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Chapter Text

It was the summer of ’83 and Michael Afton had nothing to do but scare his little brother to death, so that’s exactly what he did.

He snuck into Evan’s room, hid in the closet and waited. As per usual, he wore the Foxy mask, which was his favourite for the very same reason it was Evan’s least favourite – the sharp teeth. All Michael could hear was his own breathing through the mask, raspy and ominous. He thought it sounded cool, and a little creepy, like a zombie. Or Michael Myers.

He smiled an unseen smile at the comparison, a smile that only broadened when he heard Evan jogging up the stairs, shouting back down that he was ‘just going to get something!’

Michael watched through the wooden slats as Evan strolled into his room, clutching the Fredbear plush he refused to part with since the day he got it. “Bonnie, where are you?” He called as if expecting the plush bunny to actually respond. “Are you hiding?”

In a way, Bonnie was hiding. The rabbit and his pals were strewn haphazardly on the floor of the closet, something Michael would know because he put them there.

It was the perfect trap.

Evan began hunting for his elusive plushies with a very serious expression on his face, never once loosening his grip on Fredbear. He checked the floor, under his bed and all his drawers before facing the closet. Michael grinned anticipatorily, poised to pounce, feeling an awful lot like Michael Myers in that one scene from Halloween where he stabs through the closet door. But this time, the victim was outside.

Evan approached the closet, reaching towards the handle with a tentative, “Bonnie?”

Michael threw the doors open and roared, hands curled like claws, his war cry melting into laughter when his brother fell with a scream. Evan didn’t stop screaming as he scrambled backwards, Fredbear forgotten on the floor, moving at speeds Michael didn’t know were possible for a five-year-old to achieve.

“Got you again!” Michael managed through his howling laughter. “How do you keep falling for it? The closet is, like, the most obvious place to look. Never seen a horror movie?”

Evan snatched up Fredbear and squeezed the plushie to his chest. His breaths were shaky and his eyes were brimming with tears. “I told you not to do that!”

“And I chose to ignore you,” Michael said, buzzing from the victory. As reparations, he pulled Bonnie from the closet and dangled him in front of Evan by the ear. “Here’s your friend. Go play.”

It was another beautiful summers day. The sun was shining, birds were singing and Henry stood alone before his daughter’s grave.

Michael couldn’t help but watch, captivated by the tragedy of a man he once knew to be joyful looking so lost. Gone were his neat button ups, patterned ties and cosy knitted vests, instead he wore a shirt and jeans he must have mindlessly pulled on that morning, going through the motions of a life no longer worth living.

“Is that Mr. Emily?” David asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Michael said distractedly. Not the one I knew, went unsaid.

“Charlotte was the first, wasn’t she?” Brandon asked uselessly; everyone already knew that answer. No one in this town didn’t know the names and dates of their missing children.

They’d been on one of their usual excursions, revelling in the freedom of summer while it lasted, but the carefree energy had fallen away when Michael stopped beside the cemetery, entranced by what he saw within.

“The only one they found,” Michael informed. “In the alley behind the diner.”

“Jesus Christ,” David murmured.

Brandon shook his head, watching Henry with something like righteous anger burning in his eyes. “Look what this sicko has done to the poor man. And he’s just one of them.”

“You know him, don’t you, Mike?” Jeremy inquired.

Michael nodded. “He’s practically my uncle, he was around our house all the time. Hell, I have baby photos with the guy,” memories flew past his mind’s eye, the cheerful man he envisioned a world away from the living phantom in the cemetery. “A total genius, designed the animatronics mostly himself. He could have sold them and made millions but he put them in a kid’s restaurant. He’s just wants to make people happy. That’s why he started the company in the first place.”

“Sorry, man. I really am,” David said sincerely. “Nobody deserves that.”

Michael waved a dismissive hand, finally tearing his eyes away from Henry. “Don’t be sorry for me, I’m alright.”

They seemed to make the unspoken, unanimous decision to keep walking, leaving Henry to mourn in the sun-drenched cemetery.

“How’s your dad doing?” Jeremy piped up, breaking the respectful yet awkward silence.

Everyone knew Henry Emily and William Afton were a pair. They went to college together, built a business together, raised their families together. Now they grieved together for the child they both adored.

“Quieter,” Michael offered. “He copes differently, y’know? For the first few days he drank a little, then he started locking himself in his office and working on his projects non-stop. Didn’t take him long to return to normal, though,” he reconsidered, adding, “as close to normal as possible.”

“I’m surprised he’s able to keep the business going through all this,” Brandon said, glancing cautiously at Michael, searching for offence in his expression. “Not because he’s, like, bad at his job, he’s really damn good. But with all the disappearances... I would’ve given up.”

“I’m not sure he knows what giving up is,” Michael mused.

Once again, Michael found himself at Fredbear’s Family Diner.

It hadn’t changed in years. The sights and sounds and smells were staples of his childhood, the building blocks of so many happy memories. He was pretty sure the clusters of balloons, sparkling confetti and the taste of the pizza were irremovably burned into the back of his brain.

The animatronics were always his favourite. Michael gained more appreciation for them as he grew older, having spent hours listening to his dad gush about new models, improved endoskeleton structure and voice box enhancements over the years. No one else seemed to notice what technological marvels these things really were. His dad and Uncle Henry were true geniuses.

Michael watched them perform from back of the room, hovering around a table laden with snacks like some sort of pizza-hungry spectre. His gaze flickered dutifully to Elizabeth every now and then, keeping watch just as his parents had asked him to. Not that it was necessary – all the staff were on high alert.

Other than the looming threat of child murder, it was another uneventful babysitting gig.

Then he noticed Elizabeth was missing. Panicked, he scoured the crowd for her unmistakable fiery hair. Within seconds, the crisis was averted. She sat alone at an empty table, decidedly more forlorn than she’d been just minutes ago.

Michael made his way over with an air of practiced disinterest. “What’s up, Liz?”

Elizabeth seemed torn between confusion, sadness and the simmering yet unthreatening rage only a child was capable of. “They’re being mean,” she gestured to a group of kids across the room who whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves, pointing at the two Aftons unashamedly. “I told them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen!”

“What’d they say?” Michael glared in their direction, hoping the fearful awe of teenagers he used to experience was still felt by the youth of today. “Need me to scare them?”

Elizabeth shook her head fiercely. “You’ll just make it worse. They deserve it, though.”

Feistier than Evan; there was hope left for this family after all.

“Damn right they deserve it,” Michael dropped into the seat beside her and offered a smile. “Who do they think they are, making fun of you? Dad could ban them forever.”

His impassioned speech only dampened Elizabeth’s mood further. She dropped her head into her arms. “I guess.”

Michael leaned closer, trying to ignore the audacious brats on the other side of the room. “What’d they say, Lizzie? I promise not to tell.”

She tilted her head to glance at him. “Nobody? Not even Daddy?”

Puzzled, Michael agreed. “Nobody, I swear.”

Elizabeth raised her head to peek around the room before turning back to Michael. Over the clamour, he barely heard her whisper, “Cindy thinks Daddy killed them.”

Michael scoffed. Elizabeth reeled back, offended. “Cindy’s an idiot, then.”

“That’s true,” Elizabeth agreed solemnly. “But what if she’s right?”

“There’s no way he would do that, not in a million years,” Michael drawled. “He loves this stupid place. He’d never do anything to harm its reputation, let alone kill his own customers. Plus, what sort of idiot would use their own pizzeria as their hunting grounds? That’s asking to get caught.”

Elizabeth gazed imploringly at him, conflict written all over her face. “I know, but...”

“Don’t listen to those kids, alright? They’re liars,” Michael interrupted, shooting an accusatory glance their way. He was quietly thrilled when their smiles faded. “They’re just jealous because our dad is way cooler than theirs.”

Elizabeth hummed in vague agreement, tracing patterns on the tablecloth with her fingers. Michael suddenly pictured Uncle Henry sat at their dining table a week after Charlie disappeared, looking ten years older and utterly hopeless. Inconsolable, no matter what Mom and Dad tried.

“Besides, do you really think he’d hurt Charlie?” Michael continued. “She was practically his fourth kid. You don’t think he’d hurt us, do you?”

Elizabeth paused as if the question warranted debate, as if there were an option besides the obvious truth. “No, but...”

“But what? You gonna believe those losers over me, over Dad?” The words were tinged with unbidden anger. Then his conviction suddenly wavered – he didn’t want to ruin the party for Elizabeth like those stupid kids already had. Warily, she waited, expecting him to continue his tirade.

Michael didn’t do apologies, at least not very well. So he just sighed and blurted, “let’s stop thinking about this. Wanna get ice-cream?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Especially not Daddy,” Elizabeth warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael stood and gave a lazy, highly unprofessional salute. “You never said about that ice-cream...”

“I shouldn’t have to, it’s obvious,” Elizabeth was grinning again, he noticed with some relief. “But I’m going to have as much as I want and you can’t stop me.”

Evan and Elizabeth went to bed and he still hadn’t come back. The sun had almost completely set, despite it being the height of summer, and he still hadn’t come back. Mom began to pace and fret, calling her friends frantically as if she expected them not to pick up, and he still hadn’t come back.

Michael stayed up. He told himself it wasn’t out of worry; Dad came home late every now and then, he was probably busy working through stacks of incomprehensible financial records or whatever the hell else businessmen did. Besides, it wasn’t like the killer targeted adults - the only people who went missing were kids.

What if the killer wanted bigger prey, something a little more rewarding? What if they wanted to destroy the company, not just its reputation? What if Dad worked alongside them every day, not knowing they were waiting to strike, to bury the company by burying its founders?

Michael soon found that TV wasn’t an ample distraction from his irrational thoughts. He couldn’t call David – he was working a shift at the movie theatre – so he tried calling Brandon, who was uncharacteristically unavailable. Thankfully, Jeremy picked up.

“I was literally just about to call you.”

“Miss me that bad, huh?” Michael asked, flopping dramatically onto his bed. He tried to let himself fall into the natural flow of friendly banter, but his mind rebelled against any attempt to relax.

“You wish,” Jeremy snarked. “By the way, have you heard from Brandon? He said he wasn’t going to Stephanie’s party, so he should be home.”

“Just tried to call him. He didn’t pick up.”

“Right,” Jeremy said. “The party’s at Fredbear’s, so I thought that maybe...”

Michael interrupted, unable to stop himself. “He’ll be fine, they’ve got plenty of people on watch. He probably just went to bed already.” It was a lie and Michael knew it – what sort of teenager goes to sleep before the morning hours? “Hey, have you done Ms. Fairfield’s work yet?”

He didn’t give a damn about school, but Jeremy took the bait and started complaining about homework.

The mundanity of the conversation was his saving grace. He kept his voice low as to not disturb his siblings, but it was enough to drown out Mom’s pacing and muttering. As they talked, he watched the clock crawl through every hour as the sky darkened from dusky purples to pitch black.

Over Jeremy’s laughter, Michael heard the car pull into the driveway.

“Shit, Dad’s home. Sorry to cut this short, gotta go.”

“It’s cool, man. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

The front door opened. “See you then.”

Michael could have stayed in his room and gone to sleep, but a diabolic mixture of curiosity and anxiety carried him out into the hall. Feeling exceptionally stalkerish, he leant over the banister, just able to see into the downstairs hallway from his vantage point. If anyone were to look up, the shadows might be just dense enough to obscure him.

“Was there another one?” Mom asked. Dad replied, but Michael couldn’t parse it over the sound of the front door shutting.

“Stephanie Foster? The Fosters we know?” She sounded truly scared. Not worried, not anxious - scared.

It perturbed Michael more than he’d admit. Evan was the scared one, he could be plenty scared enough for the whole family.

“Unfortunately,” Dad’s tone was grave. “At her own birthday party, right under her family’s noses.”

Stephanie was Brandon's sister. He hadn't picked up because she was gone.

Realisation trickled through him. The anxiety coiling in his chest tightened unbearably. For a few moments, the only sound was Dad’s coat rustling as he hung it up, leaving the air heavy with the same dreadful misery that plagued the house after Charlie disappeared.

“That’s the fifth one,” Mom said finally. “Five children. Who knows how many more there’s going to be?”

They finally stepped further into the hallway where Michael could see them. Dad’s usual purple shirt was dishevelled despite being perfectly ironed just that morning. He folded his arms and gripped his chin in thought. Mom watched him expectantly, her steely expression nearly hiding the pained look in her eyes.

“I won’t shut it down,” Dad said resolutely, turning to face her. “This is my life’s work. If the authorities are too incompetent to catch the perpetrator, that’s no fault of mine.”

Mom laughed, short and sharp and slightly hysterical. “Your work isn’t more important than children’s lives, William,” her voice was low and tremulous. “Henry’s daughter is dead. The man you started this enterprise with is tortured by the memory of it. Is that what prosperity means to you?”

“Of course not,” Dad retorted. “Do you think these incidents don’t disturb me? I’ve been forced to watch Henry and I’s dream be bastardised by this monster for years. Every time, I watch families fall apart when they hear the news that their child isn’t coming home. Then I remember the way Henry was when he lost Charlotte, how he still is,” he sighed, shoulders hunching as if buckling under an immense pressure. “It haunts me.”

“It haunts you?” Mom mocked incredulously, humourlessly. “Imagine their families. This murderer has taken everything from them and you’re willing to risk it happening again?” There was another pause where Michael didn’t dare breathe. “If you’re so selfish, then maybe this will get through to you: what if something happened to one of our children? Evan’s party will be at that diner. Tell me, what if he never makes it past his birthday?”

Mom’s voice shook as if the words caused her pain to speak. Her eyes searched Dad’s face frantically, her expression torn between disbelief, sadness and rage.

“Nothing will happen to them.”

“How can you say that?” The accusation came out an astonished whisper. “I won’t lose them, William, but I feel like I’m losing you.”

Michael suddenly envied his siblings, asleep and oblivious to the conversation happening below them. Another arduous silence passed before anyone spoke again.

“I won’t let this family fall apart,” Dad vowed.

“Prove it,” Mom challenged fiercely. “If you care about your family more than your work, you’ll give up your little robotics project to save innocent children’s lives. Our children’s lives.”

Michael couldn’t move, afraid to disturb the very air around him. Tension weighed down on him like a tangible thing.

“I will save the business and our family. I promise.”

“That’s what you said the last time, and the time before that. I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend to believe you.”

The argument seemed to be over, but the tightness in Michael’s chest hadn’t abated. He couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat.

“We can discuss this in the morning.”

By the time his dad began ascending the stairs, Michael had already swept into his room and turned off the light, waiting until the house was quiet again before daring to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

It was the summer of ’83 and Michael Afton had nothing to do but scare his little brother to death, so that’s exactly what he did.

Nobody was laughing anymore. Instead, they were screaming.

Evan wasn’t crying, which didn’t make much sense, because Evan always cries.

Blood dribbled from Fredbear’s mouth, running through his fur in thick, inky trails. Fredbear was still moving; no one was there to tell him the show had ended. There was blood all over Michael, stark and red and warm.

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him away. Their grip was iron as they led him outside and through the parking lot towards a familiar purple car.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Dad?” Michael breathed, only just noticing who they were. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t – is Evan – is he...?”

“Get in the car. Now.”

Michael couldn’t bear to be in the house. It felt hollowed out, its beating heart removed and replaced with empty space. Before the party, Michael would have never considered Evan the heart of anything – he was a diminutive presence, watching from the sidelines with teary eyes, always the least remarkable in every family photo. For someone like that, it was funny how much you noticed they weren’t there.

So he made the town his haunting grounds, spending each day in the waning summer heat, avoiding any road that might lead him back to the diner. He got used to being alone.

Until he wasn’t.

“Hey, Mike!”

Michael halted at Jeremy’s voice, his first instincts telling him to turn around and greet him with a smile. Instead, he glanced back warily.

Jeremy jogged towards Michael with David and Brandon in tow, the latter two looking distinctly less amiable. “Hey, we haven’t seen you since-" Jeremy caught himself, coming to a stop. “In a while. H-how’s it going?”

Jeremy grinned gingerly. David gave Michael a nod of acknowledgement and Brandon fixed him with a withering glare.

“I’m doing alright,” Michael said noncommittally, fighting to avoid Brandon’s eyes. “You?”

Jeremy looked like he was about to reply, but Brandon got there first. “Why don’t you ask Evan that?”

Michael staggered to reply, suddenly wishing he was at home, even if he had to endure his mother’s sobbing, his father locking himself in his office and Elizabeth knocking on his door with her face blotchy from crying, asking to be comfort he couldn’t give.

David tried to hold Brandon back, but he stepped closer to Michael. “I said: why don’t you ask Evan that?”

“You’ve said it twice now,” Michael said before he could stop himself. “Well done for noticing.”

Brandon shoved him, sending him stumbling. “Because he’s fucking catatonic. He’s not waking up, everybody knows that. He’s dead,” he snarled. “And you dragged us into this, his blood is on our hands too. Do you fucking get it?”

“Of course I get it,” Michael snapped. Behind Brandon, the other two were poised to intervene. “He’s my brother.”

“That didn’t seem to make a difference. You still made me do it. You knew what happened to Steph and you still-” he broke off, so close to Michael that he could see Brandon’s anger momentarily contort to grief.

He never was good with apologies. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, okay? About making you do it, about Steph-”

Michael hit the pavement. His forehead burst with pain, sending the world spinning and his vision blurring. The pain dulled to a throbbing ache as his vision cleared. Several layers of skin had been sliced off his elbow and palm, the flesh angry red, embedded with pieces of gravel.

“Stay right there,” Brandon’s voice was alive with rage. It still trembled the way Evan’s did when he was about to cry. “Don’t fucking get up.”

Michael found himself smiling and he didn’t know why. “I think that was the point of punching me, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t make things any worse, Mike,” Jeremy tried.

As if they could get any worse. Michael watched a tear hit the burning pavement with something akin to horror. He wiped his eyes on his arm, shuffling to his feet despite the warning.

“You’re a sadistic little freak, you know that?” Brandon hissed, upper lip curled back. “You’re fucking evil. I don’t know why we bothered being friends with you. All you ever did was fuck around and torment your stupid little brother and now he’s dead. He’s dead because of you.”

Michael felt tears scorching tracks down his face. Blood had sprayed onto his face when the bear bit down. Warm, wet blood.

“I guess you’re just living up to your father’s legacy, though, aren’t you? Kids die at Freddy’s all the time, it was a matter of time before it was one of his own.”

“What the hell, man?”

“He’s been through enough-”

“SHUT UP!” Brandon screamed, silencing the others.

Sometimes, Dad shouted like that, but only if they deserved it - when Michael interrupted his work or when Elizabeth left her toys in his office or when Evan was being a crybaby.

“It should’ve been you!”

Evan always cries.

“You should be dying on that hospital bed right now, not him!”

Evan wasn’t crying anymore.

“I bet your family wishes it was you.”

Blood dripped down his face.

“Everyone wishes it was you. Nobody would care, not even your dad.”

Fredbear was still moving because of course he was they’re only robots, Mike. As clever as their programming is, they still need us to tell them what to do. That’s the merit of the springlock suits - far more reliable.

“Out of all the kids he’s killed, you’d be the one he regrets the least.”

Michael came home with a bruised face, thinking it would earn a scolding or (if he was lucky) concern. His parents, however, were busy shouting at each other in the living room. Too busy to notice Michael slamming the door, kicking off his shoes and trudging upstairs with no amount of stealth.

He made a beeline for the bathroom to purge out the infernal itchy stones stuck in his palm and elbow. Then he washed his face and stared at his reflection, admiring how the reddish bruise blended into the trenches beneath his eyes.

Elizabeth appeared in the mirror.

Michael jumped. He quickly hung his head, embarrassed. “Jesus Christ, Liz...”

“What happened to your face?” She inquired, shier than her usual spirited self.

“I said something stupid,” Michael admitted.

“Like what?”

“None of your business,” Michael said. He strode hastily to his room, poised to close the door when he noticed Elizabeth tailing him, scurrying to keep up.

“What are you doing?” He was desperate to lock himself away, put on his headphones and blast music loud enough to drown out the screaming match downstairs. “Piss off.”

He tried closing the door but Elizabeth recklessly shoved her hand in the way. “Wait! Lemme stay, please?”

‘No’ was right on his lips, but Elizabeth looked so lost, stood outside his room like she’d been orphaned on his doorstep. She wore patterned pyjamas under the blanket she’d draped over herself and she clung to her Circus Baby plush with fidgety hands. It was the one Mom got for her last Christmas, modelled after the animatronic Dad made just for her.

Mom wailed again. Dad shouted back.

“Fine,” Michael acquiesced grumpily.

Elizabeth didn’t light up the way she usually did when getting her way. Instead, she nearly crumpled in relief, surging past Michael into his room.

“Don’t mess anything up.”

Elizabeth nodded fervently as she settled cross-legged onto his bed, enveloped in her blanket. She fiddled with her plush and watched Michael owlishly.

He sighed. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

Somewhat reluctantly, he sat beside her, leaning forward on his knees and twiddling his thumbs. His leg began to bounce.

“They’ve been arguing since I got home,” Elizabeth reported hushedly. “They forgot dinner so I snuck by and stole some cereal.”

“’Course they did,” Michael muttered. “You, uh, hungry now?”

Elizabeth shook her head. They lapsed into an unbearable quiet interrupted by their parents’ echoing shouts. Michael winced every time he heard their names.

God, why did she have to be here? Why did she want to be here? Wouldn’t being amidst the warzone downstairs be preferable to the company of her other brother’s killer?

“Mike?”

“What?” Michael snapped.

“Is Evan going to get better?”

No, of course he wasn’t. Nobody survives a head injury like that, no matter how much money their family poured into the hospital to keep them half-alive a little longer. Treating him was more of a courtesy than an attempt to save him.

Michael wasn’t a good liar, but the truth hurt too much. So, to spare Elizabeth and himself the agony, he said, “I dunno.”

Elizabeth scooted closer, resting her head on his arm. “Okay.”

Michael raked a shaky hand through his hair and tried to control his leg’s bouncing. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend they were watching The Immortal and the Restless on the couch together, Evan on his other side, both of them using him as their unfortunate pillow. He used to have to extricate himself from their clutches before his parents found him doing something as supremely uncool as humouring his siblings.

He still felt like Evan was going to knock on his door at any moment.

“Mommy said she wanted to leave,” Elizabeth whispered. “She wants to take me and go.”

Michael’s leg fell still. “Do you want to?”

“No,” she said instantly. “I don’t wanna leave you and Daddy, but I don’t want Mommy to leave either,” she let Circus Baby go and clung to Michael’s arm.

In Mom’s eyes, apparently Elizabeth was the only one worth saving. The knowledge should’ve hurt more than it did, but Michael registered it numbly.

But why would she leave Dad behind? He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

“Maybe you misheard it,” Michael suggested after a while.

“I didn’t.”

Both of them cringed at a particularly loud shout. The tension only drained out of Michael when he heard no following footsteps coming up the stairs. “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

“You think so?” Elizabeth implored.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Elizabeth rested her head on his arm, retrieving her plush and endearingly making it walk around on her lap. “Can I stay here until they stop shouting?”

“I think you’ve already decided that for me,” Michael sighed, his words forceful but his tone delicate. “Don’t touch anything. If you do, I’m throwing you out.”

As expected, Elizabeth didn’t push her luck. Equally as expected, their parents argued long into the night, their screams eventually dying out into hushed voices. Michael almost preferred the yelling – at least he could hear what they were saying.

If Michael thought he would be able to sleep that night, he might’ve been annoyed that Elizabeth commandeered his bed, but rest was a hopeless cause. So he alternated between the bed, the desk chair and the floor whilst his mind ran wild – acting as his sister’s restless and slightly deranged guard dog.

He had earned his mother’s rejection, his friends’ hatred, and – by some miracle - preserved Elizabeth’s trust. That left Michael with only two people to seek solace from, and he certainly wasn’t starting with his father.

“Sorry if it’s a bit of a mess,” Henry apologised needlessly, setting two glasses of iced water on the coffee table. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael assured.

The living room was just as cosy as he remembered with its assorted house plants, worn armchairs and shelves lined with books and trinkets. A wide-open window enticed a pleasant breeze into the room, alleviating the worst of the midday heat. Photos of a smiling family sat on a side table, all featuring the same little girl at various ages, but she never seemed to age past a certain point.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your face?”

“Oh, that’s, uh...” Michael reached for the bruise unconsciously. “I said something I shouldn’t have. Kinda deserved it, to be honest.”

Henry raised a curious brow, looking a little too concerned for Michael’s comfort.

“Oh, God, no – it’s not like that. Everything’s okay at home, in that sense. It was just a friend of mine. Maybe not a friend anymore, though.”

“I can’t imagine you’ve done anything to warrant that,” Henry said and Michael held back the most pathetic, self-depreciating laugh. “Especially not with what happened,” Henry continued gently. “How are you, regarding that?”

Michael allowed himself a miserable chuckle, grabbed his glass and cradled it with sweaty palms. “That’s what I came to ask you, actually.”

“Please, ask away,” Henry offered graciously.

“How do you handle it?”

Henry seemed taken aback. “Handle what, exactly?”

Michael took a gulp of water and exhaled raggedly, unconsciously avoiding Henry’s gaze. “When you lost Charlie, how did you deal with...” he gesticulated loosely, trying to form the right words. “With knowing that it’s your fault, that you could’ve done something, and if you did then everything would be fine, and-"

“Slow down,” Henry said with a furrow to his brow that wasn’t there before.

“Not that it was your fault! You didn’t do anything wrong, but I’m to blame for Evan and I know I am, even if nobody wants to say it. I just...” Michael rambled, meeting Henry’s eyes in a moment of helplessness. The sympathy within them perturbed him. “I know I deserve to feel guilty, but-"

“Michael, it wasn’t your fault,” Henry said decisively. Michael opened his mouth to object, but Henry continued, “what happened to Evan was an honest mistake. I know you would never intentionally hurt him, it’s not in your nature.”

But Henry wasn’t there for every time Michael scared Evan to tears then mocked him for crying, or when he petrified him so badly that it took Mom an hour to get him to stop shaking. Henry only ever saw them at their most civil, when they were what the Aftons were supposed to be - perfect, whole and unbroken.

“No matter what your mind is telling you, it’s not your fault. It was an accident, Michael, an honest accident. Mistakes don’t make you a monster.”

Selfishly, he wanted Henry to say it again, to endlessly reassure him even if Michael didn’t deserve it or could never believe it. Anything was better than the silence he’d received from his father since the incident.

“I know you don’t believe me,” Henry said tiredly, but not in exasperation. “To be honest, I’m not sure I would believe me if I were in your shoes, but you’re not as evil as you feel you are.”

Michael bowed his head when he felt an unwelcome burning behind his eyes. He would not cry. “Is that how it was for you?” He asked slowly. “With Charlie?”

Quiet fell over them. A car roved past and the curtains fluttered, drawing Henry’s eyes to the window. Michael let him ponder, focusing intently on the rapidly melting ice-cubes in his glass in an attempt to push back the fresh guilt of having even asked the question.

Eventually, Henry spoke. “That was a very different scenario,” he paused. “But I see why you would want to know.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Michael clarified hastily.

“No, it’s alright,” Henry leaned forward and rubbed his face. “If anything I say can make you feel better, I’ll gladly help.” He gave a gentle smile, but not a happy one. “There’s no point in avoiding the topic - you have to let yourself grieve, but you can’t let it swallow you.” Henry looked at him meaningfully. “I don’t want you to have to learn that the hard way like I did.”

Cautiously, Michael asked, “do you forgive yourself?”

Henry stroked his chin in consideration. “It wasn’t a matter of forgiveness, more of a realisation that I was never to blame in the first place, something that’s still hard for me to admit,” Henry said. “There’s only one person to blame for Charlie’s death.”

“Do you forgive them?” Michael asked tentatively, half-expecting Henry to blow up with anger and kick him out.

Strangely, he didn’t. “No - God, no. I could never.” Henry’s voice didn’t even raise, and the quiet anger simmering in his tone wasn’t aimed at Michael. “Anyone who tells you to forgive a killer has never lost someone to one.”

“Have you ever tried to work out who did it?” Michael was acutely aware that he was pushing his luck, but Henry never seemed to behave the way he anticipated.

“Of course,” Henry said. “Many, many times. It would’ve driven me insane if I kept trying to find an answer that...” he cut himself off. “Even if they were caught and received punishment, even if I know they’ll burn in Hell, all those children are still gone. It wouldn’t bring Charlie back.”

Michael let the statement hang heavy over them before continuing, methodically picking his next words. “It’s just- if we knew, it could all be over. Nobody else would have to go through this.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Henry mused. “We only know what the evidence tells us, and so far, all signs point to the killer being local, someone who knows the town well, but that’s all we have.”

“Have you ever suspected someone?” Michael was growing reckless, guilt pushed aside by the urge to hear an answer, whether he liked it or not. “Someone we know?”

“There’s not many people it could be.” Henry’s response was short and clipped, laced with suspicion.

“If it was someone you knew, maybe even someone you loved,” Michael spoke the word ‘love’ with considerable difficulty. “Could you forgive them?”

Henry watched him oddly, as if realising where this was going. “No.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Michael had never seen someone look so sorry for him before that moment. Henry had conflict written all over his face and pity in his eyes when he said, “I wish I didn’t.”

“Michael.”

Dad stood in the doorway, a shadow of a man surrounded by light.

“Hi, Dad,” Michael greeted, shuffling another blueprint aside. Beneath it was one of the earliest designs for a springlock suit – an old Spring Bonnie prototype. He grazed his fingers over its surface almost fondly. “This one always used to scare me. Something about the eyes.”

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come in here, Michael,” Dad promptly lowly. He took slow, purposeful steps into the room.

“No, you didn’t,” Michael remarked.

“Then why are you?”

“Because, maybe,” Michael let the blueprint flutter to the table with the rest, distinctly more unorganised than he’d found them. “Just maybe, I wanted to talk to you. Considered that?”

He was certainly lonely - deserving of his loneliness, but lonely, nonetheless.

However, that wasn’t his only motive. A strange compulsion lured him to the office, a yearning for an answer to a question he wished he never asked. Michael didn’t know what he expected to find amongst diagrams of animatronics and lines of mechanical jargon, but needed to find something that proved himself wrong, anything.

“You can talk to me without breaking into my office,” Dad admonished smoothly.

“Really? When?” Michael challenged. “When you’re at work? You hate being interrupted at work. When you’re arguing with Mom?” Recklessly, he stepped closer, heart pounding in his ears. “You do it all the time, don’t think I don’t hear you. Lizzie has to put up with it too,” he glared up into Dad’s eyes, the same blue he saw in the mirror staring back at him from an older face. “Why not now?”

With every word he spoke, an expression of finality settled further over Dad’s face, as if he’d made a decision about something he’d been thinking about for a very long time.

Michael shouldn’t have said any of it. He shouldn’t be in this room. And yet, despite the rational side of him screaming for him to leave, Michael stayed.

“Have you considered that I might be busy lately because of you?” Dad said levelly. Michael wished he would just scream at him already. “Your brother will be dead within the week because of your idea of a practical joke. The hospital bills are draining our finances and the business is going under faster than ever before. Your actions have consequences, Michael.”

“I know!” Michael yelled, wishing he was taller, more threatening. Maybe then Dad would do something besides regard him sternly. “I know I killed Evan, it’s all I ever think about, I can’t stop thinking about it. And I’m sorry for ruining Lizzie’s life and Mom’s life and I’m sorry for ruining yours, too,” Michael choked out the last few words, his yell dying out into a harsh whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

Michael frantically searched his face. “How can you say that?”

“You don’t get to dictate what I say, Michael,” Dad said, almost angry. Almost. He sighed like the conversation was nothing more than an inconvenience. “You didn’t used to be like this. I used to be proud of you.”

“Back when I was too stupid to see who you really are?” Michael retorted, aware every word he said took him further into dangerous territory.

“When you hadn’t torn this family apart,” Dad said. “Before you killed your brother.”

Michael laughed disbelievingly. He felt manic, scrambling not to accept the truth. His attempts were scattered when he said, “you fucking hypocrite.”

Dad hit harder than Brandon, he discovered. Michael fell backwards and slammed into the desk. He slid to the floor, hunched over himself protectively. A few stray blueprints fluttered around him.

Michael touched his face where he’d been punched and his fingers came away slightly red. “Nice shot,” he croaked, looking up through his hair. “Really did a number on me.”

In that moment, he believed Cindy, Brandon and Henry. He felt every bit the scared little child and Dad looked every bit the murderer they knew he was.

Michael found his answer in the office, after all.

“Consider yourself lucky that’s all I did.”

Michael wanted to smile in satisfaction, but he couldn’t. “So you don’t deny it.”

Whatever fear that had abated quickly returned when Dad grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragged him to his feet and didn’t let go. Michael met his eyes, terrified. “No one will believe you,” Dad muttered. Michael tried uselessly to shrink away. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll make sure you never get the chance to repeat your mistake.”

Dad dropped him. Michael collapsed against the desk, breathing raggedly and shaking all over.

“You’ve made a mess of my office,” Dad observed, straightening his shirt. “I suppose you can’t help yourself when it comes to ruining things.”

Michael couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Leave.”

He rushed to the door. Before he could escape, Dad added, “oh, Michael, when your mother and sister asked what happened to your face...”

Michael turned around stiffly. Dad looked back at him, as well put together as usual, wearing a soft smile. “Tell them you got what you deserved.”

“Can you hear me?”

Evan’s chest rose and fell steadily, but almost unnoticeably. The only sound was the beeping of the heart rate monitor.

“I don’t know if you can hear me.”

Someone brought his plushies for him. They watched over the scene from the bedside table, arranged carefully as to not disturb to flowers and cards. Tucked under Evan’s arm was his favourite Fredbear plush, a harmless replica of the very thing would undoubtedly be the death of him.

But Michael knew who was really to blame.

“I’m sorry.”