he interviened. Even if it were something else, he’d not burden a child with his worries. She deserved to live a life free of such concerns. He could tell she didn’t believe him, though, from the way she kept sending concerned glances his way.

Two days left. 

There was one thing Michael had over his father, besides his knowledge from beyond the curtain of time. One thing which William had not had for any of his murders. He did not need to get away with it. 

Wether he died with the old man or got arrested for his crimes and spent the rest of his life rotting away in prison did not matter. As long as he finished the job, he didn’t care. He’d die for it, if he had to.

He would stick around till the flames cleared, till he could make sure nothing but ashes remained. 

He’d be caught, most likely. But it didn’t matter. 

Evan and Elizabeth would go to live with some distant relative or with Henry. They’d be okay. It was better that way, better without him in their lives. It wasn’t like they’d even miss him. Why would they? He’d been nothing but an asshole all his life. If anything, odds were they’d breathe a sigh of relief when he was out of their lives. 

He wondered if they’d write to him, when he was in prison.

Michael made sure he knew where they kept extra gasoline. 

One day Left. 

On the way home from school, Michael stopped by a store to buy Charlie a birthday present. It was a little last moment, but frankly he’d kind of forgotten about presents amidst all his frantic planning. He hoped she’d live long enough to open it. 

The rest of the day was largely spent in nervous pacing. He had done all he could in terms of plans. The rest was up to execution. Now, all he could do was wait. And waiting was the worst part. At least when he had plans to make, there was something to do. Something other than losing his damn mind. 

He did not leave his room, once he had entered it. Not even to eat. His nerves were far too frayed to deal with any extra stressors. 

Everything rided on tomorrow. 

If he failed, there would be blood on his hands. 

The cycle would be free to start once again. 

William would win. Dozens would die. 

And it would be his fault. 

~~*~~

Michael laid in bed late into the night, his heart pounding in his chest. He had no hope of sleep, and so he waited for the morning sun, and tried not to have another panic attack.

Chapter Text

It rained the morning of Charlie’s birthday.

Michael had fallen asleep eventually, much to his surprise. Not for very long, though. By the time his alarm clock rung he felt entirely dead and drained. Well, maybe dead was inaccurate, past experiences considered. Regardless, dragging himself out of bed that morning was akin to a herculean task. He wished he could’ve made himself a nice cup of coffee, at least that might have gained him some energy, but odds were his father was still in the kitchen, and there was no way in hell he could get away with that without coming off suspicious.

Michael laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. The events of the day were slowly making their way back to his thoughts. Not that he had truly forgotten.. It was more like they hadn’t been all he could think about.

So, today was the day. 

This was it. 

He was going to save Charlie. He was. There was no alternative. 

Michael rubbed his tired eyes, and prepared himself for a long, long day. 

~~*~~

Exhaustion weighed heavy on him all day. Had it not been for the way his heart was pounding far faster than it should’ve been, he would’ve probably fallen asleep in class. He might die of a heart attack at this rate, if the animatronics didn’t get him first. Well, it sounded like a more pleasant fate, at least.

The hours slogged by slow as ever. Michael couldn’t quite settle on if he wanted them to move slower of faster. On one hand, he would’ve loved to just remain frozen in time… for the fated hour to never arrive at all. But he knew such a fantasy to be an impossible one. Perhaps it would be better, then, that it be over and done with. That he can close his eyes and know, whatever the result is, that it is done.

It didn’t really matter, not like he could do anything to the flow of time but watch it pass.

~~*~~

Just as he had hoped, Michael managed to hitch a ride from Henry to Fredbear’s. He’d made a point of discussing the birthday with Charlie before, to make sure he knew exactly what the setup was. It hadn’t been difficult, and she’d been more than happy to excitably talk on about the plans to him. 

Though the party itself would be a little bit later, they were to arrive at Fredbear’s right after school to make preparations. Charlie had been very eager to decorate herself, apparently it got you in the right mood, or something. Michael had offered to help. 

”Michael..?” 

He shook his head slightly at the sound of Henry’s voice. 

“Oh uh. Yeah?” It was only then he realized he’d been staring absentmindedly out of the car window, instead of paying attention to anything around him. Whatever Henry had said before had gone completely over his head. This brought up a worry that had first reared it’s head in class, but now returned with a greater ferocity. He would have to be more vigilant during the party. Zoning out was not an option.

“I was just asking about school…” Henry continued speaking with little delay, though there was something slightly different about his tone.

~~*~~

Decorating with Charlie might genuinely have been a pleasant time, were it not for the events of the evening inching ever closer. Still, he forced himself to smile through it, both out of a need to blend in and a genuine desire not to ruin what could very well be her last birthday. Still, it was difficult for him to find the balloons and the confetti anything but eerie and wholly unpleasant.

Well, he didn’t exactly have the best memories of those things. 

Wether he did a good enough job or she was simply too distracted with everything going on, Charlie didn’t seem to notice him faking his way through it. Good. The last thing he needed was her getting worried. 

When the first guests began to arrive, Michael steeled himself for what was to come. He recognized some of them, notably Susie, who smiled when she saw him. He smiled back, though it surprised him a little. 

One by one, kids and parents alike entered, all wearing their best smiles, either those of politeness or genuine excitement. 

It did not take long before the pizzeria was full of kids. Laughter and childish voices filled the space of that accursed establishment. It was very loud. Loud and disorienting. It felt like listening to multiple videos playing at the same time. Michael couldn’t quite focus on any of the conversations or the voices, aside from those that yelled loud enough to cover everything else. 

Were it any other day, he would have found his way to the bathroom and tried to gather himself. But today, he would just have to tough it out. 

Michael wasn’t sure how many were genuinely Charlie’s friends, she’d had quite a few, from what he remembered. No surprise for such a kind girl. Still, basically everyone tended to get invited to parties like this… no wonder there were so many children. 

Evan had had no friends, but his party had still been full. 

Michael made it his goal to keep his eyes on her at all times. It was difficult, at moments, when she was being bombarded by guests and activities, but for the most part, he managed to do a good job of it. He could not stick by her side the entire party, but when he wasn’t right there, he was watching from a close enough distance that he could intervene where anything to occur. 

It was as he was sitting by one of the tables, sipping on a coke and keeping an eye on the girl, that to his surprise, Henry approached him. The man seemed… concerned. 

“Hey, Michael?” Though he tried to keep a light tone, Henry had always been a bit of an open book. It wasn’t difficult to tell something was up.

“Hi.” Damn it… he was blocking Michael’s view to Charlie. And he couldn’t exactly try to peer over or keep staring somewhere else without arising suspicion… He would just have to try and end this conversation as quickly as possible. 

“Are you.. Alright? You seem a little out of it today.” The soft tone Henry spoke in and the way his brow furrowed in concern almost made Michael feel bad about lying to him. Almost. 

“Oh- Yeah. I just.. Have a headache.”

Apparently that was not the right answer. Henry’s brow furrowed further. Michael honestly wasn’t sure what the man was worried about. It wasn’t like he was dying or something. “Do you need a ride home? I could call William..” 

“No-” The answer came a little too quickly. Michael could only hope his face was calm enough to fool the man. He could feel the thumping of his heart in his throat. “It’s fine, really. I promised Charlie I’d be here so I can’t just leave.” 

Henry was quiet for a short moment. In the silence Michael breathed shallow, awaiting what could doom his entire mission. Eventually, to his immense relief, Henry seemed to buy the excuse. Michael was lucky he cared for his daughter so much. Otherwise, it might have been harder to accept. “... Well okay, but if you change your mind, tell me.” Henry’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, an agonizingly long moment, but soon he was back to chatting with one of the guest’s parents, and Michael was finally look over the room of garish birthday decorations and nightmare animatronics back at Charlie.

Except she wasn’t where she’d been a moment ago. 

Michael’s eyes darted wildly through the entire establishment, searching in every table, every group of kids for a flash of brown hair or a stripey sweater. Even through his quickly rising panic, for a moment he managed to hold on to the hope she was only briefly out of sight. Hidden somewhere in the gaggles of children, behind an arcade mashine just out of sight. 

But no matter where he looked, he saw no trace of her. 

His stomach sank. 

Had he already failed?

He stood up from his seat, drink forgotten. But new angles did not grant him the result he was growing desparate for. Charlie was not behind any corner he could find, not sitting by any of the tables. She was not here.

He’d only looked away for a moment. 

Had it been too long? 

Through the overwhelming panic and the sound of blood in his ears, Michael tried to think. Where would she be? If she was still alive, that was. Could william have lured her away into the backrooms, where he had no reach? Into some hidden place he had not been told of?

No, that wasn’t right. He remembered the reports of her death, from all those years ago. 

Michael didn’t want to know anything more about Charlie’s death than he had to. He knew she had died, not just died, she had been murdered. He had heard parts of the phone conversation between his father and Henry. He knew she was dead. But he did not want to imagine it. He didn’t want the image of her corpse, mangled and bloody, in his mind. He thought, maybe if he avoided the topic entirely, he could pretend it hadn’t happened at all. Yet still, it was impossible not to hear about it. It was all everyone wanted to talk about for weeks after. How she had been murdered right behind Fredbear’s. Left to bleed out in an alleyway. Alone, cold and in pain.

That was it. Charlie had died in an alleyway. 

His gaze darted to the door. 

Outside. She had to be outside. 

Michael made a break for the door. Slower than he would have liked, thanks to everything in his way. Every child he had to dance around was a second of time lost, every second could mean the difference between life or death. He hardly noticed the looks he was getting.

Finally, finally he threw open the red double doors of Fredbear’s pizza.

And there she was. 

Charlie. Alive. Soaked and in tears, but alive. 

“Michael..!” She exclaimed in a half broken voice as a shiver ran through her. Her brown hair clung to her forehead in dripping wet strands. “What are you doing out here?” He asked in a breath, letting his shoulders finally relax. Michael made no attempt to hide the expharation in his voice. Expharation, but also relief. She was alive. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

“I-I saw a cat outside and I felt bad because… because it was alone in the rain.. B-but when I got here it ran off and- and I couldn’t get back inside-” 

It was as she spoke that Michael noticed a black car behind her. He had not watched it arrive. It had been there before he opened the doors. Waiting. He recognized that car. It was his father’s.

He was almost too late. 

Instead of replying to Charlie’s stuttering explanation, he wrapped her into a tight hug. The soft gasp she let out made it obvious she had not expected it, but regardless, the girl squeezed back. She was safe. Just barely, but she was. Charlie had not died tonight. He had done it. The hug lasted for longer than such a simple situation would have required. It was in truth not for a moment lost in the rain, but for years upon years of cold, hard metal surrounding a gentle soul. It was for the future that had once been cut short, but now had been granted another chance to continue.

It was so he could know she was still warm. Still breathing. 

He wished it could have lasted longer, but behind them, he saw a man leave the black car. He saw the pointed glare. There was something undeniably dark in those eyes. They were the eyes of a killer.

Reluctantly, he let go of Charlie, and prepared himself for whatever was to come. “Hey, why don’t you go inside? I think my dad wants to talk to me.”

He swallowed hard, as his father came ever closer. 

“And hey, enjoy your birthday.”

Chapter Text

Michael saw as the red double doors of Fredbear’s family diner closed.

Charlie had returned inside. She was safe, for now. 

As he stared down the cold gaze of his father, that fact was his only solace. Whatever was to come, at least he had saved her. He’d done something good. 

It did not stop his heart from pounding. 

The closing of those doors meant something else, too. It marked his being trapped here, outside, with his father. 

It meant he had nowhere to run. 

They hadn’t heard Charlie, they wouldn’t hear him. 

Despite the shake in his hand, Michael did not look away. There was some part of him, there always had been, that told him to stand up and fight, however stubbornly, however low his odds… even if it only ever made things worse. So he stared his father in the eye. And he held his breath. 

“What are you doing here, Michael?”

So came that harsh, cold voice. A thin veneer of calm through which it was not difficult to see the rage that boiled below. Tight. It was a tone familiar to him, a tone he had heard before. It meant his father was angry. Very, angry. He could see the slight stagger in his father’s step, the way his gaze was not quite focused. The man had been drinking.

“It’s Charlie’s birthday. We’re friends. Of course I’m here.”

Michael forced his voice not to tremble. He wouldn’t let William see him afraid. Not if he could help it. He could see the fury in those eyes. That cold flame of something inhuman, something monstrous.  He knew it unlikely that William would kill his own son. Not out of any semblance of love, but purely because it would paint a target on his own back. It would be suspicious. Besides, Charlie had just seen the two together. It would be an incredibly unwise decision. 

William was calculated. He’d never been arrested for his crimes. He wouldn’t be now. 

Yet still, as he stared at Michael in silence, with that tight frown on his face, he feared for his life. 

It was a thing far more primal than logic. Pure instinct. Prey and predator. 

He knew William was capable of murder. And he knew if he so wanted, there was nothing to stop him now. 

“You didn’t tell me you would be.” William’s voice was quiet. That did not make him fear it any less. 

Still, his reply was defiant. “Since when do you care where I am?” Michael knew it was not a wise thing to say the moment he said it. Knew there would be consequences from the way his father’s brow furrowed. He kept his gaze ever steeled. False confidence was all he had, but he leaned on it with all his weight.

In that moment, more than in any before it, Michael felt truly like the child he appeared to be. Like nothing more than a kid at the mercy of his father. He was a mouse in a corner. Small, powerless, wholly without a fighting chance. He could do nothing but accept whatever fate was coming to him. 

“We’ll talk in the car.” William didn’t sound calm anymore. Not even superficially so. The facade was cracking. 

The man took Michael by the arm and yanked him forward. For a few, futile moments he pushed back. There was nothing to be done. He was simply not strong enough. With another pull forward his resistance was rendered utterly useless. 

He felt his father’s grasp tighten in response to that small act of rebellion. It was strong enough to hurt. William did not seem to care, despite the soft noise of pain that escaped his son. Michael could feel the nails digging into his skin. It hurt. He said nothing. 

Michael sat in the passenger seat. His father was looking at him. He had not started the car. “I’m your father, Michael.” There was no love in that statement, so semblance of comfort. It was a pure statement of authority. “I have a right to know where you are.” 

It was bullshit. Of course it was. William had never cared. He’d hardly ever paid attention to his children. He was just angry. He was angry that he hadn’t been able to kill Charlie. And he was taking it out on the person who’d saved her. 

“Yeah well… you didn’t ask.” 

William turned towards Michael fully. “DON’T talk back to me!” There was a slam as he brought his fist against the dashboard. Michael flinched away, instincutally pressing himself against the car door. It was as far as he could move. There was nowhere else. He expected something more, as he trembled against the door, small and afraid.

But noting happened. 

William just stared at him. He was leaning in, close enough that Michael could smell the alcohol in his breath.

“What did I ever do to deserve a son like you.” William mumbled, at last pulling away. Michael would breathe a little freer now. He did not have a retort, this time. There was a small crack on the glass of the dashboard. For once, Michael knew better than to open his mouth.

The car came to life, breaking the heavy silence. 

William drove towards home. He drove fast. Not a word was exchanged for the entirety of the car ride, but Michael could feel his anger from the way the car moved. From how it swerved and turned with such violence he would think it was about to crash. But just at the last possible moment, it would turn again and avoid whatever had almost been hit by a terrifingly small margin. He was not certain how much of those near collisions was the alcohol and how much was anger. Whichever it was, he thought himself a dead man more than once during that ride.

By the time the house came into sight Michael was breathing heavily. He fought back the nausea of so many too-fast turns, not helped by the fear than still coursed through him. The sight of the house was almost a relief. It meant it was over. Meant he could get out of this damned car, could lock himself in his room and collapse from sheer exhaustion. Finally breathe. Rest. But as the car came to a nauseatingly sudden stop and Michael saw the look on his father’s face, he knew he was not safe yet.

William stepped out of the car without a word. Michael knew not to follow from the pointed glare he received right before. The man locked the car from the outside. There was the slightest of smiles on his face as he watched Michael through the car window. It was a cruel, cold thing. It made Michael sick to his stomach.

Silently, William began to walk away, towards the front porch and the house. He did not look back. 

Michael tried to open the door now. It would not budge. He saw William enter the house out of the corner of his eye. He tried again. And again. He pushed against the door and tugged on the handle with quick, panicked motions, but the door would not open. Nothing happened. He was stuck. He was trapped. 

He had to wait for his father to return. 

At first, Michael thought William would be back soon. He thought the man would return with some different punishment, some other way to take out his fury. He should have felt more relaxed, now that his father was gone. Instead, the thought of something else, of something worse being just around the corner rendered him unable to calm down his breathing at all. 

There was no way to tell the time. Michael didn’t have a watch on him, and even if he had it would’ve likely been too dark to read it. So he sat there, and he waited, with only the thumping of his abnormally quick heartrate for company.

But nothing happened. 

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But William did not return.

Eventually it dawned on him. This was his punishment. He was just going to be left here. There was no way to know when his father would return. The irrational, panicked part of his mind told him maybe he’d never get out at all. 

Michael tried everything he could think of to get outside. He tried every handle, searched for any kind of security switch that would unlock the doors. There was nothing. Wether that was just a fault of cars in the 80’s, or something his father had done, he did not know. Neither did he know which was worse. 

He thought about kicking open the window and climbing through. Considered it seriously, for a moment. 

But he knew if he did so, his father would be angry. It would do nothing but change this punishment for something else. What would he even do, if he got out? He couldn’t go inside. He had nowhere else to go. He was a child, he couldn’t just run away. Even if he could, what of the lives he had to save? They depended on him. And his plans depended on him being here. In this house. 

There was nothing he could do. 

The hours passed by slowly. Michael had no way to know just how slowly. But he knew one thing. William was not coming back. 

Eventually, his eyes would droop down and he would drift off to sleep as the exhaustion took over. But it never lasted, not for more than a handful of minutes. He would always awaken with a start and hitched breath. And he’d have to calm himself down enough to try again, remind himself he was fine, or as close as he could get. Then the cycle would repeat itself.

After a while, it was the cold that kept him awake. It seeped into the car from outside and crept through to his bones. It was the middle of March, and though the days were warm enough, the nights could be freezing. 

Michael curled in on himself in the best attempt he could to keep himself warm, and he tried to sleep, just so that he might pass the time. So he could be free of this hell and be warm again. Be out, again. 

~~*~~

By the time William finally came for him, the sun had already begun to rise. Michael was in terrible shape by then. He was shaking violently. He felt so weak from the cold and the exhaustion he was not entirely sure he could stand. He had been crying. 

No longer did he stare defiantly back at William. His eyes saw only the ground below him. He did not dare look up to gage the man’s expression.

No words were exchanged. 

Michael went inside the house. He did not speak to his siblings, though he heard Elizabeth in the kitchen. 

He went straight to his room. He climbed into bed, hoping desperately to shake off the cold that permeated every inch of his being. And he went to sleep.

He slept for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

When Michael woke up the day after Charlie’s birthday, it was already dark outside. He did not know what the time had been when he’d fallen asleep, had been too exhausted to even think to look at the clock before collapsing in bed. 

Now, the clock by his bedside told him it was 9:08 pm. 

He must have been asleep for well over twelve hours, though just how long exactly would remain a mystery. He felt like it too. Every bit of him was heavy. The excess sleep had rendered his mind a hazy mess, so much so he found it difficult to focus his thoughts at all. 

Though hunger gnawed at his stomach, Michael though the idea of getting up and finding himself something to eat far too exhausting. Last he’d eaten was at Charlie’s party and that was… 24 hours ago now..? Something like that. 

The thought of running into William in the kitchen left a pit in his stomach. 

For some time, those two parts of his mind debated on the course of action. He knew full well if he didn’t eat now, he’d only wake up later even more hungry. 

He tried, once, to sit up, but the way his head spun as soon as he lifted it up sent him right back down. 

It didn’t take long after that for him to give up the fight, and decide that food could wait. 

So he went back to sleep. 

~~*~~

As he would find out later, when he awoke in the middle of the night, sweaty and feeling even more miserable than he had before, Michael had developed a fever. Wether that was the fault of his night spent in the cold, excessive stress, very little sleep or sheer dumb luck, he did not know. Maybe it was all of them. 

He spent the rest of that night tossing and turning in bed. Too tired to do anything other than lay there, but having already slept far too much to continue on. Though the thought of getting up and finding something to eat did cross his mind, it was too late by then. It wouldn’t be worth the risk of waking up his father. 

The entire night was a miserable ordeal, but at least he was too delirious to remember most of it in the morning.

~~*~~

Michael waited until the car’s engine had rumbled to life and then faded into the distance before he finally got out of bed. 

The effects of his poor choices were immediately clear the moment he got up. Though he’d been sweating bullets in bed, as soon as he was no longer under the covers he found himself shivering from the cold instead. His head was pounding and for a moment it felt as if the room was spinning around him. 

Still, as much as crawling back into bed felt tempting, he had to eat something at this point. Though his thoughts were still a mess, he at the very least had enough sense to understand nothing would get better if he kept going the way he had been. So he wrapped his duvet around himself and began to slowly make his way down to the kitchen. It dragged along the floor as he walked. 

He had expected the kitchen to be empty, though in hindsight he didn’t exactly know why. Instead, Evan sat by the table, and was just pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Michael wondered if he’d been waiting until their father left too. 

There was a brief moment of awkward silence as the two stared at each other, before Michael muttered an exhausted “Mornin’.” and dispelled some of the tension. He shuffled past the table and over to the fridge. 

“Are you sick..?” Came Evan’s soft voice from behind him. The boy sounded genuinely concerned. Michael wasn’t sure why he still felt concern for someone like him, but for some reason he was glad for it. Maybe just that someone cared.

Michael’s voice was jumbled and audibly exhausted. Typically he would have made more of an effort to seem less miserable in front of Evan but… frankly he just did not have the energy. “Yeah. Cold or flu, or something.” He spoke as he looked over the contents of the fridge. Once again, it was almost completely empty. Great.

Frozen pizza again it was. He didn’t really care if it was eight in the morning. 

Now with the promise of food soon to come, Michael found the hunger somehow even more excruciating. It only took a few glances at the timer on the microwave before he decided that he might as well have some cereal while he waited, since it was already out. 

So he sat down by the table, duvet still draped over his shoulders, and poured himself a bowl. 

As he reached out to do so however, he noticed Evan was watching him. He looked worried again. “What happened to your arm?” Michael was confused for a moment, but as he followed his brother’s gaze over to his right arm, he noticed exactly what he was talking about. There were a few small, purpleish bruises where William had grabbed before. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“Oh this?” There was no way Michael could tell him the truth. He knew Evan was already afraid of their father. He did not need to make that worse. “Got into a fight at school a few days ago.” It was a believable excuse. Michael remembered well just how often he’d used to get into fights as a kid. Besides, he doubted what so distinctly appeared like the shapes of fingertips could be explained away by bumping into something.

Though Evan seemed to believe him, he was no less concerned. “Are you okay..?” His soft, hazel eyes looked up at Michael. He knew in that moment that he could not disappoint them. That he had to say whatever he could to convince his brother he was okay. 

So he put on his most convincing cocky grin, and he told another lie. “Yeah, of course. Barely hurts. Plus, I won.” Michael forced himself to sound more energetic than he was. Likely it still wasn’t that cheery but… well it was better, he hoped. He ate a spoonful of cereal, though it only really made him hungrier. That was fine, it was something until he could eat something with a little more substance.

Though this seemed to lighten Evan’s concern some, likely in part thanks to the cocky attitude Michael managed to portray, the boy clearly still didn’t like the idea. “You shouldn’t be fighting so much…” Evan looked off to the side as he spoke. Michael pretended he didn’t notice he seemed a little afraid to speak. 

“Mmm.. maybe you’re right. But I gotta stand up for myself, yeah?” Michael spoke with his mouth half-full. God, he really was starving. Evan didn’t seem convinced. “I guess…” 

“Trust me that guy had it coming. Dude was a real ass- douchebag.” Michael’s poor self-censoring got a slight chuckle out of Evan. So he kept going with the tale, fake as it was. 

Michael made up a story about how he’d fought some kid named Dave. How Dave had been talking smack about Charlie behind her back. He described the fight with vivid details and hand motions. He talked all about how Dave sucked and how he’d been planning to do something really mean. He talked about how he’d sent the kid running away in tears. Evan seemed equal parts horrified and impressed, though something told him the boy didn’t entirely buy the tall tale. Michael would count it as a victory anyway.

In some ways, the story was as much for himself as it was for Evan. Though he knew almost every word of it false, it was nice to pretend for a moment that the greatest danger he faced was just some douchey kid. That his problems could be beaten up behind the school and that’d be the end of it. It was an incredibly childish idea, of course. But at present, the threats which loomed over his head like the blade of a guillotine felt so overwhelming, so all encompassing and impossible to overcome, that he welcomed the fantasy of it. Even if it couldn’t last.

Once he’d finished the story, Evan looked at him with furrowed brows. “Are you lying..?” He asked in a rather cautious tone, as if trying to discern the truth himself. To this Michael simply shrugged. “Okay, maybe I embellished a little bit- but it’s still mostly true!” 

The Microwave beeped, interrupting their conversation. By the time Michael had taken the pizza out of the microwave, he noticed Evan had already left the table. That was right. He had school. 

Michael knew he would not be going. There was no way in hell he’d make it there and back. He was so obviously sick they’d just send him right back, even if he tried. But Evan still had to go. The amusement from before was gone now. It wasn’t difficult to tell the kid dreaded what was to come. The sight of it made him sick. Michael wished he could have gone with him. 

Even still, Michael kept on grinning. “Good luck at school! And hey, if you need me to fight anyone, just say the word.” He kept his tone light, so that it didn’t come across serious. That had scared Evan before. Though it may have sounded like a joke, Michael was completely serious. In fact, he was beginning to consider finding out what was going on on his own, if Evan wasn’t going to tell him.

There was the smallest of smiles on Evan’s face before he left the room. 

Michael decided then and there he had a new objective.

Chapter Text

Michael managed to avoid his father entirely that day. Once he had the house to himself, he thought at first about attempting to progress one of his many goals… but it became rather apparent that it wasn’t a great idea.  So instead, he holed up by the tv and let himself be swept away by mindless entertainment. It was pleasant, in a way, to do nothing at all. 

He wound up sleeping a few more hours on the couch. 

When the evening rolled around, it became much more difficult to relax. His whole idea had been to watch over Charlie in the following days to make certain nothing could happen to her. Who was to say when William would try again? No, he would. Michael was almost certain of it. And though he could hope his father would wait at least a few days, he could not be certain of it. Charlie could die, just because he was at home, watching tv, instead of doing something useful. Attempting not to let the guilt overwhelm him was a futile task. He could hardly pay attention through his worry. He could do very little to fight it.

But then William came home early. Michael scurried upstairs and out of the way before the man even made it inside the house. Had it been earlier, when Michael was the only one there, this would have only concerned him. He would have assumed the man had come to hide evidence or other such sinister purpose. But as it was, Elizabeth was already home. Michael could hear them speak, though he couldn’t make out the words. 

He very much doubted William would commit murder so early in the day and then show his face again. It didn’t leave enough time to hide evidence. They day progressed without the slightest resemblance to when Charlie had died the first time around. Michael still could not let go of the tightness in his chest, but he could at least live with it until tomorrow. 

Michael spent the rest of his day in his room. He skipped dinner. Not because he wasn’t hungry, but because he didn’t want to get out of the room. His father didn’t insist. He figured the man just didn’t care enough. Michael tried to tell himself it wasn’t because he was afraid. He didn’t quite succeed. Though he did his best to drown out the sounds of the house with music, sometimes it wouldn’t work. He found that whenever William’s voice broke through or he could hear someone walk too close to his door, his breath would hitch in his throat. The thought of seeing his father again filled Michael with an unbearable sense of dread. On a few occasions, he even began to shake.

Eventually, he had to admit to himself that it was fear, pure and simple, that kept him from leaving that room. 

~~*~~

The next morning, Michael was once again waiting to hear the care leave the driveway. He had already been awake for an hour or two, at that point. It would be time, soon. Then he could finally leave his room again. It was starting to get very, very boring in there. That, and he was hungry.

He held his breath as he began to hear footsteps ascending the staircase. He recognized them in an instance. They were not the light, cautious steps of evan, nor the quick and surprisingly loud ones of Elizabeth. They were heavier, sturdier. Slow and deliberate. William could more very quietly, when he wanted to. He didn’t want to now, it seemed.

There was no knock at the door. It simply opened. Like every door in that old house, it creaked as it did. 

There his father stood, looming in the doorframe. He was tall enough to cover most of it. Though the room was not too dark thanks to the window, the light from the hallway still cast William’s form in a slight silhouette. His shadow was stretched long along the floor.

Michael had to resist the urge to hide under the covers like a child might hide from the monster in his closet. He felt pathetic for it.

William’s voice was cold. Detached. “You’ve been missing school.” Michael blinked. Why did William care about that? Was it just an image thing? Why hadn’t he said anything before? Michael didn’t know what to do but tell the truth. His father stood expectant. “Yeah… I got sick.” William’s eyes narrowed for a long moment. It made Michael feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. 

“You should have told me.” This again? Why was his father being so attentive. It made Michael nervous, to say the least. Had he noticed something was up? Was he suspicious..? “... sorry.” 

“You’ve been sick a lot, lately.” The way William said it made is seem like an accusation. What was he supposed to say to that? He had been sick, hadn’t he? What, was he supposed to just stop? Instead of brining up any of those points, he muttered a simple and dejected “I guess so”.

There was silence. For what felt like an eternity, William just stared at him. Michael did not look up at the man, but he could feel the eyes on him. Could feel them burning a hole though him. Studying him. He could hear his heart beat and the clock tick beside him. The room felt unbelievably small.

“Don’t skip dinner today.”

Then, he was gone. The door was shut once more, and Michael was left alone at last. In such a small, quick interaction, whatever illusion of safety he’d held regarding that room had been shattered.

He laid in bed, and tried to calm his breathing down.

~~*~~

Dinner was a quiet affair. Between the four of them, only Elizabeth had a talkative bone in her. She would go on about minor details, her day, some new factoid she’d found out about. Michael tried to listen, he really did, but it was just so difficult not to tune out after a while. Honestly, it didn’t make that big of a difference wether he paid active attention or not. She’d seemingly keep going even if he didn’t really engage with the topic. His little humms and “sure”s seemed enough for her.

Despite not having been eating well, Michael didn’t have much of an appetite, with his father’s watchful gaze across the table. He was only picking at his food.

During a lull in what could very generously be called a conversation, William spoke. “How are you feeling, Michael?” For a brief moment, Michael met the man’s cold eyes. Though he had little basis for the idea, Michael felt like there was only one thing he could say. That anything else would be risky. “Better.” It wasn’t a lie, at least. Whatever he’d caught seemed to be calming down. Hopefully, enough so that he could go back to school tomorrow.

“Good.”

Their short little exchange had seemingly reminded Elizabeth of something, as she suddenly sprang to life, green eyes wide with excitements. “Daddy! Daddy! When can I see the new robots?” She spoke so loudly and suddenly that it caused Evan to jump in his seat. 

William did not mirror any of her excitement. “When everyone else does.” It was a short, stiff answer. One which certainly did not satisfy Elizabeth. “But why can’t I see them before? I know you could show them to me.” The two locked eyes. Michael wasn’t entirely certain why William seemed to like Elizabeth. She was just as argumentative as he was, possibly even more so. The only difference was that she seemed to remain calm while she did it. 

“No.” Came William’s firm answer.

“Why not?” Asked Elizabeth, just as quickly. Even in her childish whine, she was somehow much calmer than one would expect of a kid her age. 

Maybe the reason William liked her more was just because she didn’t tend to throw tantrums. Admittedly, that was a rather likable quality in a kid.

“They’re dangerous without the safety protocols properly set up.” It might have been a reasonable explanation, if Michael hadn’t known better. He looked down at his plate, if only to hide the expression of disgust on his face. As if they weren’t dangerous otherwise.

Elizabeth tried to argue her point, but it seemed clear this battle was already lost. “I could stay far away?” 

At this, William’s voice finally tensed up, marking the end of discussion. Press any farther and you’d be stepping into a minefield. “You’ll see them when Circus Baby’s opens. Don’t be impatient.” 

Circus Baby’s. At the sound of that name, Michael lost the little bit of an appetite he’d had. He stared down at his mostly uneaten meal, the thought of consuming any of it made his stomach twist. 

He stood up.

Michael could feel all three of them looking at him. “Where are you going, Michael?” It was his father’s voice, cool as ever. Michael wasn’t certain if leaving now was a good idea. In fact, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. But… he just had to go. 

“I.. don’t feel good. I’m gonna go lay down.”

William’s gaze followed him till he made it outside of the kitchen. But he didn’t say anything.

Circus Baby’s Pizza World was set to open on the 21st of May. It would supposedly be closed down soon after due to gas leaks. Of course, he knew what a load of rubbish that was. 

It was the day Elizabeth would die and become the very thing that took her life.

And seven years later Michael would find his way back to her. 

This time around, Michael hoped William would be dead and buried before the place even had a chance to open it’s doors.

That was the plan, at least.

Chapter Text

To Say Michael felt good would have been a lie. But he did feel good enough to go to school. The bar wasn’t very high, frankly. It was more a question of wether or not he could physically make it there than if he should actually go for his own well being. Still, he had a job to do. One he had neglected long enough. 

As had quickly become habit, Michael waited till his father had left home before he even got out of bed. Today, that routine was not broken. He was grateful for it. 

Downstairs he found Evan in the same place he’d been two days earlier. The boy seemed much less surprised to see him, though there was still a degree of weariness to his gaze that Michael desperately wished he didn’t see. 

He deserved that much, really. 

He tried his best not to dwell on it. “Morning, Ev.” Michael lifted a hand up in greeting. He smiled, though he didn’t feel particularly happy. He thought it might make him more disarming. It did, as it turned out. Evan returned the gesture, though his smile was small and fragile. Michael’s own became wider and truer in response. 

“Morning.” Came Evan’s soft response. Michael was looking through the fridge. It was a mute effort. “You seen Lizzie around?” He asked, settling for drinking a glass of water for breakfast. He wasn’t that hungry anyway. Evan glanced at the door. “I think she left early.” That’d make sense. Michael let out a humm of acknowledgement. He hadn’t even noticed that she tended to leave earlier… that was on him. He should’ve been paying more attention. 

For a moment, there was silence. Evan sat by the table, eating quietly, while Michael leaned against the counter and stared at his glass of water. He wasn’t sure how exactly he’d play it off but… well, he’d have to start somewhere. “I’m doing better today, gonna go back to school.” 

Evan simply looked up at him, seemingly a little uncertain. “Oh, that’s good.” Michael drew in a deep breath. Well, it was now or never. “... You wanna walk to school together?” He knew the question would sound odd. In the past, Michael had avoided being seen with his siblings outside like the plague- unless it was to torment Evan or at William’s insistence. So to willingly ask… it couldn’t sound normal. But what else could he do? He wasn’t just going to stand by the sidelines, not anymore.

Evan looked up at Michael with a weary look. He seemed afraid. Michael had to try his damndest to keep smiling. Evan probably thought this was some sort of prank… Even though he hadn’t done one of those since he’d arrived. He supposed it was a fair thing to assume, after all the time he’d been so awful to the kid. “Why..?” The question came after a long moment of stunned silence. 

Michael tried not to seem too nervous. He put the now empty glass in the sink. “Well ya know. It gets boring, right?” It seemed like a fair enough excuse.. Till he heard Evan’s reply.

“But you have a skateboard..? Wouldn’t that be faster?” 

Fuck, that was a good point, wasn’t it? Only, Michael hadn’t skated in god knows how many years. He’d frankly completely forgotten he had one at all. He hadn’t expected such a comeback, frankly he hadn’t expected so much resistance at all. On the spot, he tried to come up with something else to say.

“I just… don’t feel like it? Look I’ll buy you a chocolate bar or something on the way.” 

Apparently, that worked. Though Evan still seemed a little cautious, he agreed. The walk was mostly spent in silence. Michael kept up his part of the deal, and after they left the little corner store, Evan seemed to become a little less timid. He even spoke a little, without prompting. As they neared the school, Michael tried to spot anyone who might have been looking Evan’s way. Anyone who meant his brother harm. He didn’t catch anyone. Still, he waved his Evan goodbye, and hoped to have better luck next time. 

At least if there had been any danger, his presence seemed to have taken care of it.

~~*~~

Michael tried to pick up skating again on the weekend, since Evan had reminded him he did in fact have a skateboard. He’d long since forgotten the hobby, but given that he didn’t have a bike and he was far too young to drive, having a faster mode of transportation than walking seemed like a good idea. After all, there was no way for him to know when he’d need to get somewhere fast. So he picked up his old, beat up skateboard, and tried to learn again.

It was difficult at first. Apparently, skateboarding was not like riding a bike. He’d long since forgotten what exactly he was supposed to do, years of neglecting the activity would do that to you. But he kept on trying. A few bruises and a scraped knee later, and he found he’d gotten the hang of it- for the most part, anyway. It wasn’t that he was perfect- or even good- but he could at least get by. Stubbornly insisting to keep on going, trying again and again, and actually succeeding… it was a good feeling. At the end of the day, Michael was exhausted and his knee hurt like hell, but he felt better than he had in a very, very long time. 

~~*~~

text: our mother has been absent, ever since we founded Rome, but there’s gonna be a party when the wolf comes home

~~*~~

Paul didn’t try to talk to Michael in class anymore. He knew that was his own doing. Hell, he’d been actively distancing himself ever since he came back. It hadn’t taken very long at all, as it turned out. It didn’t make sense that it still stung. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He tried not to think about it.

During the break he made his way back to that spot behind the school. It was becoming routine, now. A little speckle of comfort among those grayish walls. It was quiet there. Well, it was when Jerry wasn’t there too. Michael could never quite tell if Jerry was happy to see him, the first few times. He’d just say something like “Oh, you again.” or “Nowhere else to be?”. Something passive aggressive enough that it could easily be taken as an invite to leave. Still, there was something that told Michael the teen didn’t entirely mean it. 

So it was, that day when he turned the corner, he saw the familiar lanky figure of Jerry leaning against the wall. Instead of his usual greetings, Michael received a brief glance and a simple “Hey.” 

More than before, Jerry seemed… happy to see him. This took Michael by surprise. He was quiet for a moment. 

“Hey. What’s up?” Michael asked, his brow slightly furrowed.

Jerry looked off to the side. “Nothin. You just fucked off for a few days so.” He shrugged. His attempt to seem casual failed completely an utterly. Had the kid been.. Worried about him? Michael blinked.

“Yeah I got sick.” Michael took his seat on the ground next to Jerry, back against the concrete wall. 

Jerry looked off to the distance. “Oh.” Michael could not help the snide smirk that crept it’s way across his face. “What, you miss me that much?” Jerry frowned in response to his shit eating grin. “No. It was just weird. God.” The defensive tone to his voice was frankly hilarious. This kid was so easy to read. “Wow, I’m honored.” Michael chuckled openly. Jerry had even less success hiding how flustered he was, somehow. “Shut up, okay..”

For a while the two just sat there in the quiet, Michael listening to music and Jerry doing.. Something, he wasn’t paying attention. Then that old craving crawled up his throat again, and Michael lowered his headphones. 

“You got smokes?”

Jerry lifted up his head and looked back at him. He shook his head. “Not today.” Michael let out a sigh. “Shame.” God knows he could’ve used one. Well, he could always use one, but that was a topic for another day. Or never. 

Michael went to put his headphones back on, but before he could, Jerry spoke again. “... Are you like, fuckin British or whatever?” Michael huffed at that. “I guess? Haven’t lived there for years.” 

There was a short moment of silence. “Your accent’s kinda dumb.” Michael had no idea what had prompted the insult from Jerry, aside from sheer teen angst, but he was absolutely going to shoot back. “And you talk like you just learned the word fuck.” 

Mike had to hold back a laugh as he watched Jerry cross his arms and mutter “No I don’t”. Jerry seemed rather offended at the face he was making. Clearly, he hid his amusement poorly. 

Michael decided to keep on going. “Adults don’t talk like that, you know.” He must have been rather annoying, as Jerry immediately shot back. “What would you know, you’re like, 12.” Though he was defensive, Michael found absolutely nothing to be afraid of in the older boy… well, technically older.

Michael looked Jerry dead in the eye. “I’m older than you.” 

The teen’s brows furrowed. He was clearly trying to wrap his mind around the concept, before eventually settling on simply not believing it. “No you’re not. I know you’re in 7th grade.” Michael simply shrugged at that. He didn’t really care if Jerry believed him. It was probably better that he didn’t. He decided to retort, instead of defending his claim. 

“Yeah well, you act like a baby.” 

~~*~~

It was becoming a routine. Michael would walk to school with Evan every morning. Sometimes they’d talk, sometimes they wouldn’t. He didn’t really mind either way. The only thing that mattered was that Evan was safe when he was around. So he kept it up. 

He’d speak with Charlie at some point in the day, check what she had planned. Whenever she went to Fredbear’s, he would be right there with her. He would not give William the opportunity to try again.. He was spending a lot more time with her than he’d used to. Frankly, it was a rather welcome change. In the moments when he briefly forgot the looming threat of his father lurking somewhere, it was a pleasant time. 

He saw Jerry quite often too. Not every day, but close enough. Sometimes he’d smoke. Well.. He’d smoke whenever Jerry had cigarettes on him. He had to admit, he kind of enjoyed the kid’s company. It was… refreshing. When the two were alone, Michael could stop pretending, if only for a moment. Jerry had nothing to do with the murders, nothing to do with Freddy’s. Michael didn’t need to lie to him. Maybe that made him look batshit insane sometimes, but what did it matter? It wasn’t like Jerry was gonna tell his dad.

So time kept moving forward. Michael was slowly getting used to his new life here. He knew he would have to break this comfortable routine at some point. Knew he would need to kill his father sooner rather than later. But for now, he felt he finally had some kind of handle on things.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong with Michael.

Henry had first noticed it at Charlie’s birthday party. Though Michael had initially seemed happy to be there, though he’d laughed along with Charlie and done his best to keep his spirits up around her… whenever the two weren’t together, his face would drop. Gone would be that facade of joy, in the blink of an eye. In those moments, Henry could see the exhaustion seep through.

Michael looked.. Well he just looked so tired. It was as if he were being held up by strings, kept upright with nothing but sheer willpower. There was a tight frown etched onto his face. Dispite his apparent exhaustion, there was a grim determination in the boy’s eyes. He was stiff as stone.

That was another thing. When he wasn’t with Charlie, Michael didn’t seem to do anything. He didn’t talk to anyone else, didn’t play any of the games. He would just… sit there. Sometimes he’d have a drink, or nibble half-heartedly at a cold slice of pizza, but that was about it.

It was only natural that Henry be worried.

Michael’s explanation did make some degree of sense. It explained why he seemed okay around Charlie- because it was her birthday and he didn’t want to disappoint her- and why the rest of the time he seemed much more out of it.

Then Charlie re-appeared, soaked and shivering. She told him she had been locked outside. That Michael had found her. That he’d been picked up by William. In his worry for his daughter, thoughts about Michael quickly faded to the background, as it became his focus to make sure she was okay and give her a good rest of her birthday. The rest of the night went well, and Henry could breathe a sigh of relief as he watched his daughter smile that brilliantly bright smile of hers.

He might have forgotten all about Michael, might have really believed what he’d said about the headache, had that been the end of his abnormal behavior.

But in the following days, he paid more attention to the boy than he had before. At least a few times a week, he would hang out with Charlie at Fredbear’s. Usually, Henry would give them both a ride there, since he’d be working anyway. Therefore he had ample opportunity to watch and make sure Michael was okay.

What he found worried him.

It wasn’t that the signs were obvious, now. It was more so that Henry knew to look for them. Michael would laugh and he’d make sharp little jokes like he always had. But sometimes, Henry would notice him drift off into his thoughts, and he’d have that same feeling of exhaustion about him. Sometimes, when there was a sudden noise or the car would take a steep turn, he’d notice Michael flinch, see the brief flash of panic in his eyes. It never lasted longer than a second. But it was there.

He would never press on the topic for long, but every time he asked Michael if everything was fine or if he felt okay, he was met with either outright denial or similar excuses to that day at the party. Every time, he believed them a little less.

~~*~~

He was having drinks with William on a Friday evening, as they often did, when Henry decided to bring up the topic.

“Hey.. is everything okay with Michael? I’ve noticed he seems a bit… tired, lately.”

William stared thoughtfully at his glass of whiskey. “Mmm.. I’m not sure, is the thing.” In the dim light of the bar, his blue eyes seemed to almost glow faintly. “Something’s different but… he won’t talk to me about it.” He shook his head. “I suppose he is almost a teenager. They don’t tend to be so forthcoming.”

Henry felt a pang of sympathy for his friend. Though he had plenty of experience with children, teens were an entirely different ordeal. One that everyone claimed was a nightmare to deal with. “Ah.. that must be hard. I’m lucky I’ve still got a few years before Charlie reaches that age.”

William let out a dry chuckle at that. “Just you wait. Well, maybe not. She’s an angel after all, not like Michael at all.” Henry punched him gently on the shoulder. “Come on now, he’s a fine kid.” William just huffed and took a sip of his drink. “Sure, sure, but he’s always been a lot to deal with.”

For some time, the topic of conversation shifted away. Henry talked about Charlie’s birthday, William talked about his own kids. It was little more than pleasant chit-chat, but Henry really didn’t mind. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, more so that the topic of conversation naturally switched it’s course. It was a few drinks later, when William brought up Michael again.

“You know… maybe you could try talking to him?”

Henry blinked at the suggestion. “Why me?” He had tried already, on more than one occasion, and all he’d gotten out of the kid was excuses. Besides, shouldn’t it be William? It was his son, after all. Why would Henry’s odds be any better?

William swirled around the liquid in his nearly empty glass. There was something somber about him. “Well… he likes you. I think it might be easier.. If it’s someone else. Less pressure.” When William took his eyes off the glass and looked instead at Henry, he felt himself soften. There was something so desperate in those eyes. Something fearful. Henry was not a man of great mental fortitude, never had been. He’d always found himself crumbling under that brilliantly blue gaze. Tonight was no exception.

“... Alright, I’ll try.”

~~*~~

Michael had joined Charlie at Fredbear’s again. Everyone had only just gotten out of the car, but Charlie had nearly made it inside the diner already.

“Michael?” Henry called out, catching both of the kids’ attention. Michael furrowed his brows slightly. “Mind if I talk to you for a bit?” Henry asked a little sheepishly. He really wasn’t great at this. Michael and Charlie exchanged a look, but eventually he nodded. “Sure..?” Henry simply smiled at this and told Charlie to go on ahead. That they’d be right behind. Well, so he hoped at least.

Michael walked back towards the car, hands in his pockets and a questioning look in his eye. He looked up at Henry wearily.

Henry took a deep breath. “Listen, uh… is everything okay?” He scratched the back of his neck. The man had always had a distaste for confrontation, but well… he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing either.

Michael narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” His nonchalant reply came with a shrug. He seemed confused at the question, though Henry wasn’t sure wether or not that was genuine. Either way, he couldn’t back off now. He’d said he’d talk to the kid, so goddamn it he was going to.

“I’ve just.. I’ve noticed you seem really tired these days.”

That comment seemed to hit something. Michael did not have an immediate retort. Instead, his gaze shifted briefly to the left, before returning to look up at Henry. When he spoke again, he seemed much less confident in his words. “Um. I guess I haven’t been sleeping that well.”

This time, it was Henry who narrowed his eyes. Why wasn’t Michael sleeping properly? It was pretty rare for kids his age to have sleeping problems, unless there was something else wrong. “Is there something bothering you?” He asked, his voice soft. He couldn’t have hid his concern if he’d tried.

It took Michael a moment before he answered. “No. It’s probably just.. There’s a dog, that keeps barking at night. Keeps me awake.” Henry didn’t believe a word of it. There was something else going on. He was sure of it.

“You can talk to me. It’s okay.”

Michael had regained some of the certainty in his voice, but it was too late now. He had already cracked, had let slip the act of confusion. His words came across more defensive than anything. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Look, your father’s getting concerned and…” From the way Michael’s gaze darkened, Henry knew that had been the wrong thing to say.

“Oh, so he put you up to this?” There was a harshness to Michael’s tone, though he did not raise his voice. Henry was beginning to understand why William had asked him to speak to Michael instead.

“No, well, yes, but…” As Henry fumbled for the right words, Michael interrupted him. “Charlie’s waiting for me. I should go.” He turned his back on the car, and walked towards the diner. Soon enough, he was inside, out of Henry’s reach.

Henry let out a heavy sigh. That’d gone well. He’d learned almost nothing, aside from the fact Michael wasn’t sleeping properly. That and that he seemed very opposed to talking about it… but he’d guessed as much already. He was left with far more questions than he was answers. Why had he been so cold at the mention of William? Maybe there’d been some kind of argument..? Henry just didn’t know.

What was he even supposed to tell William about this? And more importantly… what was it that was actually wrong? What could he do? For now… he supposed he would simply keep en eye out.

Chapter Text

It had been nearly a month since Michael had first arrived in the past. He had grown used to his youthful, and not dead, face. He’d gotten used to dancing around his father and hanging out with Jerry and Charlie. Things were… normal. For now, anyway. But he knew he could not wait much longer.

He was stalling. 

For he knew that William’s death would mean not only the end of his father, but likely his own as well. He might not die in the fire, but being labelled a juvenile arsonist and murderer was as good as death. 

He had to admit, he didn’t want to go. Not yet. There was still so much he had to do. There were things he needed to do before he was gone. Preparations to be made. He would stay a little longer. Just a little longer. 

~~*~~

Lizzie was sitting by the tv. Michael had come to learn she did that a lot, must’ve been boredom. When she wasn’t out with friends, which, unlike her brother she actually did hang out with friends, she was usually there.

Michael couldn’t help but think it was a little sad. It just seemed like she should be spending her time in some better way than watching whatever trash was on in the afternoon. Not doing something productive necessarily, just.. better for her. Not necessarily productively, just… he didn’t think this was making her happy. 

On little more than a whim, he made his way to the living room, following the sound of the television. 

“Hey Liz, whatcha watching?” She looked back up at him, seemingly not in the best mood. Michael couldn’t really blame her, not much to be excited about around here. “Don’t call me Liz. And it’s… some trivia show.”

Michael peered over the couch to see what she was talking about. It was about what one would expect from a show in the 80s. Poor set quality, corny lines and the most ungodly slow paced humor. Maybe if he’d seen the show before, it might have been saved by a sense of nostalgia… but he hadn’t.

“Fuckin hell that looks boring-”

Elizabeth looked up at him, clearly a little offended. “Hey-”

“... Sorry.”

Michael rounded the couch and basically threw himself onto it. Elizabeth glared at him with such ferocity he would have assumed his crime much greater than that. She huffed. “If it looks boring, then why are you watching?” Sound logic, but Michael found it fairly easy to dismiss. “I dunno, maybe it’ll get good?”

It did not. The questions were boring, the answers were boring, and by god, the host was boring. It wasn’t the show Michael wound up finding any humor in in and of itself- instead, he found it in nitpicking every little detail. At first, his sister seemed irritated by this, but after a moment, she joined in with a few remarks of her own. It was not long before they were both quipping back and forth, commenting on whatever they could, be it the host’s poor tupe or the fake audience reactions. 

By the end of it, the both of them where in much higher spirits. There was a crooked grin on Michael's face and Elizabeth laughed. Not the way he’d often hear, trained politeness, but her true laugh, the one that consisted of “ugly” snorts and cackles. He much preferred it. 

Michael would’ve liked to stay a little longer, but eventually he heard the rumbling of a motor outside. The noise left a pit in his stomach. 

As Michael stood up, he saw Elizabeth’s gaze follow him. “Where are you going?” The way she looked up at him with those big, green eyes of her made Michael’s fist clench inside his pocket. She didn’t want him to go. He was still for a moment, but then he heard the front door open. Michael’s nails dug into the bed of his palm. 

With a practiced groan of irritation, he said his excuses. “Gotta do my homework.” And he fled.

~~*~~

Finding out who was giving Evan trouble at school turned out to be a more difficult task than Michael had thought. It wasn’t anyone from his grade, or the one above. He hardly ever interacted with the younger kids, couldn’t approach them without coming off strange. That didn’t mean he wasn’t doing anything. He kept an eye out, whenever he could. It would only be a matter of time before he saw them. And saw them he did.

It was on an afternoon, around the time Evan usually got off school, that Michael finally caught them. 

He saw a group of kids, nine or ten years old, if he had to guess. Evan was there too. His face was scrunched up in an attempt to stop himself from crying. It didn’t seem like it’d work for much longer. One of the older kids was holding his Fredbear plush by the head. He was the tallest of the crowd, with a wicked grin on his face. The sort that Michael had once carried.

Evan looked so small, amidst the kids that surrounded him. Michael could barely hear the words he spoke, fragile and shaky. “Please give him back…” 

The bully’s grin only widened. “What, can’t your daddy get you a new one?”

“No, he’s…” Whatever Evan might have said would remain a mystery, as the boy’s already quiet words trailed off. “Please..?” There was a crack in his voice. It garnered no sympathy from the bully.

“Mmm… I think I’ll keep it, what do you say?” There was cheering and laughter in part of the bully’s friends. Michael could not make out their words. That was when Evan finally acted. He made an attempt to reach out, to grab the plush. In response, the bully held up Fredbear high up where Evan could not reach it. But he wasn’t that much taller. Evan could still reach, at least he could try. And try he did, reaching up towards it’s foot. His small fingers reached towards the soft golden fabric. He almost managed to grasp onto it. Almost. The bully shoved him away. Evan hit the groud with a thud and a cry. Tears were streaming down his face now. Michael could see red around his elbow.

Michael was running. “HEY!” The kids turned their heads towards him. “The hell are you doing?” Fury came bubbling to the surface. 

The bully glanced back at his friends, uncertain. He did not let go of the plush. “Who are you?”

“I’m his brother, you piece of shit.”

Michael grabbed hold of the Fredbear plush’s leg. The bully did not let go. Though he seemed much less cocky now. Michael could see the fear in his eyes, but he felt no sympathy for the boy. He couldn’t, not towards someone who’d hurt Evan. It did nothing to calm his fury. Michael brought up his free hand. It came crashing down on the younger boy’s face. 

There was a loud ripping noise as the boy went stumbling back. In his hand, Michael held the severed leg of the Fredbear plush. The rest of it had fallen, down into the dirt on the ground. 

The horrified look on Evan’s face was what snapped him out of his blind rage. 

The bully was holding his face, staring up at Michael. He looked at him like he was a monster. He clenched his fist and returned the boy’s stare. “You touch my brother again and I’ll do a lot more than that.”

Though the kid muttered something that Michael did not hear, he and his friends went slinking away soon enough. Michael was left alone with his brother and the broken plush. 

Michael reached down to pick up the other half and dusted off some of the dirt. It drifted slowly back down to the ground. His gaze shifted between Evan and the plush. Where he had hoped his intervention would make his brother happier… the boy was still sobbing. “I… it’s okay, I can fix him.”

“Y-you know how to sow..?” Came Evan’s voice, quiet and sniffly.

It had turned out the maintenance of a body slowly falling apart was a rather difficult task. The wounds ennard had inflicted upon Michael, it felt generous to even refer to them as wounds, would not stay closed. They would not heal, could not, given he was effectively dead. And so he had to learn how to keep them closed himself, lest what remained of his guts come spilling out. It was a long and painful ordeal, but he got the hang of it. Eventually.

“Yeah! For um… patches and things.” Evan seemed a little confused, but by the way he made a futile attempt to wipe away his tears and muttered a quiet okay, Michael got the sense he at least did not outright disbelieve his words. 

Michael’s gaze found it’s way to Evan’s elbow, which had hit the ground when he’d been pushed down by the bully. It had a nasty scrape on it, speckled with loose dirt and streaks of blood. 

He offered his hand to help Evan up. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

~~*~~

Michael could only find red string in the house, though he searched it up and down. Evan sat on his bed as Michael stitched Fredbear back up, on occasion he’d rub his newly bandaged elbow. He did not say a word, though every once in a while, Michael would hear a sniffle. 

He tried his best, but he stitches were still messy and obvious, Michael had never been too focused on the aesthetic appeal of his stitches, after all. At least he could feel confident they’d hold. Soon enough, the plush was in one piece again. He presented it to his brother, a small smile on his face that he could only hope hid his uncertainty. 

He watched as Evan ran his fingers over the newly attached leg. Michael felt a pang of guilt for not being able to return the teddy back to it’s former glory. Instead of expressing this, however, he simply grinned wider. “It’s like a battle scar! It means he’s strong.” Evan looked up at him. “You think so?” Michael could tell he wasn’t quite convinced… but he was on the right path. 

“Yeah! It makes him look cool. Besides, scars aren’t a bad thing! They just mean you survived something rough. It’s like… a symbol of resistance. ” 

He found himself holding his breath as Evan examined the stitches closer. He couldn’t quite tell if he’d gotten it right, if he’d been convincing enough. If he’d gone enough.

But then Evan leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Michael, all the while still holding onto the plush. “Thank you Mikey…” Had he not been so close, he may not have heard Evan’s voice at all. His over the top grin dropped, and for a moment, he was still, startled in part by the sudden sensation, too taken aback to act immediately. But it was only for a moment. 

As he pulled Evan into a hug of his own, Michael could feel his eyes welling up. He held his brother tight, for the first time in decades. Held him for all the years he hadn’t been able to, for all the regrets of his past self. And he swore to himself, swore it on his life, that he would not let anything bad happen to Evan. Not again.

Chapter Text

Michael would up getting detention the next day. As it turned out, the damn brat had told on him. And unlike Evan who’s injuries could easily be explained as a fall… well, his punch had left a pretty obvious bruise. Still, he could hardly find himself regretting what he’d done. He could only hope it would be enough to get the bullies off Evan’s back. Well, at least they’d know they couldn’t keep picking on him without consequences anymore. 

To his surprise, a familiar face awaited him in the classroom. Jerry sat at a desk by the window, leaning against his hand and seemingly lost in thought. 

“So… what’d you do?” Michael’s question made the older boy jump slightly, but he collected himself relatively quickly. “Got caught with cigarettes.” Jerry grumbled. Michael felt a little guilty for that, he had sort of been encouraging the habit after all… but it wasn’t him who’d first started it. “Damn.”

“You?” It came Jerry’s turn to ask with a quirked up brow. 

Michael shrugged, but he could not help the slight smirk on his face. “Punched some kid. He had it coming.”

Detention was… well it was detention. It was boring as all hell and went by incredibly slowly. Michael’s only real sense of entertainment was exchanging looks and scraps of paper with Jerry every time the teacher watching over them averted her gaze. 

But as it always does, that slow droll eventually came to an end. 

As it turned out, detention didn’t exactly end up making either kid less of a rulebreaker. As soon as they were out of the teacher’s earshot, a rather objectionable conversation began.

“So… where do you get your smokes anyway?” Michael asked in passing. It had occurred to him it might be nice to have a secondary source… lest he start stealing from his father again. 

Jerry rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s this high school dude I buy them from… he usually hangs out at the 7 11. And I mean… sometimes I just shoplift em, ya know?” He shot a look back at Michael. He was clearly seeking approval, some sort of signal that he was cool. Ironic, considering he’d deemed Mike so lame before. 

A thought occurred to Michael. He grinned, returning Jerry’s gaze with a rather mischievous look of his own. “That sounds like it’d be a lot easier with two people.”

~~*~~

Compared to what he was used to, shoplifting was a rather easy task. Michael had rather good reflexes at this point, force of habit really, and so it did not take him much effort to catch a good moment when nobody was watching to swipe a pack or two. Jerry worked as lookout, though as it turned out that hadn’t really been necessary, not with Michael’s skill.

Once they reached outside, Jerry leaned down slightly. “You get some..?”

“Yup.” Michael dug into his pockets and grabbed one of the packs. “One for you and one for me.” He tossed the pack at Jerry, who managed to catch it properly this time. Maybe he’d learned from the skateboard. “Nice.”

Jerry looked off to the side for a brief moment. “Hey… you got somewhere to be today?” Michael blinked at the question. Truthfully, he did not. Charlie wouldn’t be at Fredbear’s today, and his siblings would be fine on their own. After thinking on it for a moment, he gave an honest response. “Nah.”

“You wanna hang out then?” 

“Sure but.. Where would we go?” Michael could have offered Fredbear’s, or even his home, but he didn’t like the idea of subjecting the only person he knew who had nothing to do with the franchise to it. Nobody else needed to get hurt. 

“I know a pretty cool place.” 

~~*~~

It turned out that Jerry’s cool place was a junkyard. There was a hole in the wire fence that allowed the two to climb through, covered by a loose board. The place willed with broken bottles and shells of old cars. It was certainly not the kind of place kids should be hanging out… but kids weren’t supposed to shoplift or smoke either. Michael would’ve been lying if he’d said he didn’t like it. Not that a pile or garbage was all that inviting, but… the place had a sort of isolated feeling to it. Somewhere lost, forgotten. Quiet. 

“I didn’t even know this was here.” Michael looked the place over as he spoke. 

Jeremy was grinning like an idiot now. The teen was absolutely gleaming with pride. “Not a lot of people do. Nobody ever comes here, so you can do whatever you want! Plus, sometimes you can find cool shit!” He made an attempt to find something to consolidate his point, but rummaging through the rubbish seemed to yield no results.

Michael glanced behind himself, back at the entrance. “It’s kind of a long walk, though.” The junkyard was located at the edge of town, naturally. It was why it was so secluded… but that also made it kind of a pain to get to.

Jerry shrugged, still trying to find something to show off, by the looks of it. “Yeah well, I don’t have a bike.”

“You could get a skateboard?” Mike suggested, putting down his own board as he watched Jerry go about his fruitless search.

“Where’d I get the money? Besides, I can’t even fuckin ride one.” Jerry peered inside the broken window of a car.

“You wanna try mine?” That finally got Jerry’s attention back to Michael.

Jerry was far from a natural. Michael had thought he’d been clumsy re-learning a long forgotten hobby as he had, but comparatively he’d been Tony Hawk himself. He laughed at Jerry’s amature mistakes as if he hadn’t been making the same ones himself not very long ago. Jerry would always turn red and mumble something about hitting a rock. Michael just found it funnier. Still, he kept trying stubbornly. Michael gave him what tips he could. Nobody could deny he was helpful… but he did let a few things slide, just because it was funny. 

Their little mock attempt came to an end when Jerry went flying off the board and scraped his knees bad enough that Michael couldn’t help but wince. It was sheer dumb luck he hadn’t hit one of the pieces of shattered glass. “You algith?!” 

“Yeah-” Jerry waved his hand in dismissal, but the broken skin on his palm and the hiss of pain he let out were enough for Michael to disregard what he’d said. “Hold on I have bandages-” He began to rummage through his schoolbag. “You just keep those on you?” Jerry began to make his way towards Michael, making a very obvious attempt to move without the fabric of his jeans rubbing against his knees. “I get into a lot of fights.” Michael shrugged, but he did not look up from his bag. Not necessarily untrue, but it was not the reason he had made the choice to keep bandages on him… in truth they were for Evan, were he to be injured in school again. 

“Oh.” Jerry looked at him with a degree of admiration that Michael didn’t really understand. He tossed the teen a roll of bandages. He managed to catch it, though it was a clumsy catch. 

“Thanks.”

The two sat on the hood of a broken down car, both were smoking, though Mike was already on his third cigarette and Jerry had barely lit up the first. He stared out into the piles of junk in front of them. 

It was nice, in a strange way, to pretend like he was nothing but an irresponsible teenager- even though technically Michael mwas still a few months away from even being a teen- It was just… pleasant, to not have to feel as if the weight of the world lay on your shoulders. To not worry about the consequences, if only for a moment. He leaned back, though not enough to touch the cracked windshield, lest it shatter behind him.

“You’re going to highschool next year, yeah?” 

Jerry looked off to the side. “Mhm.” There was something melancholic in his eyes. 

Michael hummed. For a moment, he wished he could have followed Jerry there. But needed to stay behind. There were people he had to protect, after all.

“That’s too bad. It’ll be boring without you.”

~~*~~

It was late in the evening when Michael returned home. He felt a sense of relief at William’s car missing in the driveway. It meant he wouldn’t have to deal with his father on arrival. The less he saw of that man, the better. 

As he closed the front door behind him, he could hear the noise of the tv through the walls. Someone was watching it in the kitchen. Given that it wasn’t his father, as he wasn’t home, Michael figured it must have been Elizabeth. Evan didn’t watch Tv often. Probably because he didn’t like going out of his room much… poor kid. 

He propped his skateboard against the wall and began to make his way towards the living room. Though he could vaguely hear it’s slightly distorted voices, he was not so close as to make out what they said. “Oy, Liz! What’s on tv?” Michael expected Elizabeth to yell something back, to complain of the nickname… anything. Instead he was met with dead silence. 

Maybe someone had left the tv running? It was the most plausible explanation. Yet still, Michael felt a pit in his stomach as he opened the living room door. 

Elizabeth sat alone on the couch. She was staring at the screen, painted in sickly blueish tones by it’s unnatural light. It was dark, in that room. No other light was on.

“Liz..?” At that, she finally seemed to notice him. Elizabeth gave her brother only a brief glance, before her gaze returned to the tv, as if drawn there by some force. “She… she was in my class…” He could barely hear her quiet muttering under the noise of the tv. “Who was..?” He felt sick now. Dread filled every inch of his being. 

Michael took several steps towards her, before his gaze was eventually drawn to the screen as well. 

There was a news broadcast. A blonde woman in a professional cardigan stared at the camera. On the top left corner of the screen, there was a picture of Susie. She was smiling. 

“... Eight year old Susanna Mckenzie was found dead behind a local pizza restaurant…”

Finally, he could hear what the woman on the tv was saying. The floodgates burst. He didn’t know what to do, but to stare blankly at the screen, as his sister had before him. 

“… authorities have yet to arrest a suspect …” 

He could hardly hear what the woman on the tv was saying anymore. Her words became a meaningless jumble to his ears. A veil of fog which only specific words could cut their way though. 

“... likely murder…”

Susie. Susie wasn’t supposed to die. Not yet. She was supposed to have two more years, at least. She was supposed to have time.

She wasn’t supposed to die at all. That’s why he was here, wasn’t it? To stop it? To stop it all? 

But Susie was dead. She was dead, he had not saved her.

He had failed.

Chapter Text

Michael should have sat down beside her, should have said some words of comfort to his sister, who was still staring wide-eyed at the tv. But he couldn’t. He could hardly even recognize that she was there, couldn’t hear the voice of the reporter at all anymore. It was all wite noise and a blurry room. 

Elizabeth said something. He couldn’t tell what. She looked worried. Michael wasn’t even sure if he was breathing. He held onto the nearest thing he could, something soft that yielded under him, but did not collapse. The side of the couch. Right. 

It was as if the room were spinning around him, stopping for nothing, merciless. He thought he might fall, were it not for the couch to support him. A part of him hoped he would, hoped he might stumble into nothingness, so at least he would be free. Free of feeling as if someone was gripping his heart in their fist. Crushing it. Not hard enough to kill him, for that too would be some form of release. Just hard enough that he couldn’t breathe. 

Elizabeth was looking at him now. 

He slumped down onto the floor, his back against the side of the couch. The floor was cold. He sat there, with his arms around his legs, staring unseeing for an unknown duration of time. 

His thoughts were an endless loop, the same few thoughts repeating over, and over and over. Relentless.

Susie is dead. 

Susie is dead. 

Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead. Susie is dead.  Susie is dead. Susie is dead. 

And it’s your fault. 

It’s your fault. 

It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

It’s your-

Elizabeth was looking at him.

But wasn’t she on the couch? 

Oh. She’d moved.

She was saying his name. 

That’s what she’d been saying. 

She looked so worried.

Elizabeth put her hands on his shoulders. Finally, he could hear again. “Michael..? Can you hear me, Michael?” 

Michael blinked, trying to regain some control of his mind. “Sorry.. I uhm…” His words came out slow and sluggish. He didn’t even manage to finish a sentence.

“Are you okay..?” 

Michael’s mouth felt dry. “Yeah, yeah. I just. Zoned out. Yeah.”

Elizabeth’s voice was quiet. Almost a whisper. Wasn’t it supposed to be his job to worry? Couldn’t even do that right, it seemed. “Are you sure.. You look pale..”

“Yeah. Mhm. I… I’m just gonna go. Up. To my room.” It wasn’t believable. Michael knew it wasn’t. 

Elizabeth’s green eyes watched him wearily. “O…kay?” It was obvious his sister didn’t buy it. But what else could he say? He had to get out. Back to his room. Back to the one place he might feel some semblance of safety. 

Where he might hide away in his shame.

Michael Began to move. He leveraged himself upwards with the couch’s arm, and though he still felt faint, he knew he could at least make it up the stairs. Without another word, he began to make his way towards the hall. 

God, that’d been stupid. 

Elizabeth would know something was up. He’d reacted way too strongly. He’d barely known Susie. It made no sense for him to freak out. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He couldn’t get anything right, could he. Not the first time, not this time. Why had he thought he could? Just another bout of foolishness on his part.

His spiraling thoughts might have swallowed him whole, sent him into another state of dizzying panic, had it not been for the creak of the front door swinging open and the sight of the man who stood behind it.

In a flash, reality came flooding back to him, as if a switch had been turned. 

The buzzing of static turned to white hot anger in the blink of an eye.

Michael saw only a brief glimpse of his father in the doorway, but it was enough for his hand to curl into a fist. The man was smiling. It was a wide, wicked thing. All crooked teeth and bad intentions. But the worst part? The thing that made that fist tighten till his nails dug deep into his skin? Michael could tell it was genuine. This, what he had done, it gave him some sort of sick satisfaction. He enjoyed it. 

More than anything, he looked alive. Exhilarated. Like a statue come to life, where once he had been rigid, carved of stone, now the man was fluid and full of energy. A wild beast on a hunt. A predator set loose. 

His hair was messy and his clothes were wrinkled. But they were clean. Michael suspected he'd changed recently. Couldn't come home with a little girl's blood all over him, after all.

For a moment, they locked eyes. That blue gaze of his father was perhaps the most vibrant he’d ever seen it. 

“Evening, Mike.” William spoke, and he sounded so… happy. A little out of breath, a little tense. But happy. 

He was happy.

A girl was dead because of him, and the sick bastard was happy.

“Evening.” Michael mumbled, and turned his back to the man. 

He had to. He had to turn away, had to leave, lest he do something stupid. He could feel the anger burning inside him, the flames threatening to devour him whole. He knew the longer he looked at his father, the stronger they would grow. And he wasn’t sure what he’d do if that fire became an inferno. 

He might do something stupid. He might try to attack like a rabid dog. And if he did, it would only ever make him look foolish. Not to mention suspicious. He had no choice, no choice but to leave. To convince himself his time would come, that he would get his revenge, someday. That he would see this monster burn. Just not today.

So he bit his tongue, and he did not look behind him.

~~*~~

Michael didn’t try to sleep that night. Alone in his room, without the face of his father to stoke the flames, the fire faded. Fury gave way to crushing numbness, as the anger he felt turned inward, turned to his own failure. For a while, he did nothing but stare blindly forward. Later, he would not remember what he’d thought about then. It was as if time simply moved past without him. 

Then it was night, the moon high up in the sky, and Michael didn’t know what to do with himself.

He could still see the corner of the pack of cigarettes he’d stolen earlier, peaking out from the pocket of his jacket. He’d tossed it carelessly on the floor, sometime after coming back. He didn’t remember when. 

When he was younger, Michael had gotten into the habit of sneaking out at night. His bedroom was on the second floor, but if you climbed out of the window, walked a little ways along the roof, and then used the drainpipe to leverage yourself against the first floor-windowsill, you could make it down. He’d learned that little trick when William locked him in his room for a night. 

Once, he’d slipped and fallen down hard enough to break his ankle. William had jammed the window shut, after that.

But that had not happened yet. The window opened before him with little more than a gentle creak. The night air felt cold against his skin. Tonight, he was not running. He might have, had he had somewhere to go. Instead, As he climbed up onto the windowsill, he hoisted himself up and sideways, and onto the dark tile roof. 

He couldn’t see much, despite his high vantagepoint. The moon was half covered by dark clouds. The stars were dull tonight. The trees nothing but an endless sea of jagged edges. He sat down on the harsh, cold tiles. Staring aimlessly forward. He did not care that the wind made the hair on his arms stand up, did not care that the tiles shifted dangerously below him.

He reached into his pocket, and he lit a cigarette.

He couldn’t get Susie’s face out of his mind. He’d never known her much. But he’d known her enough, enough to know she was… real. To know she had a monster appetite and a competitive spirit, hidden behind a timid exterior. To know she loved the color pink, and would defend it to anyone who dared say otherwise. 

She’d had friends. She’d had a family. He’d met her mother, once. They’d had the same frizzy blonde hair. She’d smiled at him. 

She wouldn’t have, had she known who he was. He knew that.

Michael held the lighter in his shaking hands. In the reflection of it's red plastic case he could see his hazy form stare back at him. He had the same eyes as his father. Just like everyone always said he did. He’d heard it ever since he was young. His mother had said it, too. Before she left. She’d said “Mikey, be glad you got your father’s eyes, they’re so much prettier than mine”. He hadn’t believed that, not even back then. Her eyes had been hazel, like Evan’s. 

With every passing year, the hatred he felt for those blue eyes of his only grew. He was almost glad, as much as he was horrified, when they weren’t the ones he saw in the mirror anymore. 

Michael pressed down on the ignition. Watched the flame dance gently atop the metal. He could feel the heat in his fingertips. 

He could do it now. He could burn it all down. All of it. Burn.. he could watch it burn. Could rid the world of that monster he so resembled. His fingers twitched with anticipation. All he had to do was light a fire. That was the one thing he knew how to do right. 

And oh, he wanted to. More than anything else.

The light flickered out. But he couldn't. Not when his siblings were still in the house. He could not put them in danger. He had to bide his time. Wait or figure out another way. There were no other options. Whatever the flame had awakened in him, that brief moment of righteous fury, it had gone out with it.

Michael lit another cigarette. 

He watched the smoke billow up, up, up. Like a thin strip of lace, dancing through the air. 

Where had he gone wrong? He’d thought Charlie was special. Thought her connection to William, her trust in him, had made her the first victim. Easy prey. And maybe it had, the first time around. He’d changed that, hadn’t he? She hadn’t been… easy… Anymore. 

It had been naive to think he had time. That William wouldn’t just pick another victim. Another innocent face out of the crowd. 

“Ah-” What little remained of the cigarette fell out of Michael’s hand, nothing but a few sparks in the night. He’d forgotten about it. Had let it burn till it hit his fingers. He could feel the vague, burning pain now. But even that felt… dull. Unreal. He stared at his hand, focused on the small, red mark. 

He really was a fool.

~~*~~

Michael stayed up on that roof for a long time. He stayed till the cold numbed his fingers and nothing remained of his pack of stolen cigarettes.

Chapter Text

The morning after Susie’s death, Michael made a decision.

The murder of his father could not wait. The timeline had already changed, there was no real way to know what would happen next. All waiting around would do was increase the odds of another dead child. Of more blood to stain his already crimson hands. 

William Afton had to die. As soon as possible.

He was resolute in this knowledge, as much as he could be in anything. His mind still muddied by thoughts of a rather unkind nature and a night of no rest, it was a rare moment of clarity. 

As he sat up in his bed to the sound of his father’s car, a rather pointless gesture given he’d not slept a single minute that night, Michael began to cough. It was a violent outburst, one which left him out of breath and his throat scratchy. Even once it was long over, continued to sit there, drawing in raspy, exasperated breaths. 

He hadn’t thought the cigarettes would catch up to him so quickly. 

But then, he supposed this body wasn’t used to smoking so much. 

Instinctively, his gaze shot to the pocket of his jacket, where the pack he’d emptied yesterday still sat, stashed away to be disposed of where nobody else would discover it. 

The pain in his throat didn’t stop him from wishing he had some left to smoke. 

Michael dragged himself to the bathroom, his body a sluggish, heavy thing, and he forced his mind to focus. 

He had to plan his next move.

The largest hurdle in his way was not the method nor opportunity, but collateral damage. His siblings. They had to be safe, somewhere where the fire could not touch them. Free from the damage he would undoubtedly cause. As much as they ever could be. He could not spare them the trauma of losing their father, though he believed it ultimately a service more than a tragedy, but he could at least make it so they didn’t see it. Or get hurt in the process.

Michael’s icy blue eyes stared back at him from across the bathroom sink. They were hazy from exhaustion and unfocused thoughts, and he couldn’t force himself to look determined. Not the way he wanted to. The violent purple bruising below his eyes was starting to be more and more noticeable by the day.

Michael closed his eyes, and tried to keep his thoughts on track.

The problem was, how? While Elizabeth had friends she could spend the night at, and fairly often did, Evan was another question entirely. He didn’t have friends. Sure, Michael could have waited around till he was somewhere else to strike, but how often would such an opportunity appear? He was done waiting. There was only one person with whom Evan could spend the night instead of staying home. Henry. 

Evan wasn’t close with Charlie, nor did he spend time with Henry often, and so Michael struggled to think of why he might be convinced to stay the night. But then, Evan wasn’t one to push back too much. As much as he didn’t want to, Michael suspected it wouldn’t take much before he gave in. It would be better for him, in the end. 

He let out a long, exhausted sigh. There was only so far plans would get him. It was the time to act.

~~*~~

Michael spent every single day of the following week at Fredbear’s. If his father would kill again, it would be there. If he could be sure of anything in regards to the murders, it was that. William had never, not once, killed far from one of the restaurants. Currently, this was the only one. That did little to ease the pit in his stomach. Things had changed once, why not again? Who was to change William wouldn’t just pick another spot? If he did, everything Michael knew would be thrown out the window. Every chance he had of preventing unknown deaths made impossible.

This was all he had. All he could do. 

So every single day, Michael went to Fredbear’s. He sat at the cheap plastic tables, listened to the same old songs, ate the same bland, greasy pizza, and he watched his father like a hawk. 

Charlie was never there anymore. He missed her cheerful remarks, missed her small, gentle smile. Hell, he even missed her worrying about him, even if it always ended up in him lying through his teeth.

Though he didn’t see his daughter anymore, Henry was a common sight. Michael couldn’t help but notice the way the man’s gaze would linger on him longer and longer, how the tone he’d take on when speaking to Michael would become softer, more concerned every time the two saw each other. 

Henry didn’t keep asking if he was okay, though Michael half expected him to every time the man opened his mouth. Instead, he’d offer small, kind gestures throughout the day. He’d make small talk, get him drinks and snacks and ask about his day. Michael wished he could have appreciated it. Wished Henry’s kind eyes would have been a comfort, and not simply another source of guilt. 

When Henry sat next to him, leaned against the table and smiled, it made Michael want to scream. 

When he brought him a can of Dr. Pepper, because he knew that was Michael’s soda of choice, because he knew he needed it, it made his heart twist into knots. 

Because he knew, he knew Henry wouldn’t be doing this, not if he knew. 

Not if he knew that it was Michael’s fault a girl was dead. 

Not if he knew Charlie had nearly died because of him. 

Not if he knew she was now suffering because of a murder he couldn’t prevent. 

So he accepted the smiles and the snacks and the conversation through gritted teeth, and he tried not to drown in the guilt they buried him in.

It was during one of these routine moments of Henry stopping to check up on him, sometime in the evening, when William was safely within his line of sight, that Michael decided to shoot his shot at getting Evan out of the house. 

Henry sat opposite him, drinking a coffee out of a branded fredbear mug. His large, rectangular glasses sat low on his face, threatening to slip off at any moment. Michael wasn’t sure what the coffee at Fredbear’s tasted like, but if it was anything near the sewage water of the Fazbear locations’, he was surprised Henry could drink it with a straight face. 

Michael drew in a deep breath, and readied himself for a conversation that just might decide the fate of his plan. “Hey uh.. How’s Charlie doing, any better?” He couldn’t look Henry in the eye, as he asked that question. Instead his eyes traced the top of the soda can on the table in front of him. 

“Well, it’s a hard thing. She’s… going through a lot, right now.” Even though he did not look at Henry, he could hear the way his voice quieted. An indirect answer, but one that told him just as much as a simple ‘no’ would have. 

The knife in Michael’s gut twisted, as he spoke his next words. “Yeah… I was thinking, you know it’s been a while since I saw her… so maybe I could come over? Bring the twins too. Maybe she could use the company..?” It felt… wrong. To use the misfortune he had let take place, let hurt Charlie, as a way to further his own goals. But what could he do? What other way in did he have? A part of him hoped that if Charlie had come back with him, the Charlie William had killed, that she would have understood. 

Henry’s voice became soft again, as he heard the suggestion. He looked down at his coffee mug. “I… can ask her, but I doubt she’d be ready to see any friends yet.” Michael’s stomach sank. 

It was precisely the softness in Henry’s voice that told him just how unlikely his chances of success were. It was that accursed tone, the one he used when he knew he was letting someone down. The one that practically begged him not to be mad or disappointed. The “let them down easy” voice. Michael knew it all too well. Unlike William, Henry rarely ever yelled. Instead, it was that tone of his that would make an appearance, and it always marked a dead end.

Though he knew the battle was more than likely lost, Michael made one last futile effort to fulfill his plan. “I just don’t think she should be alone…” And it was true, he didn’t think she should be. But he also knew his plan included him staying behind late, and burning down his home with his father still inside. Even if his plan worked, he would not be seeing Charlie anytime soon.

But it wasn’t going to. Henry shook his head. “I know.. And it’s considerate of you, it really is, but… she just needs a bit more time.” His voice did not change. Michael knew that this was it. He tried not to let the hollow feeling that threatened to devour him whole show to the surface. Tried not to invoke any more of Henry’s undeserved pity than he’d already gained. It seemed, however, that his attempt was futile, as Henry smiled and offered a consolation offer. “Maybe next week?” 

“I hope so.” Michael lied. 

He didn’t have another week. Another week meant another seven days where William was free to do as he pleased. More opportunities for the souls of innocents to be lost, to be forced to meet a fate no child ever should. 

He could not allow that to happen. No matter what happened, he would not let William kill again. He would not give that man more time. He’d lost the right to live the moment he’d claimed his first victim.

Michael had no choice but to resort to his backup plan.

Chapter Text

Michael’s hands were shaking. His hands were always shaking, these days. Every time he did other than be perfectly still, they’d quiver like leaves in the wind. Sometimes, for the sake of appearances, he could force them to still. Could appear as if everything was fine. But it was only ever for a moment. Eventually, they always returned to their trembling status quo. 

Now too, they shook, as Michael took a drag of his cigarette. Another pack he’d snatched off the shelf of a convenience store. It was remarkably easy, as long as you had a decent poker face and the instincts of someone who’d spent the last few decades constantly terrified for his life. 

Michael knew he’d get caught eventually, if he kept shoplifting long enough. But well, he wouldn’t need to worry about that for much longer. 

He’d probably be in Juvie before the week was over anyway.

Michael stared off at the woods beyond his bedroom window, and he thought about what he was going to do. 

The burning in Michael’s throat was soothing. It let him focus, let him think clearly where his mind would otherwise run in circles. Watching as the smoke billowed up and then eventually disappeared against the night sky brought him some small sense of peace he hardly knew in his life.

At the very least, it was something to focus on.

Michael was not happy with his current plan. Poison was an ineffective method of murder. It was risky, failed often, and nowadays could easily be traced by doctors. But it was the only one he had access to. The only method that did not require strength, or wider destruction, or put his siblings’ lives in any danger. 

Risky or not, it was better than waiting around. Anything was better than waiting around. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Besides, he knew where they kept the rat poison at Fredbear’s. 

~~*~~

~~*~~

While Michael may have never worked as a night guard specifically at Fredbear’s, he knew the Fazbear brand well enough that he felt confident their cameras would not be set up without blindspots. He’d spent many a long night staring frustratedly at the corners of a screen, trying to make out any slight movements that might give away the position of an animatronic just out of sight. 

As it turned out, this place was no exception. It only took a few good days of observation before he figured out an approximate route that would allow him in and out of the storage room where he’d find what he needed, without being caught looking suspicious.

He wished they’d kept the stuff somewhere else, though the location was so very convenient.

It was the very same storage room he’d once locked his brother inside. That he’s stood behind and laughed as Evan’s small fists banged against the door. That he’d left behind as the boy’s sobs echoed through the hallway. 

He could still hear them now, as he walked down that very same hallway. Whispers in the back of his mind, pleas of a boy long gone. He did what he could to ignore them.

The door wasn’t even locked. Michael slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He knew there was no camera in the storage room. Knew, because he’d been sure to check beforehand, just to make sure he wasn’t caught on tape stealing the poison that would, if everything went right, eventually kill his father. 

The security here really was god awful.

There they sat, on a shelf beside some cleaning supplies and spare animatronic parts. Cardboard boxes that held the key to his salvation. The boxes were yellow, with the silhouette of a rat on the front. They advertised things like “Fast Acting” and “Guaranteed to Kill”. That all sounded pretty good to Michael. 

He knew a little bit about how these things worked. Not much, but enough that he pitied any poor rodent that fell prey to them. It was a fate too cruel, even for creatures most considered little more than vermin.

But there was no such thing as a fate too cruel for his father. 

The box felt light in his hand. Michael read the warning labels carefully. The descriptions of bodily harm brought a crooked, toothy grin to his face. This thing should do the job. It certainly seemed deadly enough. He made sure to check it was not empty before he shoved it into his backpack.

Michael drew in a deep breath, before slipping back out of the storage room door. Now it was back to avoiding cameras. He kept close to the wall, where the view of the machines did not reach. He’d move the long way around, past the kitchen, and enter the main room through a lesser used side entrance.. That people also didn’t watch too closely. Then, he would be in the clear.

That was the plan, anyways. 

It had been, till he rounded a corner, and nearly walked right into Henry Emily. 

Henry blinked, his eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, the two stared at each other in stunned silence. Michael could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He knew that. This hallway was off limits to customers and the owners’ children alike. 

Henry had seen him now. All his dancing around security cameras and days of preparation had been for nothing. Michael had to focus in order to keep his breathing even, lest he let the man in on exactly how dangerous this all was for him. 

Henry was going to tell his father. 

He’d tell William, and William would find the poison… And Michael would be doomed. 

In his panic, Michael failed to speak. He simply stood there, frozen still, making a complete and utter fool of himself. So it was that Henry got in the first word. “Michael?! What are you doing here?” Henry’s brow was furrowed. Michael could never tell if he was angry. Because Henry didn’t raise his voice. Sometimes, he thought the man never got mad to begin with, at least not in a way he could recognize. 

Henry was easy to read, most of the time. He showed his emotions on his face like an open book. Truly, he had the worst poker face Michael had ever seen. Rationally, he knew therefore that it was unlikely that Henry was angry with him.

But he could not discount the possibility.

Michael had to think fast. There was no time to consider what kind of excuse to say, no time to consider what ramifications might come of his words. The longer he stalled, the more suspicious he could become. And so Michael put on his best confused expression, and said the first one that came to mind. “Oh- I was just looking for my father, do you know where he is?”

Henry was quiet. For a few, dreadful moments, Michael could feel his heart pound faster. Inside the pocket of his jacket, he felt his hands tremble. 

What reason would there be for Henry to consider this so long? For the way he narrowed his eyes slightly? 

This was it, wasn’t it. He must have failed, again. 

Henry didn’t believe him. Henry knew he was lying. 

When the man opened his mouth to speak, Michael prepared himself for the worst. “I think he just left a bit ago..?” Oh. It wasn’t blame that made his brows furrow. It was simple confusion. Confusion, because his father had left without him. Because he wasn’t here. 

Then it made sense, didn’t it? That Michael had been looking for him?

Michael didn’t even have to fake the exasperation in his voice. “That’s why I can’t find him-” Maybe Henry had bought it after all. Maybe that lie, thought up in a split second to cover a much less favorable truth, would be good enough to pass. Henry was a smart man, Michael knew, but he truly could be incredibly naive. Today, that just might be to his benefit.

Henry did not seem happy, however. “Did he… forget you here?” It was only at those words, so filled with worry, that Michael’s relief faded. This was hardly an uncommon occurrence, not with his father. Henry didn’t seem to believe so. Shit. Michael hadn’t even considered that it could be a bad thing, hadn’t thought anything of it but how it pertained to his lies. 

He didn’t like the way Henry was looking at him now. With wide, worried eyes and an obvious frown. 

Michael scratched the back of his neck. “Uh. Maybe? But it’s okay, I know how to get home on my own.” It wasn’t like he’d been relying on his father for rides anyway. Sure, it took a while to get home, but frankly he preferred it to holding his breath on the passenger seat of William’s car.

Henry was not convinced. “... are you sure? It’s already dark out…” Michael could hear the silent part, the part left unsaid, loud and clear. And it’s dangerous out there. That’s what Henry wanted to say. He couldn’t blame the man, not after Susie… “I’ll be alright.” He thought for a moment, with slight morbid amusement, how his father really did just leave him behind near the sight of a recent murder that’d yet to be solved. Father of the year, as per usual. 

“... Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.” 

It became quickly apparent that Henry would not have him worm his way out of a ride. Though Michael made a few more attempts at excuses, Henry seemed to hold firmly onto his position. Of all the times to be stubborn.

Michael had no real choice but to acquiesce.

Michael stared out of the window on the passenger seat of Henry’s yellow SUV. It was silent, most of the way home, or it would have been, were it not for the fact that the car was a very loud one. Michael thought it might need some parts changed. The thing was at least ten years old… and it showed. Henry had tried at first to keep up some conversation, but Michael had kept his replies short and simple, in a way that made it difficult to continue lest Henry do all the talking. Eventually, it fizzled out. 

He could tell Henry had something on his mind. The way his eyes were narrowed in thought made it almost look like he was trying to see something without his glasses on. 

Michael kept waiting for the question to come. Kept waiting for Henry to decide his excuse hadn’t been believable after all, once he’d thought about it. To ask what he’d really been doing there. 

Then, when Michael would lie again, he’d check the bag. 

And he’d find the poison.

And Michael would be dead.

That question never came. For all of Michael’s held breaths and pounding heart, there was nothing but silence, till he could see the silhouette of the house in the distance. 

Henry dropped him off in front of the house. He smiled and told Michael to tell his father to be less careless. It wasn’t difficult to tell he was not yet done with whatever it was he was thinking about. It stuck there, stayed in his eyes, wore down that smile of his. 

He’d catch on, sooner or later. Michael was sure of it. 

He just hoped it would be after he’d done what he needed to do.

Chapter Text

Michael’s plan relied heavily on the things he had come to know about his father. 

Almost every Friday, he would go out for drinks with Henry. This was a routine that was only ever interrupted when it absolutely had to be, more often from Henry’s side than William’s. There should be no such distraction today. 

Michael watched from his bedroom window as William parked his car in the driveway. The pit he felt in his stomach at the sight was immediate. So far, this was nothing out of the ordinary. His father would come home, if only for a few hours, and leave the car here. He’d be getting a cab back. Funny, considering he seemed to have little problem driving drunk. 

Time ticked by at a sluggish pace, as he waited for his father to leave again. Waited, so that he might put into action the next part of his plan. For that time, he found it impossible to do much of anything, to focus on any distraction that might take his attention away from the gnawing dread constant at the back of his mind. 

It was not that he felt guilt or shame at what he was about to do, quite the contrary. The thought of his father’s still corpse brought nothing but a sense of satisfaction to Michael. Failure, however… Now that was something to fear.

It was after what felt like hours that he finally heard the front door close. He could not help but breathe out a sigh of relief. With William out of the house, it was so much easier to believe that he might pull this off, he could breathe easier, hold his hands a little steadier. But he had no time to bask in that small feeling of relief.

It was time to place the poison. 

The kitchen was empty when Michael stepped into it, past the creaking old door and the cold hall. He could hear the clamor of the tv from the living room. He was glad for it, for if he’d had nothing but his own heartbeat to listen to, he may well have gone insane. Besides, it would likely hide that he’d been down here at all.. And though he was of course allowed in his own kitchen, he’d take any cover he could get.

Michael knew where William kept the alcohol. He’d learned it first through watching his father empty that cabinet on late nights, had used it to his advantage later in his rebellious teenage years, when the guilt of what he’d done had gotten to be too much to bear sober. 

Now, it would be key to finally putting an end to his father’s reign of terror.

There was one thing above all that Michael was relying on, in order for his plan to work. His father was an alcoholic. From the day he’d first learned that word, a part of him had known it true. He’d denied it to himself, at first. But when all the love he felt for the man was burnt out of him, it became nothing but another fault he could see oh so clearly. 

William would be coming home drunk, but it would not be enough. He’d leave the bar buzzed, but still somewhat presentable. When he came home, that would come to an end. He’d grab the nearest bottle of booze he could find, and drink till he passed out.

Such was the case on most Friday nights. 

Michael could only hope it would be today, too. The idea was that his father’s already drunken state would be enough to distract him from any slight difference he might notice in his drink of choice. Then, he would hopefully lose consciousness before being able to notice any side effects. 

By the morning, he would be long dead.

Michael could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he moved a chair towards the cabinets as quietly as he could. If he were to be spotted now, he’d have to explain what exactly he was doing at the booze cabinet. Of course, nobody should come, there was no reason to.

What were the odds that Elizabeth would suddenly choose this exact moment to come get a snack? Even still, he could not force himself to remain calm, as he climbed onto the chair and reached forwards to open the high cabinet. 

His hands shook as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey; half drank and by far the nearest to him. He opened it slowly, so as to make no sound. The pellets of rat poison made little more than a small rustle and a plop, as they fell inside.

Michael had made sure they could be mixed into a liquid before, and found the result to be better than he’d expected, frankly. He’d also made sure it carried no smell… though the alcohol would’ve likely hidden anything mild anyway. 

As quietly as he could, Michael placed the bottle back inside the cabinet, close to the door so it’d be the first thing William took note of when he opened it. 

He had done all there was to do, now. 

There was nothing left to do, but wait.

~~*~~

Ever since Susie’s death, Michael had been smoking more and more. What had begun as a few cigarettes a week, just when he was with Jerry, and when he happened to have some on him, had very quickly escalated to him puffing through an entire pack every single day.

Two on a bad day. 

Now, he was halfway through his third pack that day, as he waited for his father to return home. 

Truth be told, Michael was terrified. His hands shook so violently he could barely flick his lighter properly. And yet he kept going. As if another cigarette would magically make his problems disappear. As if his nerves would dissipate into the sky like the dark, black smoke.

It never did. Not the first one, nor the second, nor the tenth. 

But he kept going, with the vague, unlikely hope, that if he just kept going, kept smoking, he’d feel some sense of relief, he’d feel okay again. 

That his hands would stop shaking. 

The sky outside was beginning to darken, but there was yet no sign of William. So Michael kept smoking. He smoked, because it was something to do, something to distract him from the gnawing dread at the back of his mind. To keep back what he knew was coming. Because it was all he could think to do.

It was one after another. Constant. Michael’s fingers burned, his throat felt raw, as if someone had pulled barbed wire down through it. And yet he kept going. He kept going, but his hands would not stop shaking.

They would not. 

Stop.

Shaking.

Maybe another cigarette would still them.

Maybe if he chocked on the smoke, maybe if it burned everything inside him, they would finally stop.

They didn’t.

He kept going, till he felt so sick from the smoke, he wound up throwing up into the small wastebasket in his room. It was only then, as he stared into the mostly liquid and rancid smelling product topping balls of scrapped paper, that he finally knew he had gone too far. 

Michael slumped down onto the floor, stomach still reeling, and he wrapped his arms around his legs. Waiting always was the worst part.

He felt like he might throw up again.

~~*~~

The sound of a car’s engine by the house was enough for Michael’s stomach to twist again. He did not dare stand up to make certain of who it was. If the act of standing wasn’t enough to send him back to the wastebin, the sight of his father surely would be. 

As it turned out, so was the slam of the front door. 

Michael did not leave his room. Whatever happened was out of his hands now. That didn’t stop him from wishing he knew, wishing he had some confirmation that William had even touched the bottle. That he was going to do what Michael needed him to do. That this would end.

Whatever peace of mind that may have granted him was not worth being seen so ill, and the immediate suspicion that would grant him.

Nor was it worth an encounter with his father in such a state. Those never tended to be pleasant. 

So it was, that he did not move from his spot on the floor for quite some time. There was nothing to be done but wait, after all. He sat in the smell of his cigarette smoke, the smell of which stung his nose and made him feel sicker. It clung to the hair, though he’d long since opened the window. 

He tried not to cough too much, lest he gain the attention of his father. 

More than once, he thought he just might pass out. He never did, though. 

Though Michael listened out for the sounds of the house, there was little to be heard. The tv was on, though he suspected Elizabeth was no longer the one watching it. He could hear his father’s footsteps around, on occasion, but they told him little, aside from the fact he was still up. 

But that was it. Aside from those few ineffective clues, he had but the howling wind and the barking of that damn dog for company.

It was getting close to midnight, when another sound joined that chorus. 

The phone was ringing. 

Why was the phone ringing? 

Michael could think of no good reason anyone should be calling at this time of night. He’d been counting on that, that the time of day would bring with it a lack of distractions, a lack of anything that might cause his father to notice something was wrong. 

And now, someone was calling him. 

He could hear footsteps again, heavy and irregular. 

The ringing of the phone stopped, only to be replaced with the low droll of William’s voice. 

He had answered the phone. He’d answered the damn phone. 

Michael could only hope it was some telemarketer, someone who couldn’t do anything, even if they knew something was wrong. 

He listened with baited breath to the sound of his father’s voice, but no matter how hard he focused, he could not make out the words. 

There was a loud thud downstairs.

And it was quiet once more. 

Michael waited for something to happen. An interruption to the silence. He couldn’t hear his father’s voice, anymore. 

After a moment, the phone began to ring again. It echoed through the empty home, haunting like a yell in a cavern.

It rang… 

And rang…

And rang…

But nobody answered. 

Eventually, that too came to an end. The quiet that followed was much, much longer. Michael couldn’t even hear the dog, anymore. 

All that was left was the howling wind. 

Chapter Text

Friday had come at last.

Things had been rough, ever since the death of Susie. Henry couldn’t get the poor girl out of his head, most days. He could not help but feel his heart tighten at the thought of her in that alleyway, cold and alone. Couldn’t shake the idea that it could have been Charlie, instead of her. The girls had been around the same age, and both spent quite a bit of time around Fredbear’s. Every time the thought crossed his mind, it made just a little bit more sense. Every time, he felt just a little bit sick. 

He had met the girl’s parents a few times, over discussions of playdates and sleepovers. They seemed like pleasant people, from what he’d known of them. Mrs. Mckenzie had been so delighted that Susie had finally made a friend. Apparently, she’d been quite a shy girl. Henry had just laughed and said he was lucky his Charlie was so sociable.

The last time he saw them was at Susie’s funeral. He’d been there to accompany Charlie. He hadn’t been able to look them in the eye. 

Charlie. The death of her friend had affected her greatly. He could not blame her, of course. It had broken his heart, when he first had to explain to her what had happened. That Susie was gone. And then it kept breaking, every time he had to comfort her, had to try and explain how something so cruel, so horrific could happen. How some monster in the shadows could take away the life of an innocent child. Just like that.

He’d done everything he could to make her feel better, but he knew there was no real way to heal grief but to give it time. He’d taken some days off work, just so he’d be there if she needed him, he’d gotten her aunt to watch her on the days he did go in, so she didn’t have to be so near the sight of Susie’s death. He wasn’t sure how much it was helping. It was all he could do to try his best and hope time would heal these wounds too.

Henry would’ve done anything to make his daughter happy. There was no sacrifice too great, not for her sake. That didn’t mean he wasn’t exhausted. Didn’t mean that having to stay strong for her, to make sure she was okay as best he could, all the while being gripped with worry for both her mental and physical well being did not leave him feeling drained.

So when Friday came around, that he could spend a few hours with a good friend, could let himself loosen up a little, let go of his burdens… he would have been a liar had he said he did not appreciate the opportunity. 

Drinks with Will were always pleasant. Almost, at least. The evening was filled with light banter, and Henry found himself laughing more than he had for all of that week. 

For a moment, he was brought back to their younger days, when Fredbear was nothing but crude sketches and a few faulty prototypes in Henry’s garage. When Henry’s beard had still been patchy and William’s eyebags hadn’t yet set in. He missed those days, sometimes. Longed for the nights spent bouncing off ideas, their eyes glimmering against the low light, dreaming big dreams with all the confidence of youth. He missed the way William used to grin that wide, wild grin of his, whenever he had a particularly good or dangerous idea. The world truly was their oyster, back then.

But those days were far behind them. He had Charlie now, and she was a treasure he wouldn’t trade for the world.

As he spoke on his worries for her, on the struggles he had faced teaching her about grief. William told him she’d be alright, that she was a strong kid, and somehow, it was far more convincing when it didn’t come out of Henry’s own mouth. William looked at him like he knew, placed his hand over his on the cool bar table, and Henry found it in himself to believe. To truly believe, that it would be alright. 

He left the bar that day feeling lighter than he had for weeks. He said his farewells to William with a smile on his face. The feeling didn’t fade, even when he arrived home and put Charlie to bed. 

It lasted hours later, when he stayed up later than he usually might, looking over old blueprints of animatronics, most of which had never made it to being fully built. He ran his fingers along the drawn lines, read the messy notes he could barely decipher, despite it being his own handwriting. 

It was a bit of a shame, wasn’t it. That most of these animatronics would likely never see the light of day. There were so many ideas. So many more characters, dreamt up in the hopes the world might one day see them, might be able to watch them perform. 

Perhaps it was the sense of nostalgia that made him pick up the phone despite the late hour. That made him dial in the ever familiar number of the Afton residence.

He hesitated, for a moment. He didn’t want to wake anyone up, if there was nobody left awake. Still, this good mood of his might have fizzled out by the morning, and William had been a night owl as long as he’d known the man, so… surely there’d be no harm in it? 

“Sorry to call you so late, but I was just looking through some old blueprints and got to thinking-” Henry couldn’t help but let his enthusiasm get the best of him, he did not stop to give William a moment to speak, despite his earlier apologies. 

It was less rude, then, when his friend interrupted him mid sentence. It came sluggish and muffled, spoken as if doing so took an immense degree of focus. “Hello… Henry…”  

Henry felt an immediate pang of guilt. He must have woken up William after all, if his voice was anything to go by. He didn’t sound particularly awake. “Did I wake you up? I can call back in the morning, it’s nothing important.” He made a quick, fumbling apology, though he could not help the disappointment that seeped through as he spoke.

“No, I was… up.” William’s voice came back just as groggy as before. But the more he spoke, the more Henry began to realize he sounded more… off, than he’d initially thought. 

The feeling of warm nostalgia was beginning to recede, replaced with something cold. A creeping instinct that there was something wrong. Something he had failed to notice. “Are you okay?” Henry spoke quickly, concern flooding his somewhat hushed voice. 

It took several seconds before he received a reply. Henry tried not to let the silence get to him. “... Think I drank too much. My head’s killing me…” Henry thought back to when they’d left the bar. William had seemed fine, then. He must’ve kept drinking, after arriving home.

And by the sound of it, not in moderation. 

Henry wasn’t sure if he should be more or less worried, at this realization. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t all that abnormal; it was a Friday night, if ever there was a time it was normal to drink, it was now. Still, they weren’t young anymore. William had three children to take care of. If nothing else, it seemed irresponsible. “ I could drop by, if you need anything?” The offer was sincere, despite the lingering feeling at the back of Henry’s mind that there was something more going on. Perhaps because of it. 

His words were met with nothing but silence. Henry waited, though not for long, for William to say something. He did not. “I’m sober, if you’re worried about that. It’s been some hours since I drank.” He hadn’t had much, to begin with. Whatever buzz he’d felt was long gone by now. As he was once again met with silence, however, Henry began to doubt William’s sudden quiet had been a question. 

“Will?”

The silence hung heavy in the air, as Henry’s ears were filled with nothing but the low static of the phone, and rushing of his own blood. There was a pit in his stomach. He’d known something was wrong. He’d known it. 

“Will..?” 

There were several more seconds of quiet, as time ticked by with the pace of a snail. Then, William finally spoke again. What he said, however, brought no relief to Henry’s worry. 

“Huh… My nose is bleeding…” He said it with such calm, as if talking about the weather. 

Henry felt cold, the creeping feeling had crawled up, up, up, till it swallowed him whole. “What? Did- did you hurt yourself? Are you okay?” His voice came quick now, short and panicked. He’d known something was wrong. Surely this wasn’t something that could be brushed away with one drink too many. 

This time, he did not have to wait for a reply. William spoke almost immediately, though if he’d seemed sluggish before, he sounded far worse now. “Henry, I…” There was a fragility to his voice, the likes of which Henry very, very rarely heard. More than anything before that, hearing his closest friend sound so confused, so weak, struck fear into his heart. 

William did not finish whatever sentence he’d begun. Instead, Henry heard a loud thud on the other side of the phone line. For a moment, he could do nothing but hold his breath. That was before realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he called out William’s name once more. Louder than he had before, his concern of waking up Charlie entirely forgotten. 

Yet still, there was no answer. 

He repeated the name, called out to his friend, but all he heard back was that damned static and the racing of his own heart. 

When that bore no fruit, he tried to call again. Dialed in that same familiar number, and waited with baited bread, for something to happen.

He listened as the phone rang.

And rang…

And rang…

But nobody answered.

Henry’s hands were shaking as he placed the phone down again. His mind began to conjure up every possible nightmare scenario, every sudden emergency that might have caused William to collapse. Was it really just the drink? Something worse? Had he hit his head, when he fell? What if he was already dead? He might have stood there for longer, might have stared at the face of the phone wide-eyed, had it not been for the voice that came from the doorway. 

“Daddy..?”

Charlie stood there, holding her Bonnie plush close. She looked scared. 

Henry forced as neutral an expression as he could, but he had never been a good pretender. “Sorry I woke you up.. Everything is fine, you should go back to bed.” He tried to smile, but even he didn’t think it was convincing. 

His daughter’s question made him drop whatever attempt he’d made. “Is uncle Will okay?” Charlie’s voice was quiet, but in the silence of the room he could hear it loud and clear. 

Henry’s mouth felt dry as he spoke. He did his best not to sound afraid. “He’s… I’m sure he’s fine. I just… need to make a call.” He could tell Charlie didn’t believe him from the way she looked up at him. From the way her brown eyes glistened with worry in the dimly lit room. Yet still, she hugged her Bonnie plush tighter, and she nodded. “Okay…”

~~*~~

By the time Henry arrived at the Afton residence, the ambulance was already there.

He’d made the call as soon as he’d gotten Charlie to leave the room. She didn’t need to be there to hear the details he provided the dispatch officer. He’d left her in her room with a kiss on the forehead and a promise he’d be back before morning. 

On the call, he’d stepped up and offered to take care of the kids for as long as he had to. William didn’t have any family left in the states, and as far as Henry knew, he was the closest friend around. 

The cold night air threatened to suffocate Henry, as he trudged the short distance from his car to the front door of William’s house. The lights were on inside, distant signals of warmth against the hazy cold. He arrived just on time to watch as William was carried outside. 

He looked awful. William had been pale for most of the time Henry had known him, but now he was white as a sheet. His complexion was so sickly, so unnaturally grey, it made Henry’s stomach churn. William hadn’t been lying about the nosebleed. Partially dried blood covered the lower half of his face. Henry wondered how long it had been left to run, before the paramedics had arrived. There was… a lot of blood. He could see a bandage on the left side of William’s head, too. If only at a glimpse. He’d been right to worry about that, it seemed.

Henry closed his eyes, and forced himself to breathe, but he couldn’t shake the thought that he was looking at a dead man.

He took a deep breath, and stepped inside through the open door. 

Henry found the twins sitting by the kitchen table, with a woman he did not recognize. She was speaking in a calm, even voice. Evan was crying. He held his Fredbear plush tight. His gaze was firmly down on the kitchen table, as if too afraid to meet the eyes of anyone else. Elizabeth seemed the worst of the three. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and though the woman was attempting to comfort her, it seemed to have little effect. Michael was nowhere to be seen.

As he entered the room, all four pairs of eyes turned to him. 

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but before she managed to get out a single word, Elizabeth had gotten up from her chair and practically rammed into Henry. It was only when she wrapped her arms around his legs, that he realized she was shaking. 

Henry sank onto his knees, and pulled her into a warm embrace. He held her like that for a long time. He held her, till her unstable sobs faded to quiet sniffles. Till the tight, desperate grasp she had of his shirt loosened and eventually, she let go. Till she finally found the strength to speak, and uttered words that very nearly made Henry tear up himself.. “U-uncle Henry…” Her words were muffled, broken up by sniffles and so, so quiet. “Is daddy going to be o-okay..?”

And he wished he’d have known that, too. But he knew so very little.

Chapter Text

Michael thought he might be dying. 

He didn’t know how long it had been since the flashing of red and blue lights outside his window had first made his stomach churn. Since a woman with a gentle smile who he’d never seen before told him his father was ill. Since he’d barricaded himself in the bathroom, back against the door, and his breathing had ceased to follow any sort of regular rhythm. 

His head was reeling, the world of bathroom tiles and fluorescent lights a messy blur as he hunched over the toilet, trying to keep down the stomach acid threatening to crawl up his burning throat. 

He wondered what had gone wrong. He wondered if it mattered. 

He’d be dead either way. 

If he’d been successful, they’d know it was him. They’d arrest him, he was certain of it. It would all be over, then. But at least in that scenario, he would have saved the lives of others, prevented the deaths of most of William’s victims, even if he could not save them all. There would be a silver lining to his demise. He would have gotten what he wanted.

But if his father lived? 

If he ever found out, he would kill Michael himself. 

He couldn’t stop himself from imagining it; the cold, pale hands of his father, wrapping around his throat, pushing till his breath seized, till all he could make were pathetic, wheezing gasps for air. Till all, his resistance was proved futile, nothing but the desperate grovelings of a powerless child. Till the world darkened for one, final time. 

It was the final straw which sent the contents of his already empty stomach hurling down the toilet.

Later, though how much later he did not know, there was a knock on the bathroom door. As Michael lifted his head in response, the world spun. He would not have been surprised, had he passed out then and there. In some ways, it would have been a relief. 

For a brief, hazy moment, he wondered if being in police custody would keep him safe from William. 

But then he heard the voice behind the door, and he didn’t know what to think.

“Michael…? Are you in there..?” 

Henry.

Suddenly, things began to make much more sense. It had been him, calling their phone in the night. It had been him, who’d called for help and called all of Michael’s plans into question.

And now it was him, standing outside the door of the upstairs bathroom. 

For a moment, Michael thought about remaining silent. That if he just sat there, waited long enough, maybe Henry would go away. But he knew well enough that they must have known it was him. There was nobody else, after all. 

“Michael..?” Came Henry’s voice again. The way it was made soft by worry caused his stomach twist dangerously. Yet still, he knew to be quiet was not an option. Not a good one, unless he wanted to throw away any remaining chance of getting away with this. So he forced his tone to be as even as he could make it, though it still trembled in ways he could only hope were not too obvious. 

“Yeah… I’m here.”

The concern did not seem to fade from Henry’s voice, and though this wasn’t surprising, it was nonetheless another cause to be afraid. “Is everything okay..? You’ve been in there for a long time…” Michael had no frame of reference for just how long it had been, but apparently, longer than he’d thought. Long enough to be a cause of concern.

“It’s- yeah- Everything’s fine! I’ll be down in a bit!” It was a terrible lie. He would not have believed it either, had he been the one standing outside the bathroom door. Neither did Henry, and he could not blame the man for it. “Are you sure..?” Yet still, despite it all, he had to keep lying. What else was there to do? “Yeah! Just uh… you should go take care of the twins. I’ll- I’ll be fine.” He did the best he could do, and he doubted it would be enough.

Despite the initial resistance, Henry agreed to go. Maybe it was the comment about the twins, maybe it was just his persistence. Michael did not know, but as he listened to Henry’s heavy footsteps get farther away, he breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. Whatever his reasoning, it had given him a moment more. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be something.

Michael stared down his clammy face in the mirror. His wide, glassy eyes stated back at him. He could see the nausea on his face. The beads of cold sweat that made their way down his forehead. All of him was shaking, now, but his hands were the most violent of all. How would he hide his reaction? How would he stop himself from becoming an immediate target, looking as visibly ill as he did. They’d know it was him. They’d take one look, and they would know.

Instead, he closed his eyes, and forced himself to calm down as much as he could. And though he managed to get his breathing down enough that he might at least try to come off normal, his hands simply refused to stop shaking. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and he opened the door.

As he walked down the hallway, it’s walls felt like they were crushing him, getting gradually closer. The pictures on the walls stared at him, mocking him. The door to his bedroom was ajar, an open invitation. 

It promised an escape, however short lived. He could open the window and climb down the wall. He could run into the forest, away from this accursed house and everyone in it. They wouldn’t find him there, not quickly. He could find somewhere else, run to some other town, somewhere nobody knew him. Somewhere they wouldn’t find him.

Only, that wasn’t true, was it. He couldn’t do that, not really. 

He was twelve years old, he had to remember that. He couldn’t get a job, couldn’t change his name. He couldn’t drive, couldn’t rent out a place to hide in. They’d be looking for him, he knew. They would search for him, and there would be nowhere he could run. He would be found, eventually. He would be found, and he would forfeit the right to his life then and there.

So even though his legs shook, though the free air of the forest was a sweet song to his hears, he kept walking past the door. He walked down the stairs, though his vision blurred at the edges, and he walked into the kitchen, where he knew Henry would be waiting.

And he prayed, that if there was any god out there, he would live another day.

The woman was not in the kitchen. Instead, it was just Henry and the twins. Elizabeth sat in Henry’s lap, clinging onto him like a baby monkey to it’s mother. Evan sat across from them, but did not look at either. 

The moment Henry’s eyes met his, Michael could see the worry in them. The way his posture straightened, he suspected the man would have stood up, were it not for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth… She looked at him then, her eyes red and puffy. 

It was then that a thought crossed Michael’s mind. Elizabeth’s room was downstairs, where as he and Evan were upstairs. That meant…. It meant Elizabeth may have seen William’s body, before the paramedics had a chance to take him away. 

He could imagine it all too well. Stumbling upon the body of someone you loved, in a pose they should not be, covered in their own blood. 

She did not greet him, vocal as she usually was. Instead, she just stared. She stared, and Michael could feel the weight of his sins heavy on his back. 

He had to resist the urge to vomit. 

Henry looked at him with those worried, brown eyes of his. “Everything okay? You look a little…” He did not finish the sentence. They both knew what he meant. Michael would have to pretend just a little longer. So he dug his nails into the palm of his hand, the quick, sharp pain barely enough to let his mind focus, and he pretended. He pretended, had he did not look at Elizabeth again.

He knew, he would not recover fast enough if he did.

~~*~~

Michael kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Henry to announce him guilty, that he knew exactly what he’d done. It didn’t drop during their brief conversation, where Henry explained the situation in half-truths and white lies meant to protect the innocent from worry. Michael, however, did not count among them.

It didn’t drop in the car, where Michael sat on the passenger seat in the solemn silence of a doomed man. Not a word was exchanged for the entirety of the ride, but Henry kept sending nervous looks his way. He could hear Elizabeth’s quiet sniffling from the backseat. 

It didn’t drop when they arrived, and Henry ushered everyone inside. When they met a sleepy Charlie who seemed just as worried as her father. When Henry set up places for everyone to sleep, the twins in his bed and Michael on the couch. 

Only when Michael and Henry were the only two still awake, did Henry choose to break the silence, and begin the conversation Michael knew had been coming. 

“Uhm… Michael?” 

Henry sat in an armchair near the couch. It was brown and worn, but clearly comfortably by the way the man practically sunk into it. He had been sitting there ever since the twins had fallen asleep. It had been a long time. 

Michael had not tried to sleep. It would be a wasted effort that served to do nothing but worsen his already poor mental state. Henry hadn’t tried to convince him for very long. 

It was there, in the dim yellow light of Henry’s living room, that Michael’s life would end. He clutched the fabric of the sheet laid onto the couch in his fist, and he prepared for the walk to the guillotine. 

“Y-yeah..?”

Henry’s eyes would not face Michael. He knew the man conflict averse, suspected it part of why his father had gone unchecked for so long. Henry was more likely to ignore a problem if it were of the nature that caused him to doubt the people he cared for. 

And he did not know Michael, not really, and so he was counted among them.

“I know this isn’t a great time, but…”

For him to start a conversation like this, because of the kind of person he was, he must have noticed something. Something big, enough to cause real concern. Every word out of Henry’s mouth was a step closer to his execution, Michael knew. 

“I noticed something, and I need to talk to you about it.”

The world was still, the silence was as the blade that hung above his neck. Michael held his breath. His head was on the chopping block. He needed only to wait for the blade to fall.

…

…

…

“...Have you been smoking?”

Those were the words that Henry spoke. Michael could do nothing but blink. Smoking? He could not stop himself from speaking, could not hold in the surprise that permeated every inch of his being.

“What?”

“I… noticed the smell.” Henry wrung his hands, and he looked farther off to the side. 

“Oh.”

There had never been a blade, had there? Not from Henry. 

He’d had it all wrong. 

He’d let his paranoid mind see more than there had ever been. 

Of course Henry would notice that he reeked of smoke. He’d puffed several packs cooped up in his room, that was more than enough for the smell to cling onto him as it did. He’d just been so distracted by everything else, he had entirely forgotten.

Finally, the man turned his gaze to Michael. He took on a tone that tried to be stern, but it wasn’t difficult for Michael to see past it at the worry at the core of it. “How long have you been doing this?” He had to force himself not to seem relieved. This should’ve been a nightmare scenario for any kid, but Michael… Michael felt like he was floating. 

“Just… a few weeks.”

Henry sighed. Michael could tell he did not believe it, and in a way it was a lie, considering he’d smoked his first cigarette a solid 40 years ago. Still, he was pretty sure Henry only thought it a lie because in his surprise, he couldn’t quite speak evenly. “Okay. Look, I know you probably won’t listen to me, but you need to stop, okay? Smoking is a nasty habit, you need to quit while you still can.”

“I… Please don’t tell father?”

It was the first thing that came to his mind, the first realistic thing an almost-teenager in his situation might say. And it was Henry’s response that finally brought him down to earth. 

“I can’t promise you that…”

He still had to worry about that, didn’t he? He could only hope that William’s typical neglectfulness would extend to this as well… but he could not be certain. Somewhere, he could feel that stress building up again.

“...Is that what you were doing in the bathroom?”

Came Henry’s question, and Michael wanted to laugh at what a perfect excuse it was. It explained why he’d sounded so nervous; because he’d been worried about being caught smoking. It explained why he’d seemed sick- because he’d inhaled a bunch of smoke. Best of all, Henry had come to that conclusion all by himself. 

It meant he’d be all the more likely to believe it. 

“Yeah…”

Whatever consequences might come of being found out, maybe it would be worth it, for the alibi it gave him.

Chapter Text

It was five in the morning. Michael had not slept for the entirety of the night, and neither had Henry. He couldn’t bring himself to, not when the poor kid was still up. Long into the night, he had kept sending glances Michael’s way, had hoped every time that he would see something different. He never did. Eventually, he thought it more more cruel to sit in silence in a darkened room. Thought it might be better to at least give an offer of real company. So he flicked on the light, dull and accommodating to eyes used to the dark, and he made an offer.

“Would you want some tea?” 

To his mild surprise, Michael nodded. 

A moment later, and they both sat by Henry’s kitchen table, mugs of camomile tea in front of them. Michael’s cup had a picture of a little brown dog on it. People always assumed that cup was Charlie’s, but in truth it had been bought before she’d even been born. Henry had found it at a thrift store in his college days. He’d just thought it was cute. He remembered Will making fun of him for it. Where that memory would usually send him on a long, nostalgic ramble- he always was one to reminisce- now it only sent his hand coaming through his hair in a less than subtle gesture of worry.

Michael was staring at the contents of the cup, his hands wrapped around it, though he had yet to drink any. He looked exhausted. No wonder, given he must’ve been awake for a very long time now. Henry could see the lines of worry on his face. The kind no kid should have. Though at first he had expected the kid’s nervous demeanor to be due to the stench of smoke that emanated from him so strongly, as the hours stretched on, it had become obvious there was more to it than that. 

Elizabeth had at first seemed by far the most shaken by the night’s events, perhaps she truly was. But even she had eventually fallen asleep in Henry’s bed, next to her brother. He suspected Michael understood more of the situation than he had initially guessed. It did make sense, once he thought about it. 

No wonder the poor kid couldn’t sleep.

The two sat in silence for a good while. Though Henry would typically make an attempt at a conversation, he did not disturb the quiet now. It felt wrong to do so. Like breaking some sort of rule. He doubted whatever he may have had to say would have made anything better, anyway. He expected that silence to last. He did not expected Michael to speak. But when he did, his voice was soft, nearly a whisper. Despite that, it nearly made Henry jump. 

“Is father going to be okay?” 

He looked so worried when he said it, that Henry was unable to reply. For a moment, he could see the extent of fear, of sheer terror in Michael’s eyes. It felt like a knife to the gut. It was all he could focus on. The kid was 12. Far too young to hold such an expression, but old enough to understand. His siblings might have bought Henry’s reassurance, but that didn’t mean Michael would. He must have known. Must have known there was more to it. He was old enough to understand just how abnormal this situation truly was. To know there was something at stake. To doubt, when Henry said everything would be okay. To know he was not confident in his words. 

Henry did not know the details of William’s condition, but he knew enough to know that it was serious. Poisoning, they’d said. Apparently, whatever he’d ingested… it hadn’t been a small amount. 

He’d been a bad way, when they got to him.

Henry looked at Michael, looked at those frightened blue eyes, so much like his father’s, and he found that he could not lie to the boy.

“I don’t know, Michael. I don’t know.” 

~~*~~

The call came at 6 am. At that point, their tea had gone cold and neither had finished. Henry’s mug was halfway full. Michael had barely taken a sip. Very few words had been exchanged between them. Something about the time. A joke that didn’t land. Mostly, it had been more silence. 

Silence, that was broken by a sharp ring. 

There was an exchange of glances, before Henry stood up to pick up the phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Michael’s blue eyes watching him like a hawk. He peered in through the kitchen door, leaning a little to see Henry’s reaction to whatever he heard on the other side of the line. 

Henry held his breath, and he answered the phone. 

…

…

…

Halfway through the call, he stopped paying attention to Michael’s prying eyes, stopped paying attention to anything happening around him. He felt his lips curl into a wide smile, felt his shoulders relax for what felt like the first time in days. A sigh of relief escaped him, one which he’d been all too worried to let out before. To let himself hold that hope. It felt like he could finally breathe again.

He felt lighter than air when he stepped into the kitchen where Michael still waited, still smiling. 

“Your dad’s gonna be just fine.”

Michael smiled back, but it didn’t look quite right.

Chapter Text

Michael felt nothing. 

It had been two hours since he heard the news. Since he’d learned his father would live. Henry had smiled at him, smiled as warm as the first rays of sunlight after a cold night. It had taken every bit of Michael’s strength to return it with the best lopsided grin he could manage. 

Then he’d said he was tired. Henry had seemed relieved, said he’d leave Michael to rest. He should have felt glad for that moment of peace, ordinarily he would have used it to let out all his pent up anxiety. Yet now, all he did was lay on the couch on his side, and stare at the wall.

So, this was it. 

He had failed. Again. Like he always did. 

William would live, he’d come back. Like he always did. 

Michael would die. Innocent children would die. 

That fact should have sent him lurching over the toilet again, should have made his stomach twist and his mind spiral. Instead, he found himself wholly indifferent. This was how it was always going to turn out, after all. To believe otherwise had been nothing but a moment of naivety. 

The room was gradually getting lighter, as sunlight poured in through the windows. It was a clear day. Michael watched the trees sway back and forth. He wondered if his early death at William’s hands would at least mean Evan was safe. 

As the rooms around him slowly came to life, he pulled the covers over his head, leaving barely any room for an exchange of air. Somewhere, he heard henry whisper something. About letting him sleep. 

Maybe he’d had it all wrong. Maybe none of it was real. 

He listened to the voices around him, as they gradually moved around between rooms. Mostly it was Henry and Charlie, with the occasional addition from Elizabeth. He didn’t hear Evan speak once. 

It felt as if he were listening from underwater, all sound muffled and far-away. Logically, he knew them only one room away. Michael felt himself sinking. Down, down, down. Into the comforting depths of the sea. The longer he listened, the less the voices around him began to make sense. They became nothing but white noise, nothing but ambient noise, no more meaningful than the howling of the wind outside. 

He didn’t know how long had passed, couldn’t even tell wether or not he’d been conscious the whole time, when he felt something soft and cautious against his shoulder. He poked his head out, staring ahead with tired eyes. Henry was looking down at him, square glasses slipped half off his nose thanks to the angle. Michael watched him for a short while, looked for suspicion in his gaze. He wondered what Henry would think, when he wound up dead. He wondered who would be blamed for it. Maybe they’d call him a runaway. 

It took him a long time to realize Henry had been speaking. 

It took for the man’s brows to furrow in apparent concern, for him to call Michael’s name several times, before the words that left his mouth began to make any sense at all. 

“Michael..? Are you okay? You don’t feel sick, do you?” He wanted nothing more than to return to the darkness under the covers, to ignore Henry’s questions entirely. It was half a miracle he did not. “Just… tired.” Michael heard himself speak, somewhere above the water he’d sank so far into. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Not that it was the whole truth. 

“Are you sure..? Maybe I should call someone?” He looked worried. Michael didn’t understand why. “No, it’s fine.” He heard his own voice reply, dull, robotic. 

There was a moment of silence, Henry wore a strange expression, one which Michael lacked the energy to decode. “... We were going to visit your dad at the hospital..?” And though it took a significant amount of effort on his part to understand Henry’s words, once he did it hardly took him any time to reply. “Go without me.”

Henry’s brow furrowed farther. Had that been the wrong thing to say? Michael found he did not care, if it let him fall back into darkness. “You don’t want to see him?”

A part of him wanted to laugh at that. Another wanted to simply say no. Instead of either, he said something else, though no less truthful. “I want to sleep.”

As soon as Henry let him be, Michael stopped paying attention to the world around him. The deep, dark depths of water embraced him with open arms, calm in it’s emptiness. There is peace in death, at least. Soon it would greet him. He hoped it would be the last time. He was tired of dying. 

He heard the front door close. And he was alone.

~~*~~

By the time the Henry returned with the kids, Michael felt no more clear of mind. The rest of the day passed in a haze. Afterwards, he would remember little of it, if there even was much to be remembered. He recalled picking at the takeout Henry had brought back with him, till the opportunity presented itself to discreetly throw it away. He recalled Henry’s worried eyes on him throughout the evening. He’d said something about William’s condition, but Michael had stopped listening at “will be completely fine”. Once or twice, he’d noticed Evan’s gaze lingering on him too. He wasn’t sure why. 

The night passed in much of the same way. Slowly but surely, the house began to quiet down, till eventually, Michael was the only one left in the living room. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the gaps between tiles with his eyes. 

He could not be sure wether or not he’d slept by the time morning came. If he had, it had not been well. He felt no less exhausted, no less like his body was made of lead, like it was thoroughly impossible for him to move. 

Henry asked if he wanted to come see William that time. He didn’t know how to decline. 

It was only as he stepped out of Henry’s yellow SUV and onto the hospital parking lot, that the numbness he’d been so comfortably incased in began to fade. It was as if waking up a sleeping limb, where every new movement comes with pin pricks and a distinct sense of discomfort. With every step towards the dull, white building, he felt a little more awake, a little more afraid. 

The halls were blinding white, the words of patients and staff alike echoed through them at length. Some of the people he passed smiled at him. Most didn’t look at him. They pitied him, he knew. Not for the right reasons, of course. 

Henry gestured towards a door with a smile, and Michael forgot hot to breathe. He held his breath, because to do otherwise was to breathe so fast he’d make his panic obvious. He was awake, now. As much as he may have wished he was not. He heard every sound that surrounded him, saw the world around him with disquieting clarity. And he knew, his thoughts of the prior day, his wishes for it all to be some sort of dream, some sort of grand delusion, had been nothing but wishful thinking. 

The door opened. 

And there he was. William Afton. He did not smile as he saw their little group, if anything his mouth drew into a tight line. He did not look well. He wasn’t exactly sunkissed to begin with, but he certainly was not this pale most of the time. Michael felt a shiver run down his spine, as he realized exactly what his father’s icy eyes were focused on. He was staring at Michael. Not Henry, not his other children, Michael. 

William opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it would have been was caught off, as Elizabeth separated from the group and ran fullspeed at her father’s bed, catching both him and Michael off guard. “Daddy!!” She called, in nearly a sob, and hugged her father’s arm tight. “When can you come home? I miss you…” With his free hand, William ruffled the loose hair on the back of her head. Michael thought he may even have smiled, though he couldn’t quite be sure. 

“They said I’d be able to go home on Tuesday… you have to stay with uncle Henry until then, okay?” The affection in William’s voice made Michael feel sick. Or maybe it was the fact he would only have a few more days, before he had to go back home. Before William would kill him, if the cops didn’t get to him first. 

“But I wanna be with you!” Elizabeth pressed her face against their father’s arm, her face in a frown, one which looked like she just might burst into tears. “It’s only a couple of days.” William was quick to reassure her, but as he spoke, his eyes shot back up once more. He was looking at Michael again. 

That hint of a smile, every tiny bit of affection in his voice was gone. He was as cold as ever, perhaps even more so. It was the kind of cold that hurt, that burned against bare skin.  

“I guess you decided to show up this time… Michael.”