Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There, the document is ready, I just need you two to fill it out.” The worker handed William the pen as he pushed the paper closer to him. William put the paper between him and Clara as he filled it out, both smiling proudly.

Clara gently rocked her baby back and forth to keep him asleep and calm. The worker smiled gently at the parents as William pushed the filled document of the baby’s birth certificate to him. He read over it carefully, making sure both parents’ names were mentioned.

He smiled once more and looked at both proud Afton parents. The little baby boy slept peacefully in his mothers arms as she hummed a little tune to him. “Michael Terrance Afton,” the agent started, “such a beautiful name.”

Michael huffed as his father left him to baby-sit his brother again. Ever since meeting Henry, William has been obsessed with the restaurant they built. And ever since, William also stopped paying much attention to his family, but especially to Michael.

He was the oldest, so he should be fine without attention, right? Wrong. Michael’s still young, and he wants his dad to pay attention to him just as much as he does with his brother and sister.

Well, Michael found that scaring the shit out of the youngest of the Afton’s – the one he was supposed to baby-sit – was a great way of coping with this sadness he’s been feeling. His little group of friends find it funny, so that’s a bonus – for them, at least.

Evan was wandering the house, as he usually does, hugging his Fredbear plushie. And if Michael doesn’t keep an eye on him, he’ll hurt himself since he’s so young. That’s what his father says. Michael doesn’t quite believe him, Evan is old enough to not accidentally kill himself or break any bones, but whatever.

His mom and sister are at the park, so Michael doesn’t really have another option but to watch over Evan anyway. So Michael puts on his little Foxy The Pirate mask and goes around the house after Evan.

And, predictably, Evan gets scared over and over. It never gets old, and Evan never stops getting afraid.

And yeah, Michael knows he’s taking out his frustration on the wrong person. Evan wasn’t to blame for his father’s lack of presence, but he was the easiest target. So he’ll take what he can get.

Admittedly, Michael does feel a pang of guilt everytime he sees Evan’s eyes fill with tears because of him, or when he actually starts crying. But the guilt feels better than the emptiness in his chest.

Oh well, it’s not like anything too bad will happen. Michael wouldn’t go too far.

Evan’s sixth birthday. His mother insisted Michael attended the party, so they made a deal that Michael could bring a few of his friends if he went. Could Michael have just left the house after his family had left to go hang out with his friends?

Yeah, but he’s not going to lie, he likes the animatronics from his dad’s restaurant. And even though they had a brand new restaurant with four animatronics (all which Michael loved, but Foxy is his favourite), Evan wanted his party to be at Fredbear’s.

Sure, Michael also liked Fredbear and Springbonnie, but the addition of Chica and Foxy – plus the colour scheme of the new Freddy and Bonnie – was superior. Yet his brother just loved Fredbear.

So to Fredbear’s they went. And even on his son’s goddamned birthday, William was nowhere in sight. Why? He said he had “business to attend to.”

Because, for William Afton, business was always more important than his own family, than his son’s birthday.

More important than Michael Afton ever was.

So you can’t blame Michael for being extra pissed today. And, of course, he chose his favourite punching bag to let the anger out. Even on his birthday, Evan couldn’t escape Michael. Especially if Michael’s day is shittier than normal.

Which just so happens to be the case.

His friends don’t help calm him down before he does something stupid. Instead, they encouraged him. They were teenagers, afterall. Teens like to see stupid shit go down, just for fun.

The table of his masked friends all cheered a bit as he finally got up, chair scraping against the floor. He located his scared little brother in some corner of the establishment. Because of course he’s scared of the animatronics he loves.

Michael made his way to Evan, all his friends following close behind. Evan noticed the group too late, they already had him cornered. Michael saw the fresh tears well up in his brother’s eyes, and he felt the familiar feeling of guilt consume him.

“Wow, your brother is kind of a baby isn’t he?” One of his friends said. Michael laughs slightly – fakely – before replying meanly. “It’s hilarious! Why don't we help him get a closer look! He will love it!”

Evan cries for him to stop. His little brother practically begs him. Michael’s guilt feels heavy in his chest. It’s still better than numbness.

He should stop. But his friends were surrounding him, laughing at his poor, terrified brother, and Michael knew if he stopped now, his friends wouldn’t stop calling him a wuss and a softie for the rest of the week. He really didn’t want to deal with that, even if he knew they were all just joking.

So, despite the forming pit in his stomach, Michael put on a cocky grin and grabbed Evan’s arm. Immediately, his sibling squirmed to get out of his grip.

But Michael was 9 years older than Evan. The little boy didn’t stand a chance.

Michael picked up Evan as he sobbed and flailed, kicking his feet in the hope to defend himself. That only made Michael’s friends laugh harder.

William Afton was too busy attending to important business to notice. Clara Afton was too busy keeping Elizabeth Afton and her little friends happy to notice.

Michael Afton made his way to the stage, Evan Afton in his arms.

“No! I don’t want to go!” Evan screams between hiccuping sobs. The laughs of the teens echoed in Michael’s head, so he laughed with them.

“Aw, no need to cry, Ev!” Michael started, mocking concern in his voice. The concern in his chest wasn’t fake. “Why are you scared? You don’t have to be. Fredbear just wants to give you a hug!” Michael exclaimed, finally reaching the stage and pushing Evan in the direction of the big animatronic bear.

“No! Please, Terrance! Please!” Evan bawled, still kicking and resisting. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks and snot was starting to drip down his nose. Michael could tell.

Michael should stop.

Michael continued.

“C’mon Evan! Fredbear wants to give you a big kiss!” He shouted, finally shoving his brother in the animatronics arms. His head was shoved into the bear's head. Evan continued crying.

The laughter from his friends rang in his ears, piercing his head. It was starting to hurt mildly.

Michael laughed with them.

Then, amidst the tears and snot, the springlocks failed.

Fredbears jaw clamped shut.

Evan stopped moving.

Evan stopped making noise.

Michael froze as he felt warm blood on his cheek. His brother’s blood. Evan’s blood.

The laughter that had abruptly stopped turned into panicked yells, yet Michael stood paralyzed.

His brother, little Evan Afton, was hanging from an animatronics mouth, blood splattered all around it. Splattered on Evan’s favourite striped shirt. On Michael.

Reality finally seemed to sink in as the blood dripped from his face onto the floor.

Time seemed to slow down as he rushed to release his brother from the fake bear's jaw. Michael struggled as he sobbed, tears turning crimson as they mixed with the blood on his face. Michael numbly noticed that two of his friends started helping while the last one screamed at someone to call an ambulance. He wondered where his parents were right now.

When the animatronics mouth opened slightly, Michael moved to grab his brother. His friends held the metal jaws open as he gently tugged his limp brother out.

Michaels clothes drenched in Evans blood as he hugged his brother close. He fell to the floor, gripping onto his brother for dear life as he screamed and sobbed for Evan to move, to show any signs he was alive.

“Evan, please! It was an accident, I didn’t want this to happen! Please!” Michael’s throat felt raw as he screamed and sobbed. Michael’s world started looking fake. The restaurant seemed to be losing colour. Michael didn’t know what was happening.

He put a gentle hand on Evans face. He was so cold. Michael gazed at him as he cried, softly begging Evan to open his eyes. He put his brother's face on his chest and held him close.

Michael felt cold. He could barely breathe. Michael could feel his heartbeat in his ears. His heart rapidly pounded in his chest until it hurt.

The ground around him felt warm as the blood spread. Evan was still limp in his arms, a bite shaped hole in his forehead oozing blood everywhere. Michael couldn't care less about the mess. He just wanted his brother to move and laugh in his face, telling him that he deserved to be scared.

But that didn’t happen. Evan didn’t move and his breathing was shallow. Too superficial and slow. Michael got tunnel vision as he noticed his brother was dying – actually dying – in his arms. And it was all his fault.

The mantra of “It’s all your fault” kept repeating itself in his head like a broken record. He was so absorbed in his own deprecating thoughts he didn’t notice his father standing a few feet away from him, stunned.

Michael was only made aware of the situation around him as paramedics were pulling his brother from his arms gently. The sirens of the ambulance outside were suddenly too loud for Michael, even when he couldn’t hear them a second ago.

They took Evan away towards the blinding lights outside the restaurant. A part of Michael wanted to grip onto his little brother, not wanting to let go of him ever again. But he let Evan be taken away by the medics.

Michael didn’t get up. He sat there, covered in his siblings blood, crying to himself. He curled in on himself, hugging his torso. Michael clamped his eyes shut as everything became too much – the cold sweat dripping down his back, the warm blood all over his hands and shirt and pants.

The cheap plastic of the Foxy The Pirate mask was stained a darker red than before, and one of the ears broke off when it hit the ground. Michael didn’t care. He could never look at those stupid cheap masks ever again.

He felt arms wrap around him, almost protectively shielding him from the world around him. The sirens faded in the distance as Michael looked up with shaky breaths and tear-filled eyes at who was hugging him.

For the first time in maybe five years, William Afton was hugging his eldest son. His fathers eyes were watery, yet they looked almost numb. Michael didn’t care right now, he just broke down and hugged his father back.

For once, the purple uniform didn’t feel like a reminder of how his father ignored him – instead, it was comforting. At least, just this once.

Chapter Text

“C’mon, Ev! You can do it!” Michael held his open arms out. William stood next to him, camera pointed at Evan. The two look at the youngest with barely contained excitement.

Evan stood and Michael held his breath. His baby brother wobbled towards him on his chunky little legs, arms stretched out for balance. William tried to keep the camera as still as possible as he filmed Evan get closer and closer, until he was an arm’s length away from his older brother.

Evan walked a few more steps before falling onto Michael’s chest, laughing as his older sibling giggled and held him. Michael adjusted Evan on his lap and looked at the camera his father held. He showed little Evan to the lens. Michael’s smile beamed with pride and joy.

“Evan’s first steps!”

The walk into the house was tense. It was almost midnight and the family had just gotten back from the hospital. Evan was in a coma, and it was all Michael’s fault.

Clara carried a sleeping Elizabeth into the home, both of their eyes puffy and red from sobbing. William glanced at Clara’s exhausted frame standing in the dark room. He switched on the light, and Michael shielded his eyes.

“Clara, go to sleep. I’ll handle this.” William spoke. Michael shut his eyes as fresh tears started pooling in them. He knew what William meant and he knew that it’s what he deserved. That didn’t make it hurt less.

His mom disappeared up the dark steps with his sister, and Michael turned to face his father. Williams' face was indescribable. He showed no emotion, yet so much anger radiated off him. Michael knew he checked the security camera recordings from the pizzeria. At least that meant Michael wouldn’t have to relive the situation just to explain it to his furious father.

“Have you gone insane?! Why the hell did you do that, Terrance?!” His father angrily said, trying his best to keep his voice down to not wake the girls upstairs.

But Michael couldn’t respond. He hated how his own name reminded him of what he did to Evan. He could only remember his brother pleading to put him down. He should’ve listened. Michael’s body was shaking as he remembered the blood splattered everywhere, and suddenly he was very aware of how his clothes were still covered in dry blood.

He had to answer his father, William was still fuming. So Michael pushed down everything he was feeling and looked at his father, trying to not burst out crying. He couldn’t do that again.

“Answer me, Terrance! What were you thinking?” His fathers voice boomed in his ears, and he couldn’t help but notice how William didn’t seem to care about his sleeping sister or mother upstairs anymore.

Michael held his ground as best as he could. “I don’t know…” His voice came out weaker than he wanted, almost in a whisper. William looked even angrier now, if that was possible. “What did you say?”

William matched the tone of Michael’s own voice. Despite that, he sounded almost daring, as if he was getting ready to fight. Michael curled in on himself.

“I said I don’t know… why I did it.” Michael finally answered, his voice wavering as he tried to speak up while containing his tears. “God dammit, Terrance! You better tell me a good reason for what you did right now!”

William yelled so loud, he wouldn’t be surprised if he woke the neighbours. Michael flinched at that, and his tears flooded down his face once again. An image of Evan hanging out of Fredbear's mouth crossed his mind and he choked in his own sadness.

“Fucking hell, stop crying! You did that on purpose, we wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you! You have no right to cry, Terrance!” His father’s words cut deep, and Michael couldn’t take it anymore.

All the pent up frustration from months – years, maybe – of his parents' ignorance finally caught up to him in a moment of blinding rage. His sobs didn’t stop – they intensified instead – and his voice cracked when he yelled back, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Fucking fine! You want to know what was going through my head? Fine! I was thinking about how much of a fucking asshole you are! You miss out on your own son's birthday because of business! Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a horrible father!” Michael pointed an accusing finger at William, who seemed to be ready to actually fight him.

“That’s it?! That’s why you hospitalised your brother? And don’t you speak to me like that, Terrance, I’ll-”

“Shut up!” Michael cut him off. William opened his mouth to retaliate, but Michael didn’t let him continue. “You don’t let me speak! You never do! I know I took out my anger on the wrong person but-” a hiccuping sob cut him off, but he stayed firm in his speech. “But you’re never there! You never were! Ever since you opened that fucking pizzaria, you don’t care about us anymore! About me!”

“I’m always taking care of Evan! Mom is too busy with Eliza to even look at me or Evan! So I have to parent him instead! And can you blame me for getting pissed about that? I’m fucking fifteen, I shouldn’t be taking care of a kid! I just wanted you to look at me again!” Michael sobbed and curled in on himself as he finished speaking.

Then he felt it. A sharp slap across his face. He looked up at his dad, holding his cheek. “Go to your room.” Williams' voice was oddly unemotional. Numb.

Michael stood there for a second, just staring in shock at his father. “I said go, Terrance!” He shouted. Michael moved to the stairs as he shouted back at his dad. “Don’t call me that! My fucking name is Michael!”

He stomped up the stairs, sobbing angrily. At the top of the steps, Elizabeth was staring at him. How long had she been there? As he reached the last step, Elizabeth said something. “Is Evan hurt… because of you?” Her squeaky voice held a tone of betrayal that Michael would never forget. Her tiny body seemed to shake with anger as he didn’t respond, just kept on silently crying.

She looked so mad as she turned her back to him and walked to her room, slamming the door behind her. Michael hurriedly made his way to his own room. He hoped this was a nightmare.

Michael woke up suddenly. He didn’t know why, he was tired as shit and he felt like shit. Sleeping is the best way to cope with feeling like that, at least for him. He rolled over in his bed for a minute to check the alarm. His eyes widened as he sat up and looked at the time.

“What the hell? I slept for, like, ten minutes! How the hell did I just wake myself up?” Michael huffed, frustrated. As he turned to get back into bed, he noticed something. His body was oddly… small. As if he went back to being seven years old.

He touched his face, and his concern doubled. He had baby fat. He ran a hand through his hair. His mullet was gone. In its place was short, unruly hair. He looked down at his body again and noticed his striped shirt. Evan’s striped shirt.

As he was getting up to go to his parents room, a sound startled him. It came from his wardrobe. Evan’s wardrobe. Why was he in Evan’s room?

He made his way over to the closet, and, as he walked, noticed how short he was. Michael grabbed a flashlight and was prepared to shine it into the empty space in front of him when he noticed it.

A giant Foxy The Pirate animatronic was standing inside the closet, just staring at him. He was terribly damaged and his mouth – and teeth – looked much bigger than he’s ever seen. Foxy raised his hook slowly, almost as if ready to attack. Michael lunged forward and closed the closet just in time to hear the robot fox thud against the door.

The other side of the door was quiet again, so he held it open to look inside. The horrific animatronic was nowhere to be seen. Instead, in its place, was a little plush of Foxy. Michael glanced around the dark room, confused and dazed. What the hell was happening?

He heard a noise from the bed. He turned around to see three freddy plushies. They were all trembling, as if scared of something that was approaching. They looked horrible, destroyed, but at least they were much smaller than Michael.

Michael walked towards the bed, flashlight in hand. Just as he reached the edge of the bed, a much larger Freddy appeared behind the three twitching plushies. He looked similar to the giant Foxy from before, huge and withered. His eyes glowed yellow and as the bear opened its enormous mouth, he could tell the teeth looked as though they were stained with blood.

Before Michael could even react, the bear pounced, roaring as he grabbed Michael by the shoulders and lifted him towards his mouth like he was nothing. The flashlight fell to the carpeted floor with a quiet thud just as his head was crushed under the pressure of those sickeningly sharp teeth.

Michael jolted up in bed, panting and grabbing at his chest. He barely contained the scream that was crawling up his throat as he finally looked around. He was in his room. He gazed down at his body, noting that he was back to normal. No striped shirt or chubby face.

He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It read 1:45 AM. Michael let out a trembling sigh as he got out of bed quietly. He felt comforted as his feet made contact with the wooden floor, no carpet, unlike his brother’s room.

He crept into the bathroom down the hall as quietly as he could, shutting the door and turning the lights on. He washed his face and looked in the mirror. He was still himself. Michael kept staring at the mirror, wondering what that dream – or nightmare – was about.

He exhaled again, tense and uncomfortable. He made his way back to his room and tried to sleep again to no avail. He tossed and turned for hours, but everytime he was close to falling asleep he was jolted awake again, and he had no idea why. It was like an invisible force was keeping him from sleeping.

Michael sat up in his bed and looked at his clock again. It was almost six in the morning. He guessed he could start getting ready for school. Even if his parents let him stay home because of what had happened yesterday, he didn’t want to put up with his dad. Not after last night.

He got some jeans and a band shirt from his closet and left his room. He brushed his teeth and took a shower before tugging on the clothes he picked out and going to walk downstairs. He stopped in front of the stairs as he looked at Evans bedroom door. It was slightly open, and Michael just wanted to walk in and see his brother sleeping peacefully in his bed.

He moved from the top of the stairs to the door. Michael hesitated before pushing it open and walking inside. The carpeted floor felt heavenly on his cold feet as he moved to sit on Evans bed. It was unmade, just like it was before the family had left for the pizzeria yesterday.

The room in itself was tidy, except from some toys strewn around the floor. Michael took notice of how his Fredbear plushie wasn’t in the room, and he remembered his sister putting it on Evans bedside before they had to leave the hospital.

He hoped Evan would notice it was there with him to bring him comfort, even if he wasn’t awake.

Michael looked at Evan’s clock, showing it was almost 7AM. He walked out of the room and heard some shuffling from his parents room, meaning William probably woke up. Michael rushed to grab his bag from his room before running down the stairs, hoping to avoid his father for at least the first half of the day.

He threw on his shoes and made himself a rushed PB&J sandwich. He scribbled a note about how he went to school early before throwing it on the counter and running out the door. He slowed his pace once his house was out of view and calmly ate his sandwich.

Michael had to make a bigger effort than normal to bite down and chew each piece of the food. Once he reached the entrance to the school, he threw out the rest of his PB&J, not feeling like putting in more effort just to eat. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

The halls were almost empty as he walked inside. Michael stalled at his locker, trying to see if any of his friends had come to school today. As the school started filling up with more and more students, Michael realised his friends wouldn’t be here today.

He groaned as he basically slammed his locker shut and walked to his first class. He was the first one there. The feeling of being in an empty classroom while the hallways outside bustled with commotion made Michael feel better. It was a soothing feeling, though he doesn’t really know why.

He chose one of the farthest seats he could and put his stuff down. He was enjoying his peace until someone walked in. A blond boy with freckles scattered on his face opened the door. His glasses were a colourful pattern, yet it was subtle enough Michael didn’t immediately notice it.

The boy was rocking a short haired feathered haircut. It suits him a lot. The boy made eye contact with Michael and stopped abruptly. They stared at each other before the blond moved to sit at a table closer to the front than Michael.

They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes before the boy turned around again. He looked at Michael for a few seconds and hesitantly got up. Michael glanced up at him as he moved closer, eyeing him from behind his dark curls.

The boy stopped in front of his desk and they just looked at each other before the blond finally spoke up. “Hey, um.” He fidgeted with his fingers before continuing. “I noticed you look off today. I normally see you hanging out with your friends, but I can tell that there’s something wrong. I know we don’t really talk-”

“We’ve never talked before.” Michael cut him off. The boy looked sheepishly to the side. “Right…” He kept quiet after that, but he still stood there. Michael started feeling bad.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude or whatever… Um, what were you saying?” The boy smiled awkwardly at him. “Yeah, I was just saying how, if you need company or if you just want to talk about it, I’m always here.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at the boy, and he squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. “Why are you being so nice to me?” Michael questioned. The boy simply smiled. “I just want to help out, I know what it’s like to feel alone.” Michael sat quietly, mouth slightly agape. There’s no way this boy was just this nice.

“I’m Jeremy, by the way. Jeremy Fitzgerald” The boy – Jeremy – said. “I forgot to say that, sorry.” He chuckled at himself before directing his attention to Michael. “You’re Terrance Afton, right?”

Michael looked down at his desk and cleared his throat. “It's Michael, actually. Terrance is my middle name, but I’m not really fond of it…” He explained. Jeremy tilted his head to the side a bit.

“Huh. That’s interesting. Then why does everyone call you Terrance?” Jeremy questioned. Michael looked up at him again. “It’s because my dad’s middle name is Michael, so my parents just called me Terrance, and it kinda stuck. But now I’d rather be called Michael. Please.”

Michaels voice came out fragile at the end, and Jeremy decided not to push it anymore than he already did. He smiled at the other boy as the bell rang, announcing that Michael should sit with him at lunch before going back to his seat just as everyone else piled into the classroom.

What an odd guy.

Michael ended up staying just a few minutes in the cafeteria with Jeremy. The news of what happened at Fredbears was spreading like a wildfire, and everyone looked at Michael as if he was a monster. He knew he deserved it, but it still didn’t make it hurt less.

Jeremy said to ignore them, they’re just being mean. Michael didn’t know why Jeremy was insisting on being his friend when it was obvious Michael was a terrible person. He could be friends with anyone, and he chose Michael? Jeremy really was odd.

But when Michael left the lunch room – almost in tears – Jeremy didn’t follow. Michael thanked whatever superior power was up there that spared him from having a breakdown in front of that guy. He didn’t see Jeremy the rest of the school day.

When he walked into the house, he was expecting to be greeted by the emptiness of the home. Instead, his father stood at the kitchen counter, seemingly awaiting Michael’s arrival. As Michael moved towards the stairs, William spoke.

“Terrance, wait.” His voice sounded heavily with guilt. Michael stopped in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. He turned slowly towards his father. William just stared at him for a minute, until finally sighing.

“Terrance, I’m…” He hesitated, almost as if wondering whether what he was about to say would be enough. “I’m sorry… for what I did yesterday. And for what I said. I don’t want to lay my hands on you like that ever again, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for all of you – for you – when you needed me most. You have every right to be upset and cry over what’s been happening. I know how difficult it is…” William stepped towards his son while looking down, presumably disappointed in himself.

Once close enough, he pulled Michael in for a hug. It took a while, but Michael soon hugged back, his shoulders shaking with cries. William squeezed him tighter as his own eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Terrance.”

Michael's thoughts flashed with Evan screaming that name, begging to put him down. He clenched his fists around his fathers clothes. “Please, don’t call me that. Just call me Michael. Please, dad.” His shaky voice rasped out, and William hugged him impossibly tighter.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Michael.” And that’s all it took for Michael to break out into a full blown panic attack, although he didn’t know that’s what it was. His sobs wracked at his chest, and he felt as if there was a pressure in his lungs, in a way that felt like someone had put a ton of bricks on his chest.

His breathing came out erratically, and his vision blurred. Michael put all his strength into standing, and his father had to lead him up the stairs and into his room. William stayed there, comforting him, and as soon as his sobs turned into sniffles, he fell asleep.

Later that afternoon, Clara woke him up, telling him that they were visiting Evan in the hospital. He groggily got into his dads car, Elizabeth sitting as far away from him as possible. She knew it was his fault Evan was hurt, and there was nothing he could do to get her to like him again.

The drive was silent. His father kept checking on him through the rear-view mirror, he wasn’t even trying to hide it. That was the first time he could remember his father being so concerned for Michael.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot and made their way to the room Evan was in. The lady at the front desk gave them a sympathetic look as she realised what the youngest of the family had gone through. They all had their turn to be alone with Evan, and when it was Michael's turn, Elizabeth glared at him as he opened the door. “You better not hurt him more.” She said angrily.

Clara didn’t make a move to correct her, but William scolded her lightly as Michael entered the room. His brother lay in that hospital bed, his head covered in bandages and gauze. His arms had several tubes connected to them and he was even hooked onto a ventilator.

Michael sat beside him for a while, not saying anything. He touched Evan’s cheek just as he’d done the day before. Michael looked at his brother, eyes full of remorse, as he finally dared to speak. “Can you hear me?” His brother didn’t react. Of course he didn’t.

“I don’t know if you can hear me…” Michael uttered, and again, no response. “I’m sorry…” And that's all Michael could bring himself to say. He started crying, and he left the room before it got worse. The drive home was the same as the ride to the hospital.

William walked into Michaels room just as he was preparing to go to bed. He was holding a walkie-talkie in his hand. “Terran- Um, Michael? I have something for you.”

His father got closer and handed him the walkie-talkie. “You know the plushie Evan has?” Michael nodded in confirmation. Willing motioned to the electronic in Michaels hands. “I connected that walkie-talkie to some speakers inside his teddy. I used it to speak to him and made it seem like his toy was talking. I noticed he felt better once he heard it.”

Michael looked down at the device in his hands, then back at his father. “Then… why are you giving it to me?” His father smiled sympathetically at him. “So you can talk to him. I know you love him just as much as anyone else in the family does, and you feel horrible for hurting him. Maybe it’ll bring you just as much comfort as it brings him.”

His father walked out of the door before Michael could respond. He spent a lot of time thinking about what to say in the walkie-talkie. He wanted his brother to know he really loved him. Finally, he decided on what he wanted to say.

“You’re broken. We are still your friends.” He hoped Evan would understand that Fredbear meant himself and Michael. He continued, “Do you still believe that?”

A pause. Michael let out a shuddering breath.

“I will put you back together.”

Chapter Text

Clara and William were giving as much attention to Elizabeth as possible. She was finally crawling, and if they let her out of their sights, she would get into trouble. That’s what Michael started noticing at the ripe age of 7.

He tried to get his dad to play with him like they used to, but he just wouldn’t even look at him. He tried to get his mom to take him to the playground and chase him around, but she would refuse everytime, saying she’s too tired.

Michael would wake up at crazy hours of the night to Elizabeth crying, as 1 year olds normally did. But his parents would comfort her, and when they finally got her to stop bawling, he would ask for them to sing to him to get him to sleep again. They always said no. They’d never said no before. Michael started to sing alone to go to sleep.

One day, William walked in on Michael sniffling in the corner of his room. He made his way towards him. “Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?” He asked calmly, gently. He crouched in front of his little kid as he looked up at his dad, eyes filled with unshed tears. “Dad, are you and mom going to forget me?” The question stunned William for a second, before he wrapped his arms around Michael, pulling him into his lap.

“Of course not, why would you think that?” William’s concern was evident in his voice, calmly guiding a gentle hand up and down little Michael’s back. The kid sniffled again. “It’s just… You don’t pay attention to me anymore, only Eliza. You have two kids, why am I less important?” More tears flowed from his eyes as he said the final part. William hugged Michael tightly.

“No, Terrance, you’re not less important. You are just as important to us as Elizabeth is. It’s just that Elizabeth is very young, and we need to give her extra attention to keep her safe since she can’t do that herself yet.” Michael looked up at his dad’s face. William smiled and left a loving kiss on his forehead. “If you ever want our company, you could play with Elizabeth too. She’ll love to have fun with her entire family, I’m sure of it.” The reassuring smile William gave him made the tears stop.

Michael smiled. He really wanted to play with his family.

“You know,” Jeremy started, munching on his ham sandwich, “You barely eat anything at lunch. Are you, like, poor or something?” He chuckled at his own joke, and Michael playfully rolled his eyes at him.

That’s been their routine for the past two weeks. Sit together during their shared classes and at lunch. Michael didn’t tell Jeremy anything about his family, but one thing Jeremy knew for sure was that the Aftons were rich. So Michael never took offence to his stupid jokes, and Jeremy never meant harm either, Michael knew.

“Shut up, you ass.” Michael told him off with a laugh, none of his words held any resentment. Michael is proud to say they’d grown very close in the short time they’ve known each other. Jeremy laughed, mouth still filled with a bite of his sandwich. Michael cringed at that. He was about to tell Jeremy to swallow before opening his mouth, but was interrupted by an announcement over the speakers.

“Michael Terrance Afton, to the principal's office please.” The robotic voice repeated the sentence once more before shutting off. Michael felt as though everyone was staring at him as he got up, a worried look on his face. He hadn’t done anything wrong – at least not in school – so what was happening?

Jeremy silently got up with him and walked him to the principal's office. Once they reached the door, Jeremy put a reassuring hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You don’t need to get so tense, it’s probably a misunderstanding.” Jeremy smiled reassuringly at him as he let go of his shoulder. Michael returned the smile – or at least tried, but his worry slipped through very obviously.

He opened the door to the office, taking one more worried look at Jeremy before turning his back to him and walking in. Inside, his parents sat on a little couch in the principal's office. His father had an arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulders as she sobbed into her hands. His father didn’t look at him. A sinking feeling took over him.

“Terrance, please sit down.” The principal gestured to the empty seat in front of his parents. “It’s Michael.” He said as he sat down. The principal simply hummed in acknowledgment. Michael looked at his parents, waiting. He waited for a while, before his mother finally spoke. “Evan, he-” That’s all she said before she broke down sobbing again.

Michael knew what this was about. He really did. He just didn’t want to believe it. He refused to believe it. He leaned forward in his seat, hoping this was some sick joke. His eyes glistened over as he looked pleadingly at his father.

His father looked at the ground, sadness and anger in his eyes. “Michael. Your brother, Evan he-” William gulped. “He didn’t make it.” His mother started weeping harder. Michael sat in shock. His vision blurred and his hands shook. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. There was no way.

His father looked at the principal, who only nodded in return. William stood up, helping his wife to her feet as well. “We came to pick you up. We’re going to the hospital to-” his father shakily inhaled and exhaled, trying to hold in tears. “To visit him one last time.”

“No! You’re lying!” Michael cried out, gripping at his chest. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t. His body wracked with uncontrolled sobs. He screamed his heart out and gripped at his hair. His breathing was erratic and frantic and he couldn’t help but think that it should’ve been him.

He was the one that should’ve died.

His heart pounded out of his chest. He could tell his parents were standing to the side, not doing anything in his regard. He didn’t blame them. Their little child was dead because of him. He killed his brother.

The principal crouched down in front of him. He was saying something, but Michael couldn’t understand him. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and that’s all he could seem to hear. The world around him seemed to be fading. He tried to gulp down mouthfuls of air, but it didn’t seem to be making it to his lungs. Eventually, everything went black.

When Michael woke up, he was lying on the couch in the principal's office. He groaned and sat up slowly, putting a hand to his forehead. His head was throbbing and his throat felt raw. What had happened?

“Michael!” He heard someone exclaim. He looked around, the room looked blurry. He saw a fuzzy figure rush towards him and lay him back onto the couch. They then crouched down in front of him so they were face to face.

“Michael, oh my God I was so worried!” Michael recognized that voice. He had never sounded so distressed. Michael hated hearing that worry in Jeremy’s voice. He groggily reached out a hand and lay it gently on his cheek.

“Jeremy…” His throat burned as he spoke. “What happened?” Jeremy put his own hand atop of Michaels, soothingly rubbing his thumb along it. He smiled sadly at Michael. “Your parents came to pick you up, but you got upset and passed out from crying. That’s what the principal told me, at least. I don’t want to pry, but I’m always here if you need me, Michael.”

And all the previous events came rushing back to his mind. He tried to sit up abruptly as he felt his sadness overcome him again. The pounding in his head hurt like hell, but he needed to see his brother. Once he looked around the room, however, he found it was empty except for himself and Jeremy.

Jeremy gently laid him down again, resting a hand on his forehead. “Don’t worry. Your parents went to pick up your sister, they should be coming back by now.” Jeremy’s soothing voice helped to ease some of the tension from Michaels shoulders. Jeremy moved his hand from his forehead to his cheek, just as Michael had done to him moments before.

“It’s okay. I don’t know what happened, but I know you’ll get through it. You’re so strong, Michael, you really are. I hope you know that.” The words he spoke settled into Michael's heart. Jeremy’s loving tone made his walls crack and come down. Michael looked into those adoring green eyes, and his last barrier came crumbling down.

“My brother’s dead.” Michael choked on a sob as Jeremy slowly caressed his cheek. “And it’s all my fault.” At those words, Michael wept. Jeremy had him in a worried gaze, wiping the tears off his face. “No, I’m sure that’s not true-”

“It is!” Michael interrupted. “You weren’t there! You can’t say that!” Jeremy froze, before leaning in and holding Michael in a tight grip. Michael hugged back. “I’m sorry.” Jeremy whispered. “You’re right, I wasn’t there, I don’t know what happened. But please don’t be so hard on yourself, Michael. You don’t deserve that.”

Michael wanted to retaliate, but decided it wasn’t worth wasting his energy over a stupid argument. Not right now. So he held Jeremy harder as he continued crying. They stayed like that for a few more minutes before the door to the office opened and the principal – along with his parents – walked in.

Jeremy helped him up as Michael looked at the ground, afraid to meet his family’s gaze. Jeremy walked him all the way to the Afton’s car. He gave Michael one last comforting hug before helping him into the back seat.

Michael watched as Jeremys distressed figure disappeared down the road as the car moved.

Evan looked so pale. His heart monitor showed no signs of life, and the ventilator he was previously attached to was gone. His bloody bandages stayed on his head. Michael could tell that he had been taken care of very well. His brother was clean, and he would’ve looked healthy if he wasn’t gone.

Elizabeth screamed and cried in her mothers arms, and Clara simply hugged her tightly, suppressing her own agony for the sake of her daughter. William held Evans limp hand. The unresponsiveness broke his normally stoic father.

Michael stood back, watching silently as his family grieved. It was his fault this was happening. His fault that Elizabeth was wailing. That his mother lost a child. That his father was crying.

Michael looked down at the floor. The oddly clean white tiles glistened as his tears silently hit the floor. He didn’t dare look up. He would never get to apologise to Evan, or see his beautiful smile and sparkling blue eyes. He just wished he could go back and change everything.

What had he done?

The next day, the funeral service went the same as the hospital visit. His father cried, his sister shrieked and his mother hugged her. All family members present gave their condolences to his parents. The ones that dared look at Michael only glared. The incident was all over the news, and his family all knew who’d done it, even if it wasn’t shown in the newspapers.

Hell, it even had a name now. The Bite Of ‘83. Michael hated it. His brother would forever be remembered as a victim now. But he knew that, even at a young age, Evan was strong willed and caring. A perfect combination of his parents best attributes.

And now he’s gone. Dead. The casket in the centre of the chapel is too small, the person inside it too young. Everyone present looked into the coffin and cried, probably thinking the same as Michael. Too small, too young.

Michael’s black clothes itched. He could imagine Evan complaining about the prickling garments too. After all, he was dressed the same as Michael – black and fancy clothes. Michael hated knowing that his brother was the reason everyone was mourning.

Michael just wanted his brother back.

The phone rang in the living room. Michael went home early, and nobody stopped him. They did glare, however. But Michael couldn’t stand being there any longer. His little brother was going to be buried tomorrow. Why did this have to happen?

He picked up the phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?” Michael’s voice sounded raspy and disgusting. He couldn’t care less. “Hello? Is Michael home?” An exasperated voice sounded from the device. Jeremy.

“Um, yeah. This is Michael. What’s up, Jeremy?” He responded. His tone was sad and resentful, and Jeremy noticed. “I just wanted to know if you were better. I can tell you aren’t, though. Do you need me to come over?” Jeremy sounded just as worried yet loving as he did the day prior. “Please.” His voice was almost a whine, and he felt how his cheeks became wet with tears. He’s been crying a lot these days, huh?

“Okay, I got your address from the phonebook. Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a bit. I promise.” Jeremy didn’t wait for an answer as he hung up. Michael unlocked his front door and sat on the couch. He brought his feet up and hugged his knees to his chest. He buried his face in his legs and cried.

When Jeremy arrived, his normally perfectly combed hair was dishevelled and he looked to be in his pyjamas, a grocery bag hanging from one arm. He slowly walked into the house when Michael called out for him to do so. Jeremy followed the sound of his cries, and the sight he was greeted with broke his heart.

Jeremy knew Michael Afton as a confident and cocky person, and now that they were friends, he also knew that he was strong – emotionally and physically. So to see him curled into himself, crying his eyes out and shaking, made Jeremy’s heart clench in agony. Michael was devastated, and he could tell.

Jeremy moved to sit beside him. He waited a minute until Michael looked at him. His eyes were red and puffy, his face stained with tears. Jeremy pulled him into a hug. Michael continued curled into himself, but he rested his head on Jeremy’s chest as he continued with his show of anguish.

Once Jeremy felt Michael had calmed down a little, he moved to take the singular item out of his bag. A pint of ice cream was moved onto Michael’s hands. He gazed at Jeremy in confusion, but he only smiled and asked where the family kept their spoons.

Jeremy walked back into the living room with two spoons and sat beside Michael once again. Michael grabbed a spoon and opened the tub. He stared at it for a second then looked at Jeremy again. The blond gave a reassuring smile and gestured for him to take the first bite.

He did. The flavour of the Cherry Chocolate ice scream was heavenly, and as they continued eating, he started feeling a lot better. Jeremy cuddling him was also a comfort factor. Jeremy moved to turn on the TV, and he picked the Late Night with David Letterman show. Michael wasn’t too fond of talk shows, but he watched with Jeremy as they ate and snuggled.

It didn’t take long before the ice cream was finished. Jeremy put the container in the sink to be washed later, and moved back to Michael. In the middle of the program, he noticed Michael had fallen asleep on him. He briefly wondered if he could pick him up and move him to his room, but noted how he probably wouldn’t be able to carry the other boy – and he didn’t know which room was his.

Jeremy turned the television off and gently laid Michael on the couch. He spotted a folded blanket on the armchair, and he draped the cover over Michael gently as he slept. He then went to the kitchen and washed the empty container and spoons and set them aside to dry.

Just as he was about to leave, the front door to the house opened, and in came the rest of the Afton family. They startled when they saw Jeremy, who stopped in his tracks while walking to the door. “Who are you?” William said, shielding his wife and young daughter. Jeremy raised his hands to his side.

“I’m just Michael’s friend! My name is Jeremy FItzgerald, I just came to check up on Michael!” He explained, keeping his voice down. He slowly lowered his hands once he saw the family relax a bit. “Oh, I remember you from the principal's office. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”

“It’s fine, Mr Afton. Um, it’s late, I should probably go. Oh! And Michael is asleep on the couch. Uh, bye!” He awkwardly waved as he closed the front door. The house fell silent once again.

Michael woke in the middle of the night yet again. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Midnight. Glancing around, he noted that he was in Evans' room again. He looked down at his body and his chest tightened as he realised what was happening.

He grabbed the flashlight from beside the clock and moved to sit on the ground in front of his bed. He gripped the flashlight tightly in his tiny hands as he let out a shuddering breath. He sat there, waiting for something – anything – to happen.

A noise. Michael hurriedly moved his gaze to the side and noticed the door slightly ajar. Another noise, like sharp metal scraping on the walls outside. He dashed to the door and opened it more. The darkness of the hallway unsettled him. He couldn’t see anything, just a pit of darkness. He stood there for a while, heart pounding out of his chest.

He shined the light in the hall. A monstrous version of Bonnie stood in the middle of the hall. The noise he’d been hearing stopped as the light hit the animatronics face. Bonnie halted, his claws against the wall. The noise Michael had been hearing was this beast, grazing his metallic nails against the wallpaper in the hall.

Bonnie's eyes glowed under the light, but Michael was more concentrated on the rest of his body. Much like the terrifying versions he’s seen of Foxy and Freddy, Bonnie stood tall and damaged. His chest was ripped open to reveal his endoskeleton, and his ears had several holes in them. His teeth – sharp and huge – were stained red. Michael took notice of the various rows of teeth he had.

Bonnie stared at him for more time, then, with heavy steps, turned and moved down the hall. He vanished just after three steps, as if he was never there at all.

Michael shut off the flashlight and made his way back to the feet of the bed. He was about to sit down when he heard more noise. This time, from the other side of the room. Michael turned his gaze to the second door leading to another hallway. Evan’s room was different, there weren’t two doors before.

Nonetheless, he made his way over, tightly gripping his flashlight. He paused in the doorway as he pushed the door open. There was a strange noise, like breathing, right in his ear. Michael didn’t think twice before shining the light in fear.

A horrid version of Chica pounced at him, her metallic fingers grasping at his shoulders. He screamed in pain as he was lifted off the floor, her metal claws puncturing him and making Michael bleed. Her mouth opened to reveal rows and rows of sharp teeth. Her jaws clamped shut on his head with a sickening crunch.

Michael jumped up, grabbing at his chest and gasping. Another one of those stupid nightmares. He can’t take this anymore. Michael glanced around, noticing that he was still on the living room couch before looking at the pointer clock on the wall. 3:30AM.

Michael sighed. He knew he wasn’t getting any more sleep, even if he tried. He made his way upstairs, silently creeping up each step. He stopped, looking into Evans' room. The door was open, so he welcomed himself inside.

The room hadn't changed since last time he was in there. He lay on his brother's bed, feet hanging off the end. Michael buried his face in Evans' pillow as the tears started flowing. He always called his brother a cry baby, but look who couldn’t stop crying now.

He glanced to the side. Plush Fredbear was on Evans bedside table. His parents probably put him there once they came home. He grabbed the plush, sitting up on the bed. Michael crossed his legs as he stared at the bear. His brother took this plushie everywhere.

He held it to his chest, squeezing it tight. Michael imagined it was Evan, hugging him back.

He just wanted his brother back.

He didn’t go to school in the morning. Instead, he watched his family leave the house early the next day, dressed in black, and drive off to see Evan be buried. Michael couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

That night, after Elizabeth had gone to sleep, Michael sat at the top of the stairs – in the dark – and watched his parents argue over him. “William, we can’t do that! People will think he’s crazy! It’ll bring even more unwanted attention to us!” His mother yelled in his fathers face.

William put a hand to his face, seething in frustration. “Godammit, Clara! He is crazy, he killed his brother! We need to do this, or do you want him to kill Elizabeth too?!” Michael didn’t know what they were yelling about, he just knew it was about him.

The yelling continued, back and forth, throwing insults at each other. All because of him. He felt numb, just like he always did before Evan died. At least back then, he still had a brother and a group of friends. Now Evan was dead, and his friends didn’t even look at him.

He still had Jeremy.

It wasn’t enough.

His sister hated him, his parents hated him, everyone did. He knew so. Everyone except Jeremy. It wasn't enough

He walked into the bathroom down the hall, his parents' screaming match continuing in the distance. Michael could barely hear them over the static ringing in his ears.

He locked the bathroom door and just looked at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. He moved to the cabinet and grabbed a razor. He didn’t know what he was doing. He sat down on the closed toilet and put the sharp metal to his wrist.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

And he sliced his arm.

Michael hissed, the stinging sensation taking over for a second. He didn’t like this feeling at all. It was better than nothing – than numbness. He dragged it across his skin again. Blood pooled around the open cut. He didn’t like this.

He should stop.

He deserved this.

He continued.

He put the razor back on his arm and made another gash. He was about to do his fourth when a knock sounded from the bathroom door. Michael startled, accidentally pushing the metal too hard on himself. He winced as more blood ran from the wound. He put the razor in his pocket and moved to the sink as he heard the person behind the door speak.

“Michael?” Williams' voice sounded off. Michael ignored it in favour of treating his small wounds. “Yeah?” Michael answered, not really paying attention. He slapped a few bandaids on his arms and opened the door.

Face to face with William, Michael shuddered. Something was wrong. Well, other than what happened to Evan. William sighed and met Michaels eyes. “Your mother and I decided that…” He hesitated. “We’re going to send you to therapy. Once a week.”

Michaels eyes widened. That’s what they were arguing about? Oh God, now even Jeremy will think he’s crazy. “No, please dad! You can’t do this, I’m not crazy! Please!” Michael exclaimed. William remained stoic.

“You’re going, Michael. You don’t have a choice.”

“But-”

“End of discussion!” His father shouted. Michael flinched back. “Go to sleep.” His father turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Great.

Chapter Text

“Hey dad?” Michael looked up at William as his father read him a story, William gazed at the little boy sitting on his lap. “Yes, Terrance?”

Michael looked at his mother, who was sitting on the couch next to them. She was singing a lullaby to Elizabeth, who was sleeping in her arms. Her pregnant belly was getting bigger, and Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to sit in her lap for much longer. Michael looked back at his father.

“How many siblings do you have?” Michael asked. William smiled at his son, putting his book down. “Well, Terrance. I’m an only child.” Michael cocked his head to the side in confusion. William chuckled. “It means I don’t have any siblings.”

“What? How come?” Michael asked in surprise. William laughed again. “Your grandparents didn’t want any more kids after they had me, so they didn’t have any more.” Michael looked at his father in awe.

“Wow, that must’ve been so boring! You had no one to play with!” William caressed his son’s hair fondly. “Yes, it was. You’re lucky me and mama gave you siblings. You better treat them well and help us take care of them. You are the oldest, after all.”

“What? Why do I have to help take care of them? That’s not fair!” Clara, who had been hearing the conversation, laughed at her son. William just smiled at him.

“Well, if you aren’t going to help, at least be nice to them!” Michael giggled.

He really couldn’t wait for his baby brother to be here.

“So, Michael.” His therapist uttered. He sat on the couch across from her, head down and pulling his sleeves over his hands. “There is something I’ve been wanting to ask. Of course, you don’t need to answer if you aren’t comfortable, but keep in mind that I am here to help you.” Every word she said made Michael more nervous. More uncomfortable.

He twitched under her gaze. She scribbled in the notebook on her lap. How Michael hated that damned thing, it probably had every single one of his problems documented in it. He looked at her face. Her expression remained the same as always. Serious, stoic. Just like his father.

No matter what Michael said or did, her face stayed unchanged. Unbothered. It was almost inhuman, at least in Michael’s eyes. Michael didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did she. The therapist sighed. “Can I ask my question?” She was always like that, so careful and calculated with him. As if he would break at anything.

Michael nodded. “Okay. Well, I’ve noticed that you always cover your arms. I’ll admit I don’t know much about you teens’ fashion senses these days, but it just seemed unusual to me. So tell me, Michael. Have you ever harmed yourself on purpose?”

Michael flinched, grabbing at his arms. His eyes widened and he tried to make himself smaller. She just kept writing everything down. “What? What made you think that? Michael spat, his voice trembling. “Just because I like wearing long sleeves doesn’t mean I cut myself! I’m not crazy! Only a crazy person would do that to themselves!”

With every word he said, the more rushed his sentences would become, the faster he would talk. His therapist noted something down. He gripped his arms tighter. Maybe Michael was going crazy. Maybe he already was.

She looked at him. She knew he was hiding something, he could tell from her determined gaze. Michael had been attending these sessions long enough to know when she suspected he was lying to her. “Well then,” she leaned in closer, putting down her pen, “show me your arms.”

Her voice was monotone. Michael panicked, and it felt like the room was closing in. He was trapped. “If you have nothing to hide, then show me, Michael.”

Michael bolted out of the room. He didn’t care if he left earlier than he had to, he wasn’t going back. At least not today. He ran into the waiting room, and saw his father – alone – reading a magazine. William looked up and made eye contact with a panicked Michael. His gaze remained unbothered as he saw his son panting and sweating in distress.

Michael’s therapist walked into the room. She looked at William, and he raised a brow at her. “Mr. Afton, could I please talk to you in private?” William sighed, putting his magazine down and following her back into the room. Michael was fucked.

He shakily made his way to the couch his father was previously on. His vision kept blurring over and over again. He felt every breath of air making its way in and out of his lungs. He could feel every inch of fabric touching his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped it would all fade away.

“What?!” He heard his father’s muffled yell from the other room. Then the stomping of footsteps before the door to his therapist's room was slammed open. His father’s anger radiated off him in waves that made Michael dizzy. “Michael, show me your arms! Now!”

He felt his blood pressure drop. What the fuck had she told his father. His therapist came after William, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Afton, please calm down, we cannot be sure-”

“We’ll know if he did it if he shows us!” His father yelled over her, and she seemed to flinch back in surprise. That’s the first time Michael saw her expression change.

William marched over to him and grabbed his arm. Michael tried to resist, and he could hear his therapist telling his father that what he was doing wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t seem to notice she was even talking as he continued fighting with Michael trying to pull his sleeve down.

William finally managed to yank his sleeve down, and time seemed to freeze as both adults looked at his arm. New cuts cluttered his wrist along with old scars and wounds that hadn’t finished healing. Michael jerked his arm away and tugged his sleeve down as the two froze.

Michael got up and ran out of the front door before either of them could do anything. He heard his father yell at him to wait, to come back. He didn’t sound mad, but Michael couldn’t face him right now.

He ran out of the building and let his legs carry him to wherever they took him. He didn’t think, neither did he know where he was going. All he knew was that he couldn’t face his family right now.

He stopped, eventually. He looked up, panting and sweating. Michael had gone to Jeremy’s house. He didn’t care what Jeremy would think at that moment, he just walked up the steps to the front door and knocked. He heard shuffling inside, before someone from inside started talking.

“Mom! Did you forget your keys again? Jeez how many times-” Jeremy opened the door and stopped talking immediately. “Michael? What happened?” He hadn’t realised he started crying. He was always crying these days.

Jeremy pulled him into a hug, before leading him inside and shutting the door with his foot. He took Michael to his living room, sitting him on the couch. He held him close, letting Michael cry as much as he needed.

When he had calmed down a bit, Jeremy went into his kitchen. He came back holding a pint of Cherry Chocolate ice cream and two spoons, sitting beside Michael again. Michael smiled, grabbing a spoon as Jeremy opened the tub, just as they had done back at Michael’s house weeks ago.

This time, the television remained off as the boys silently ate the ice cream together. After they had finished, Michael looked up at Jeremy, eyes red and puffy. “Do you think I could… stay here tonight?” Jeremy’s eyes widened at the request, before he smiled softly at Michael. “Of course. I think I have some clothes that should fit you. Let me just put this away.” He gestured to the empty container in his hands.

Michael waited as Jeremy came back into the living room, grasping his hand and leading him up the stairs, down the hall and into Jeremy’s bedroom. Jeremy sat him on the bed as he left the room, then came back with an inflatable mattress, a pillow and blanket.

Michael offered to help Jeremy, but the other boy just ushered him back onto the bed, saying that it’s not a problem. After setting up the makeshift bed, Jeremy sat on the bed next to Michael and pulled him into a hug yet again. “You can always tell me anything, you know that, right?” Jeremy said.

Michael didn’t respond, he simply squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy rubbed his back as he continued. “I wouldn’t judge you for anything. You’re my best friend, Michael.” Michael stayed quiet again. Jeremy sighed sadly, holding him tighter for a second before pulling away and walking to his wardrobe.

He pulled out some pyjamas and handed them to Michael. Jeremy left the room so Michael could change, taking his own clothes to change in the bathroom. Michael mindlessly put on the pyjamas given to him, completely worn out from the day. He didn’t even notice the shirt he was given didn’t have long sleeves.

He sat on the air mattress as Jeremy knocked on the door, asking if Michael had finished changing. When given permission, he made his way back into the room and smiled sweetly at Michael, who tiredly returned his smile. He then noticed the wounds and scars on his friends arms and stopped.

Michael, too tired to notice, just looked at him questioningly. Jeremy smiled awkwardly – worriedly. “I have to, uh, get something. I’ll be right back. Don’t sleep just yet!” He said, making his way out. Michael kept himself awake as Jeremy came back holding a first aid kit.

Michael looked even more confused now. That is, until Jeremy silently sat in front of him, legs crossed on the air mattress, and carefully guided Michaels arm to him. Then Michael finally realised what was happening. He yanked his arm away, holding it close to his chest.

His breathing came out heavy and fast as he stared at Jeremy, fear in his eyes. Jeremy was blocking the only exit to the room. Michael was trapped. He closed his eyes, curling into himself. Nothing was going his way today. How many more people would hate him – leave him – just like his brother?

He felt hands gently pull his arms away from himself. “Michael, hey,” Jeremy’s voice was gentle and comforting, just like he always is. “It’s okay, Michael. You’re safe. I just wanted to help, I’m sorry.”

Michael opened his eyes. Jeremy was holding his hands, looking at him with such worry and care. Michael felt himself slowly relax as Jeremy’s hands in his own grounded him. He looked around, looking at the open first aid kit beside Jeremy. He looked back to the blond, who still had a worried expression on his face.

Michael eased back into reality. Jeremy was here, holding his hands. He wasn’t grossed out or judgmental. He was trying to help. Michael felt tears well up in his eyes again. “I’m sorry, I just-” Michael stuttered out. Jeremy squeezed his hands tighter.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise. I’m sorry for scaring you.” Jeremy let go of his hands, and Michael immediately missed the feeling. Jeremy picked up antiseptic spray and gauze from the white box next to him and held it out to Michael.

“Can I help?” Michael nodded. Jeremy took his hands again, pulling Michael’s arms close to him. He sprayed the antiseptic solution on his arm. Michael hissed as his newer cuts stung. “Sorry.” Jeremy said under his breath. He grabbed the gauze and wrapped Michael’s arm expertly, trying not to hurt him.

After he was done, he cleared everything and put away the first aid kit. When he came back, Jeremy sat next to Michael and gripped his hand again. “I… I don’t know why you did that to yourself, but…” He hesitated, thinking over his next words carefully. He looked at Michael, a mixture of adoration and worry in his eyes. Jeremy squeezed his hand. “If you ever feel like doing that again just… talk to me, okay? I don’t like knowing you hurt yourself and I can’t help”

Michael smiled at him gently. Jeremy was always like that. Caring. Then a question crossed his mind as he looked at his bandaged arm. “How did you even know how to wrap my arm like this?” Jeremy chuckled, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Ah, well. I’m pretty reckless, I always do stupid shit and get myself into trouble. I’ve gotten hurt because of it so many times, so I just learned how to use a first aid kit. Like I was trained for it, ya know?” He laughed at himself, and Michael chuckled with him.

“But seriously, Mike.” Jeremy started, locking eyes with him. “Talk to me if you need to. I just want to help.” Michael smiled.

“I could say the same to you. I’m here if you ever need anything.” Jeremy smiled, abashedly avoiding his gaze. “Also, Mike? Really? No one ever calls me that.” Michael finished, making Jeremy laugh.

He could get better if things continued like this.

Chapter Text

“Terrance! Come meet our guests!” His mother called from the living room. Michael groaned, too comfortable to want to leave the bed. His mother called him again, and he got up with great hesitance.

He made his way down the stairs and he could see a man with very blond hair and beard with his father. He was slightly chubby and his eyes were a dull green. His glasses’ rims were a funky purple. Behind the man stood a young girl, around Elizabeth’s age, hugging his leg.

She had black hair, but her eyes were the exact same as the mans. The man smiled at him. “Hi there, I’m Henry Emily and this is my daughter. Charlie, introduce yourself.” He nudged the girl forward, and Elizabeth seemed to beam with happiness as the girl talked. “I’m Charlotte.” Was all she said.

Elizabeth grabbed Evans arm and dragged him up towards the girl. “I’m Elizabeth, this is Evan and that over there is Terrance. You look nice, do you want to play with us?” Elizabeth's excitement radiated off her, but Evan just smiled calmly. Charlotte looked at her father, and he smiled wide and nodded.

She turned back to Elizabeth, smiling shyly. Elizabeth almost squealed in happiness as she ushered Charlotte up the stairs. “C’mon, Terrance, you’re playing too!” She shouted at him.

“What? I didn’t agree to this!”

Michael opened the front door to the house, quietly closing it behind him. He hoped – prayed – that his family wasn’t home. His prayers went unanswered as he heard his father’s booming voice from the living room. “Michael! Come here, now!”

Michael winced, walking to the living room. As he entered, he noticed both his parents sat side by side on the couch. Great, Michael was fucked. His mother didn’t raise her head, just kept staring at the ground. Michael couldn’t see her face, but his father was obviously fuming.

He stopped a few feet away from the couch, waiting. His father stared, his mother trembled. Michael felt beads of nervous sweat accumulate on the back of his neck. William got up, took a step forward and stopped. “Do you have any idea how worried we were? You can’t just run away like that, Michael. I thought-”

His voice trembled at the end, still fueled by anger. But there was something else there. “I thought you-” William’s voice came out fragile, as if he was holding back tears. Then he scowled.

His father made his way to Michael and stopped. Michael shut his eyes, preparing for it – a slap, just as he had done the day his brother was put in the hospital. It never came. Instead, his father wrapped him in a hug, his body trembling. Michael stood there – eyes wide in shock as he felt warm tears seep through the fabric on his shoulder as his father cried.

“I thought you would hurt yourself… Or worse, you could’ve–” William’s voice cut out with a sob. Michael didn’t know how to react. His father never cried. Michael shakily hugged back, gently squeezing his father closer.

Clara got up from the couch, and Michael could finally see her face. It was covered in tear streaks. Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she made her way to the two. Her trembling legs almost gave out as she reached them, throwing herself into the hug as she started wailing.

The three stood there for a while, just hugging and crying it all out. William never stopped squeezing him, almost as if he were afraid that Michael would disappear if he let go. Clara combed her fingers through his hair, a comforting gesture for Michael since childhood. He couldn’t believe she remembered that.

Eventually, the two let go and led him to the couch. His mother took his hand, squeezing it just as Jeremy had done the day before. She looked up at him, eyes slightly puffy. “Michael, your father told me what happened…” She inhaled shakily, trying to keep her composure. “I’m so sorry… for not noticing sooner… Please forgive me.”

Michael wished he could wipe the worry off his mother’s beautiful face. Instead, he gently cleaned the tears from her cheeks, smiling softly at her. “You don’t need to apologise, mum. I’m sorry for making you worry so much.” He turned to William, refusing to let go of Clara’s hand.

“I’m sorry for doing this to myself, dad. I’m sorry for–” He hiccuped, feeling the sensation of crying creeping up. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.” Michael looked down, his eyes blurring over with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

William put a hand on his son's shoulder, Clara squeezed his hand tighter. Michael loved the two, but it was too much right now. He couldn’t deal with all these emotions at once. Michael got up, head down, brushing off their worried touch. “I’m going to my room, I just… need some time. I’m sorry.”

He made his way up the stairs. His parents didn’t follow. He stops in front of his room, looking to the open door next to him. He moves, going into Evan’s room. Michael sits on the bed, looking over the toys scattered across the floor.

Michael just sits there for a while, waiting for his face to dry, for his racing heart to settle down. He looked up as he heard the soft pitter-patter of feet on the carpeted floor of his brother’s room. Elizabeth walked over to him, one of her plushies in hand, and sat next to him on Evan’s bed.

The two siblings just stayed silent for a few minutes, looking around the room or to the floor under their feet. Elizabeth looked up at her brother and put a hand on his arm. “Is it true? What mommy and daddy have been saying?” She asks, her voice quiet and fragile.

Michael can’t help but think that a nine year old should never sound like this. He turns to her, tilting his head to the side. “What have they been saying?” He asks. She glances at his covered arms, then back at him. “That you hurt yourself.”

Michael freezes. A child shouldn’t be hearing that kind of stuff. He wonders just how much she knows that a kid shouldn’t. She’s too young to be going through all this grief, and Michael can’t help but be reminded of how it’s all his fault – the grief his little sister is being put through.

Elizabeth continues staring at him, patiently awaiting an answer. He looks down at his feet, hesitating. “Um, it’s true. But don’t worry about it, okay?” She keeps looking at him for a minute, before she gazes down at her little hand, still comfortingly resting on his arm.

She doesn’t look away from it as she speaks. “I don’t forgive you for what happened to Evan,” Michael feels a sting in his heart. He should’ve expected that. “But I also don’t… hate you. You’re still my brother.” She shifts her gaze to meet his eyes. Michael never noticed just how green they were.

Elizabeth looks back at the floor, removing her hand from him. She gets up without meeting his gaze. “It’s my bedtime. Good night, Mikey.” She leaves before he can respond. It’s been so long since she’s called him that.

Michael was ready to go to bed when the doorbell rang. He heard his father groan loudly from his room, making Michael chuckle as he heard the frustrated steps go down the stairs. Michael made his way into the covers when he heard his father answer the door. He didn’t really care who he was talking to – that is until he heard uncontrollable sobbing.

Michael wasn’t the only curious one, he noted, opening his door to see his mother already going downstairs. His sister cracked open her door just enough for her face to stick out. Michael looked at her from the other side of the hall. “Wasn’t it your bedtime?” He grinned, mocking her. She playfully glared at him, pouting. “Shut up, you’re also supposed to be in bed by now.”

He muffles his laughter at that, his sister doing the same soon after. But then the sobs get more desperate, and he can hear his father desperately talking to whoever it is that appeared at the house this late. William seemed to be getting increasingly more worried – if his voice was anything to go by – asking what was happening. Something was terribly wrong.

Michael left his room. Elizabeth was about to do the same, but he ushered her back inside. She stuck her tongue out at him. “How’s this fair? I want to go too!” She whispered at him, annoyed. He looked down at her, and she seemed to notice the seriousness of the situation as Michael’s eyes silently pleaded for her to go back into her room. She obliged.

He made his way down each step slowly, the crying only getting louder the closer he got. Entering the living room, Michael saw his Uncle (by consideration, but it meant a lot to Michael), Henry, sitting on the couch, Clara and William sitting on either side of him. Henry was sobbing into his hands as his parents looked at one another in confusion – Michael couldn’t help but notice how his father looked… off.

They were trying – and failing – to comfort him. Henry couldn’t speak, only getting a word out before breaking into more tears. Clara spotted him standing at the entrance of the room, and gestured him over silently.

He walked over, and when Henry looked at him, he only seemed to cry harder. Michael crouched in front of his Uncle and put a hand on his knee. He didn’t do anything else for a while, just rubbed his hand over Henry’s knee, trying to get him to calm down.

William looked like he was about to say something, but Michael motioned for him to stay quiet. “Let him cry.” He told his parents. Everytime he cried like Henry was doing, Michael only wanted someone to let him sob without questioning why. So that’s what he did for Henry.

It didn’t take long after that for Henry to calm down enough to be able to talk through his tears. He looked at Michael as he lifted his head off his hands, smiling sadly. “Thank you.” He uttered, voice raspy from sobbing. “Do you want to talk about it?” Michael asked, and Henry nodded through shaky tears. Michael stood up, and Clara put space between her and Henry for him to sit down.

As he sat, Henry put his face back in his hands, shakily exhaling. “Charlie, she–” A sob interrupted his sentence. Michael put a hand on his back, rubbing it up and down. “She died.”

Michael froze. Henry’s daughter – only daughter – was dead? How?

A mental picture of Evan snuck its way into Michael's mind, and he had to shake it away before turning back to Henry. His mother asked what they were all thinking. “What happened? How do you know?”

“One of the night shift employees called me because they saw the puppet animatronic outside in the alleyway and they didn’t know what to do.” Henry said. Right, Michael had forgotten that Fredbears got a new animatronic, built to ensure children's safety – that was its only job.

“So I went over there to get it back inside, but when I moved it I–” A cry shook his body, and he seemed to be remembering whatever scene he saw that night. He didn’t talk for a while after that, just let his sadness consume him. His father just sat quietly, frozen.

Henry let out a shaky breath. “The puppet was hugging her. Charlie wasn’t,” He paused, trying to regain control of his emotions. Another breath. “She wasn’t breathing.” Michael remembered Evan, unconscious and unresponsive in his arms, covered in blood and a giant bite mark on his head. Michael shut his eyes.

“I called the police,” Henry continued, “And now they’re doing an investigation because it seems like foul play. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I just came here.”

Michael hesitated before leaning in, hugging his Uncle tightly. He felt the man trembling in his arms, then more hiccuping sobs escaped his throat. His mother joined in as best she could, and William awkwardly kept patting Henry’s back. “Henry,” Clara started, making Henry look up at her. “You can stay the night here. We have a guest room, if you’d like.”

Henry nodded, quietly thanking her for her kindness. Clara got up, going upstairs to set up the bedroom. When she was done, she walked into the living room to help Henry up the stairs, even though he insisted he was alright. Michael stayed on the couch for a bit, watching his father’s paralyzed figure.

Michael sighed to himself, getting up and walking over to the kitchen. He looked around the cabinets for a few minutes before spotting a box of cocoa powder shoved to the back of the pantry. He grabbed it, moving to make two cups of hot chocolate.

He finished and walked up the stairs, first going into Henry’s room. The man wasn’t sleeping yet. He wordlessly handed him the mug. At first, Henry looked at it in confusion. Michael gestured for him to take it, so he grasped the steaming cup in his hands. Michael heard him thank him, but he just shrugged it off. “It’s the least I could do right now.” Michael said, making his way out of the room.

He walked across the hall and stopped in front of his sister's door. He quietly knocked, and she opened the door a few moments later. Seeing it was Michael, Elizabeth moved to let him in. Once she closed the door, she sat on her bed, Michael sitting beside her. He handed her the hot chocolate, and she took it without question. “Thank you.” Was her quiet response.

They sat in silence as Elizabeth sipped on her drink. After a while, she put her cup down on her nightstand, turning towards him. “Can you tell me what happened?” She asked, her voice quivering as if she was scared. Michael extended his arms, a silent offer of a hug.

She hesitated before leaning into him, raising a hand to ball part of his shirt into her trembling fist. Michael took a shaky breath as he rubbed his sisters back. “I can, but… I don’t think you’ll like it.” He whispered. Elizabeth tensed slightly in his grip. “Tell me.” She answered, her voice shivering but firm.

Michael sighed. “Do you remember Charlie? Uncle Henry’s daughter?” She nodded. Michael hugged her tighter before speaking again. “She… She passed. Uncle Henry didn’t say how, but…” He didn’t finish, he couldn’t bring himself to. He felt Elizabeth crying, yet she didn’t make a single sound.

He rested his head on hers, closing his eyes as he ran a comforting hand through her hair – something he’d learned from his mother. Elizabeth was just a child and she was already experiencing so much tragedy around her. He couldn’t imagine how that must feel to someone so young.

Michael stared at the entrance of the restaurant. There were various cop cars parked all around it and police tape covered the alleyway in the back. He walked to the front doors and made his way inside. His father and Henry were giving separate testimonies to police as the rest of the squad inspected the restaurant.

He passed by the puppet’s box as he was walking, scoffing. Damned thing couldn’t even do its only job and protect Charlie. Almost as if it heard his thoughts, the lid burst open. Michael jumped back in surprise as the marionette just stared at him. He looked at it for a minute, then moved to walk away, not thinking much of it. He stopped again.

The animatronics glowing white eyes were following him. The puppet was designed to ensure the safety of the guests, so that shouldn’t have been strange. This animatronic, however, was not designed – or built – with eyes.

The animatronic twitched, making its way out of the box. It stood there for a second, staring. Then its eyes averted Michael and landed on William, sitting at a table a few feet away. The puppet spasmed more, extending a boney finger to point at his father. Michael felt a shudder go through his body at the motion.

Henry appeared beside Michael suddenly, moving to put the animatronic back in its box. “Sorry, this one has been acting weird ever since I found it outside.” Henry explained. Michael simply hummed in acknowledgment, still shaken by the situation he just witnessed.

Henry put a gentle hand on his shoulder, making Michael gazed up at him at the gesture. Henry smiled softly. “How about I make you a hot chocolate? As a thank you for the one you made me a few days ago.” Michael looked towards the puppets box, then back at Henry.

He gave a curt nod, and Henry led him towards the kitchen. They passed the main stage on the way, the Spring Bonnie and Fredbear animatronics still positioned on the stage. Michael paused, staring at Fredbear. His mouth was clean now, and any proof of what had happened on Evans birthday was erased. “Don’t worry,” Henry started, “He’s deactivated, and I have a feeling he won’t be performing anytime soon.”

Michael didn’t feel the relief he knew Henry was trying to provide. Putting the animatronic out of business wasn’t going to undo his past mistakes – it wouldn’t bring back his brother. An image of Fredbear crossed his mind, mouth covered in blood and the stage and floor around him just as red. Michael closed his eyes.

He made his way to the kitchen, following Henry. He sat on one of the chairs strewn around the place as Henry prepared him the beverage. Once he was handed the warm mug, Henry patted his head and ruffled his hair a bit. “I’m going back out there. You can stay here as long as you want, kiddo.” Michael didn’t move for a while, just put the cup to his lips and drank the sweet liquid. He could tell it was prepared with care, the thickness of the chocolate mixed with just the right amount of whipped cream made it perfect. He smiled slightly. It was much better than what he’d made for Henry, and he’s sure that Henry knows.

He finished the drink, washing the mug carefully and slowly. Michael hesitated before leaving the kitchen, but he slowly pulled open the doors anyway. His father was still talking to the police, and Henry seemed to be dealing with the puppet again. Michael looked towards the main stage.

Fredbear was standing upright, as if he was activated. His eyes seemed to be darting around the room, almost like he was looking for something. His eyes landed on Michael, and the animatronic stopped its movements. It kept its eyes focused on Michael.

Michael felt a nervous feeling pool in his gut. What the hell was wrong with these animatronics? He slowly made his way across the pizzeria. As he was passing by the stage, however, Fredbear let out a noise. It was loud and piercing, almost a growl in its animalistic state – it sounded metallic, however. Michael covered his ears and looked at the animatronic.

Its eyes glowed blue, but Fredbears' eyes were supposed to be brown. It seemed to be directing the scream at Michael, its body turned completely towards him and his eyes piercing his soul. Michael couldn’t seem to move under his stare, the sound it was making shaking him to his core. He hadn’t noticed Henry shutting it off manually until the screams stopped and the animatronic returned to its original position, signalling his deactivation.

Michaels breathing felt heavy. Something isn’t right, he can feel it. He looked around the restaurant. His father looked confused, the policemen shocked. Henry started apologising to them, stating that he thought Fredbear was off.

Then, Michael looked at the puppet box. It had pushed the lid open slightly, and was peaking at Michael through the crack. Its eyes glowed white again.

Michael felt sick.

It took weeks for the police to do their investigation. Weeks of Henry coming over, tense and scared out of his mind. Weeks of hot chocolate and comforting words. Weeks, only for them to declare it a random act of violence and not enough evidence to declare a culprit.

Henry was devastated, but there seemed to be a spark in his eyes afterwards. Like he knew something no one else knew about the case. He wouldn’t tell Michael about it, but Michael started noticing some odd behaviour. Not only from Henry.

Something happened between Henry and William. He knew. It seemed like an argument, yet neither had actually confronted each other about anything. But William was acting off ever since Charlie was discovered dead, and Henry ever since they shut down Fredbears.

Maybe Michael was just being paranoid, and this strangeness was just grief that neither of the two men knew how to cope with.

But he couldn’t help the itch that something was terribly wrong.

Chapter Text

“Terrance, guess what?” William said. Michael looked up at his father’s smiling face, his mother stood closely behind him. The cold winter air of Britghton wafted into the house as his mother walked over and put a mug of hot chocolate on the table next to him.

Michael giggled as Clara’s pregnant belly made it difficult for her to bend down to caress Michael’s hair. Michael looked at his father again, smiling wide. “What is it, dad?”

William smiled softly at his son, then locked eyes with his wife. She nodded at him with a smile. He looked back at his only son, smiling as wide as ever. “We went to the hospital to check on your baby sibling, and you know what the doctor told us?” William said eagerly.

Michael matched his energy as he started bouncing around on his feet. “What is it, dad? Tell me!” He dragged out the last letter, impatiently awaiting the news.

“You’re going to have a baby sister!” William exclaimed happily. Michael gasped and squealed. He rushed towards his mom, before gently setting a hand on her belly. His mother petted his hair and looked fondly at him as Michael marvelled at his unborn sibling. He smiled.

He couldn’t wait to have a sister.

When the first one disappeared, Michael knew his itch wasn’t just paranoia. One child, Susie, was gone, as if she wasn’t even there in the first place. Pictures of her were strewn all over the town, whether it be on posters or newspapers. She was all over the news, she was everywhere. Nobody found her.

Then the second one disappeared. This time, a boy. Fritz’s photos were all over, just like Susie’s. The both of them on missing children posters and the news. Both of these kids, gone.

Jeremy and Gabriel were next. They didn’t vanish on the same day, but that's what it felt like to Michael. Because now, right next to Susie and Fritz's pictures, were two more. Four kids are gone. Parents feared for their children's safety as hope of finding these four alive diminished. People started talking about serial kidnappings, then serial killings.

Then Cassidy was next. The incidents were deemed as one, The Missing Children Incident. Michael hated that.

William wasn’t acting odd anymore, and that was the only relief Michael felt for the next year. His father was now more calm, somehow. It didn’t make sense to Michael, considering he had two children, one of which was still very young, and five kids had gone missing suddenly.

And then Freddy’s was put under investigation. All evidence of William’s calmness disappeared just like that. Apparently, all five missing kids’ last known locations were at the pizzeria. For some reason, that knowledge sent a chill up Michael’s back.

They found security footage of someone dressed in the Spring Bonnie suit luring children to the backroom of Freddy’s. That was the suit his father wore when Fredbears was still open to interact with the kids. When that was revealed, something changed. Not in William, but in Henry.

The man was cold now, distant. As if that thing he knew from a few months back – when Fredbears closed – was just confirmed. William seemed to just brush it off, telling police he wasn’t the one wearing the suit, that someone else must’ve found it.

There wasn’t enough evidence to convict William, much less anyone else, so the case was left unsolved. Michael could see how that broke Henry, even though he tried not to show it. It must’ve reminded him of Charlie’s mysterious death.

Freddy’s closed down. He finds out when William comes back home from work, fuming. When Clara dared to ask what had happened, his fit of anger started. Yelling and pushing things off the table, screaming that Henry closed the pizzeria without informing him.

Seeing his father’s anger, Michael gathered Elizabeth’s toys from the living room. He ushered her to her room, where they closed the door to try tuning out their father’s yells. It didn’t work as much as Michael had thought it would, as they could still hear the muffled insults and curses William was throwing at seemingly nothing.

Elizabeth stayed quiet for a moment, looking at the ground. As Michael was about to attempt to cheer her up, she moved, making her way to her closet. She dug around for a while, until she pulled out a very colourful box that she had obviously decorated herself.

She sat down on a playmat she had in her room, gesturing for Michael to come with her. He plopped down in front of her, expecting to be introduced to a variety of toys he didn’t even know she had so they could resume playing.

Instead, she pulled out an astonishing amount of nail polish from the box, along with acetone, a nail file and q-tips. Michael didn’t have a clue of how any of it worked, but Elizabeth seemed to make diligent work of sorting through the colours and making sure everything was ready.

He was confused for a moment. Did she want him to paint her nails? Did she forget that he hasn’t come in contact with nail polish in his whole life? Elizabeth turned towards him and extended her hand, palm up. Michael looked at her questioningly, but she just gave him a deadpan look.

“I’m going to paint your nails, dummy.” She stated. “What? I can’t do that! Father will kill me!” Michael said, holding his hands protectively to his chest, shielding his nail from his sister. She sighed and rolled her eyes, pouting just a bit. “I’ll tell dad I forced you to put it on, but I really don’t think he’ll mind. I mean, all those famous band guys paint their nails and you listen to that punk crap all the time, so he’ll just think you’re copying them.” She said, rolling her eyes again.

“Hey! Don’t talk shit about the Misfits!” He said, grinning slightly. Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head. He looked at his nails, chipped and bitten, and sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it. But I get to pick the colour, I don’t want to have glittery pink nails.”

“I wasn’t going to paint them pink, jerk.” She stuck her tongue out at him, and he returned the gesture almost immediately. Michael looked through the polishes carefully, finally deciding on a black shade. He handed the bottle to his sister, who lifted an eyebrow at his choice.

“That’s a boring choice.” She said, matter-of-factly. He lovingly rolled his eyes at her as she giggled, putting the polish aside and gesturing for him to put his hand out. Once he did, Elizabeth started filing his nail, making sure it was smooth before moving to open the bottle of polish.

She delicately painted every nail, making sure they were as perfect as she could make them. “Y’know,” Michael started, carefully looking over each hand, “I didn’t expect to like it, but it looks good. Maybe you can teach me to paint my own nails?”

She beamed at him, grabbing the black nail polish and handing it to him. “I can totally teach you! It’s super easy! And you can have this shade, I only use it on Halloween anyway.” Michael smiled at his sister, taking the nail polish from her. “Thanks, Liz.”

Her smile seemed to get even bigger at the mention of her nickname. Michael wished he could get her to smile like that all the time. Michael smiles down at the bottle in his hands. “Hey, Mikey?” He hears Elizabeth say. He looks up at her, still smiling gently.

“I forgive you.” She says, voice quiet. Michael feels his world stop for a moment. He takes a breath, and it's like the earth is spinning again. He can sense tears welling up in his eyes, and he tries to blink them away as Elizabeth moves closer to him.

When she hugs him, he can’t hold back the silent tears cascading down his face as he hugs her back.

There’s something going on with William. Ever since Freddy’s closed, he’s been acting weirder than normal. He’s been leaving the house early in the morning and returning at odd hours of the night. He was normally carrying some animatronic parts or wrenches and screwdrivers, along with other equipment and machinery that Michael didn’t know the name of. He was being extremely secretive and it was creeping everyone out.

After around a year of this bullshit, his father shows them plans to open a new pizzeria, with new characters and whatnot. He says this project is the first from his new company, Afton Robotics, all made without Henry. The idea was… fine. Nothing like the classics, although Freddy and Foxy were still part of the crew – and Bonnie, but he was Freddy’s hand puppet, and that’s one hell of a downgrade. The whole colour scheme changed, too.

Ballora, one of the new animatronics, was very human-like. So much so that Michael was genuinely creeped out. Not to mention she has mini ballerina bots following her around, which his father so creatively named Minireenas. They were just as creepy as Ballora.

The main animatronic, however, isn’t Freddy this time. It’s a new character, which his father named Circus Baby. She’s just as human as Ballora, but Michael had a strange feeling about her. Not to mention she also had two little bots with her, these ones called Bidybabs. They were all creepy as hell.

William said that Elizabeth inspired Circus Baby’s appearance, and he made her for Elizabeth. All the animatronics were mostly finished, too. At those two pieces of information, Elizabeth begged and pleaded for William to let her see Baby.

He denied the first few times, explaining that the pizzeria wasn’t opened yet. Michael was left to deal with her temper after that. He didn’t mind, as he got to spend some time with Elizabeth. She always seemed to calm down after she painted his nails. Michael also learned how to paint hers, so she would pick out a colour and complain about how unfair it was that father made an animatronic just for her, but didn’t let her see it as Michael made her nails colourful.

On October 17th, 1985, Circus Baby’s Pizza World finally opened to the public. With a grand inauguration, Michael was sure the restaurant was going to be successful. Elizabeth was almost shining with how big and bright her smile was. She looked at the arcade, with a bunch of kids running around and playing games, then towards the stages. All the animatronics had their separate podiums, for some reason.

As Elizabeth ran around, looking at everything, Michael slumped and made his way to an arcade game to pass the time. Hours must’ve gone by by the time Michael finally got bored of playing random games and instead went into one of the staff only rooms. He knew what he was doing, he’d done it before. It’s just… been a while.

Once he saw the room was empty and had no cameras, he went over to the drawers and rummaged around them until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro and made his way out the back of the establishment. He sat on the concrete floor, listening to the muffled yells of children running around as he fished his lighter out of his pocket.

He lit up a cigarette and just stayed put for a while. Thinking. He wonders if Evan can see him and Liz. Wonders what he would’ve thought about this new restaurant and the animatronics. Michael thought Evan would certainly grow up to be an engineer with how much he loved the characters his father built. Now, he’ll never know if that’s true.

His mind wanders to the missing kids. Michael asks himself where they could’ve gone. A part of him knows they didn’t run away, though. That’s the same part of himself that knows they aren’t alive anymore, haven’t been since they went missing. But he likes to keep his thoughts as positive as he can, so he doesn’t go back to doing something bad to himself. Well, besides smoking.

He sighs, stubbing out his cigarette and making his way back into the pizzeria. He looks around, noticing that everyone has their attention on Ballora and Funtime Foxy – the few that don’t are playing arcade games. The Minireenas are dancing around the kids’ feet, along with the two Bidybabs. Freddy is on his stage, but he looks off.

Michael glances around, a sinking feeling hitting his gut. The feeling only gets worse when he notices that Elizabeth is missing. His breathing gets faster as he sees a few kids exiting the area where Circus Baby’s stage is. Maybe he’s being paranoid, but he just can’t shake this feeling that something is terribly wrong.

He shakily makes his way to Circus Baby’s stage. He notices Freddy’s eyes seem to follow him, but he couldn’t care less. As he gets closer, he can see one more kid exit the room where Circus Baby is kept. For a second, he swears he hears Elizabeth. But then, he hears Baby’s calming voice. “Two… One.” The robot says.

Then a scream, quick yet piercing. Michael runs into the room. An ice cream cone is on the floor by the animatronics feet, the white treat splattered on the floor. He looks around the room in a daze, but Elizabeth is nowhere to be seen. Michael lifts his gaze to Circus Baby, breathing shallow. He notices something… weird.

Her blue eyes are no longer there. In their place, a bright emerald green. Michael feels a chill shoot down his spine as he remembers the Puppets white eyes, then Fredbears vibrant blue. He doesn’t know what to make of this. Baby seems to be staring at him, almost daring him to come closer.

He turns around and runs out of the room. Michael looks around desperately for his father, finally spotting him. He rushes to William's side. “Father! There’s something wrong! Elizabeth disappeared, and there’s something wrong with Circus Baby!” He says, voice trembling as his father looks at him. Shock is written on his face, before it's replaced with a look of disbelief and what looks like irritation.

William curses under his breath and runs to some of the technicians. He whispers something to them in a hurry, and the technician's eyes widen. He grabs the microphone from his stand and makes an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Afton Robotics team is asking everyone to evacuate the premises immediately. There is a gas leak in the establishment, all employees and guests please make your way out of the pizzeria. Thank you.”

Before he even finishes his announcement, most of the guests have already run out of the door. Michael feels his chest heaving as people run around him to get to the exit. What about Elizabeth?

His mother grabs his arm and drags him out of the pizzeria before he can react.

Elizabeth is missing. Officially declared so a year after all those kids just vanished. William looks odd. Not grieving like he and his mother. Instead, he looks remorseful yet his eyes hold a hint of anger. Not at himself, though. Michael hears him muttering to himself sometimes, saying something along the lines of “She should’ve listened to me, damn it.”

One missing child and a supposed gas leak is enough for Circus Baby’s Pizza World to shut down the same day it opened. His father stored the animatronics in a warehouse in the meantime. William is convinced he can reopen the restaurant at some point.

Michael feels awful, like both his siblings' deaths are his fault. The blood is on his hands. He feels fucking awful. Despite this, he thinks his mother is taking the news the worst. She barely leaves her room and he hasn't seen her smile ever since Elizabeth disappeared. His father and him are doing most of the household chores as Clara is unable to get out of bed most days. She’s barely even a mother anymore.

As Michael is setting the table, his father tells him to call his mother down for dinner. He puts down the last plate and reluctantly goes up the stairs. He sighs, hesitating before knocking on his parents bedroom door. No response. Michael groans internally.

He knocks again, harder this time. Still silent. “Mom! Time for dinner!” Nothing. Is she sleeping or just ignoring him? He doesn’t know. He tries knocking one last time. “I’m coming in!” He says, loud enough that he’s sure she hears him.

He opens the door and stops dead in his tracks. She’s not in her bed. No, it's much worse. Clara is slumped on the floor, a noose tied around her neck and an empty bottle of pills in one of her loose hands. Michaels breathing stops.

His mothers beautiful ginger hair – just like Elizabeths – is covering most of her face. He can see one of her green eyes, open wide, looking at the floor. Her chest doesn’t move, she’s not breathing. Michael can smell her puke covered shirt from the doorway, and he notices some of the vomit still trailing down the side of her mouth.

Michael gags, then turns around and closes the door softly. What he’s seen doesn’t register in his mind for a moment as he just stands there in shock. When reality finally hits him, he screams. He feels his knees buckle and he falls to the ground, his eyes squeezing shut as he feels the bubbling urge to cry build up.

He hears his father race up the stairs and registers hands on his shoulder, shaking him. William is asking him something, but he can’t even hear him at this point. The hands let go of his shoulder, and suddenly he’s not sure where he is.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but someone is shining a light into his eye, which was forced open. He gasps, eyes darting around the room. He was taken to the couch, and he can see paramedics outside, loading someone into an ambulance. The medic that held the flashlight puts it down, yelling something along the lines of “He’s responsive.”

Michael can barely remember what he saw, and he’s having a hard time registering what’s going on. He’s led to a team of medics outside the house, who talk between themselves about taking Michael to the hospital to be treated for shock.

He sees his mother’s body be taken away. This can’t be happening.

The cemetery is dull, as expected. Michael grips a small bouquet of flowers, arranged with some help from Jeremy, who was standing next to him with a hand on his shoulder. The chrysanthemums in his hand are placed on top of his mother’s tomb. Beside hers stands Evans and Elizabeths.

With a shaky exhale and a comforting hand on his back, Michael places a lily on top of Elizabeth's grave. He feels the tears flood his eyes and hit the marble of the tomb. Lastly, he puts purple hyacinth right next to Evans picture. Michael can’t bring himself to stand up any longer, so he kneels down in front of the three stones, placed side by side.

Jeremy sits next to him and pulls Michael into his chest, letting him cry. He combs a comforting hand through his hair, and Michael only feels more sobs leave his body as he does so. The gesture is nothing if not a reminder of his mothers caring nature, stripped away from her at the death of her children.

Michael wishes for nothing else but to go back to how things used to be.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Terrance?” Evan mutters, opening the door just so his head peaks inside Michael's bedroom. Michael turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, completely unbothered as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take him.

Evan fidgets by the door as he opens it more. He looks down at his own feet as he holds his plushie tight. Michael raises a brow at him, and Evan squirms even more under his gaze. “I’m, uhm, having nightmares. I’m scared.” He says.

Michael sits up, not saying anything. He waits for his brother to finish. “Can I sleep here tonight?” He mumbles, almost embarrassed at his own question. Michael gives him a small, welcoming smile and gestures for him to lay down with him.

Evan stumbles across the room and carefully climbs onto the bed. It doesn’t take long for him to make himself comfortable next to Michael. Soon enough, Evan’s breathing evens out into quiet exhales.

Michael smiles fondly as he hugs his brother close. Sleep consumes him soon after.

Laying on Jeremy’s bed had always been more comfortable for Michael. He didn’t know why, basically everything was the same – the mattress, the pillows and the comforter. They had the same preferences for all the bedding, but there was something that made Michael feel better when he was in Jeremy’s bed.

Maybe it was because Jeremy was always there, and he was just an amazing person who made Michael feel all fuzzy inside – in a good way. Plus, the sheets smelled like Jeremy’s cologne and the pillows smelled like his shampoo. The smell of strawberry wafted in Michael’s nose as he shoved his face in Jeremy’s pillow. Call him a weirdo, whatever. He doesn’t care, not when he’s this comfortable.

Jeremy chuckles as he walks in, and Michael has half a mind to turn his head enough to look at him. Jeremy’s smiling fondly down at him, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a chip bag in the other. He places both things down on his night stand before briefly messing up Michaels already dishevelled hair. Michael swats his hand away with a smile and a playful roll of his eyes.

“Feisty.” Jeremy comments, making Michael laugh quietly. He shoves his face back in the pillow as he hears Jeremy walking around and shuffling through something. When he returns to Michaels side, he’s pushing him aside to make room on the bed. Michael rolls over, now facing up towards the ceiling. A few cassettes were shoved in his face by Jeremy. Michael snatched them with a huff and chose a song.

Jeremy glanced at his choice, nodding to himself and inserting the cassette into his Walkman. The tune started playing quietly enough that Michael could still be in his own mind without a problem. Jeremy opened the bag of chips very poorly, causing some of the contents of the bag to fly out and land on the bed, making Jeremy groan. He offered some chips to Michael, who silently thanked him and grabbed one.

Jeremy, who was used to Michael “I won’t eat and you can’t force me” Afton, simply stated “More for me” as he took back the bag and dug in, head bopping along to the music. Michael zoned out soon after.

It hadn’t been that long since Liz just disappeared that dreaded day. Michael had an idea of what happened to her, but he’d rather not think about it. Instead, his mind wanders to his mother, strawberry blond hair leaning more towards the ginger side and beautiful green eyes with a perfect smile. He thinks about Elizabeth, a carbon copy of their mother, yet still gorgeous in her own unique way. Then Evan, small yet brave, with that bear plushie always tucked between his arms in a tight hug. His blue eyes are the same as Michaels, and he can’t even look in the mirror without thinking about his little brother anymore.

All of them, gone. He really can’t help but think it's his fault that they aren’t here anymore. He can still see crimson pooled all around him and on his clothes. He can hear that sharp scream and the ice cream cone dropped on the floor. He can smell the vomit and see the rope secured tightly around a pale neck.

Jeremy shook him out of his thoughts, literally. The gentle hands on his shoulders brought him back to where he was – Jeremy’s room, on his bed. Jeremy was looking at him with worry, and only then did Michael notice he was crying softly. His lip was trembling a little as silent tears slipped down his face. He looked at Jeremy’s eyes.

They reminded him of his mothers eyes. Green, but not as vibrant as Claras or Elizabeths were. They were almost grey in the lighting of the room. Jeremy cupped his cheek, gently rubbing his thumb in circles. He smiled softly, and Michael leaned into his chest with glassy eyes and shaking shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jeremy asked. Michael couldn’t bring himself to do so right now, so he just shook his head.

It wasn’t as if Jeremy was unaware of Michael's family situation. He was the only one who went to the cemetery with him. Jeremy also helped him arrange flowers for his family, and how did Michael not know of this interest of flowers until his family was dead? He felt like a shitty friend, but every time he’d say that aloud, Jeremy would scold him for talking bad about himself.

He felt a hand draw circles on his back, and he noticed that Jeremy was humming along quietly to the tune from the Walkman. Michael looked up through his tears. “Your voice is nice. I like it when you sing.” His voice was hoarse from disuse and shaky from his tears, but Jeremy didn’t seem to mind one bit. He gently laid Michael’s head back on his chest and made a conscious effort to sing as gently as he could.

It didn’t take long for Michael’s eyes to dry. Jeremy also seemed to notice this, because he pulled away enough so he could turn off the music. He looked back at Michael and carded his fingers through his hair. “You want to talk about it now?” Michael looked away.

“It’s just… I feel like it’s all my fault.” Jeremy never ceased his comforting motions, from hands on his back to fingers tangled in his hair. Michael continued shakily. “I’m… a horrible person. I don’t deserve to be ali-” He was interrupted by Jeremy putting his hand over his mouth. He looked up at him in shock as Jeremy looked at him with a mix of anger and hurt.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” He mumbled. “Please, don’t say that. You don’t-” Jeremy’s face contorted to pure sadness as his eyes glossed over. “I don’t think I could handle losing you, Michael. Please.” He was basically begging Michael, but he didn’t know if it was for him to not finish his sentence or to not off himself. Either way, he wasn’t going to, not after Jeremy’s pleading voice.

Both of their eyes spilled with silent tears. This time, Michael was the one who held Jeremy close, putting the boy's head on his chest just as he’d done with Michael. Jeremy’s crying got worse as time went on, but Michael just held him tighter. He was surprised it took so long for Jeremy to show this much vulnerability with him, Michael had been trying to get him to open up for so long. He didn’t expect that Michael’s own self depreciation would be what caused Jeremy to put down his last wall.

So he just hummed a tune to him, feeling Jeremy’s quivering form cuddle up to him and hold him tight, almost like he was afraid that, if he let go, Michael would disappear.

The house was cold and unwelcoming as it had been for an eternity. He doesn’t remember if it started with Elizabeth's disappearance or mom's death, but it didn’t matter anymore. Because the once warm and cosy home was now just a shell of a once happy family.

His father wasn’t in the house, he only comes home late at night. Michael can sometimes hear him get home. He doesn’t care anyway. William has been making Michael feel weird nowadays, he always has this strange look in his eyes that unsettles Michael.

He makes his way upstairs, the eerie silence just making him feel more alone than anything. He walks into his room and glances at the orange pill bottle on his nightstand, then to the drawer that his razor was in. His arms suddenly itch.

Michael uncomfortably makes his way over to the nightstand, dry swallows a pill and sets the bottle down. He doesn’t take his hand off of it, just waits a minute before opening it again and taking another one. Just in case.

The fluoxetine gets stuck in his throat, and he coughs and dry-heaves. Horrible idea to take medicine without water. Add that one to his list of fuck ups. Michael hurriedly opens his water bottle and takes huge chugs of the cool liquid. It’s better, but he can also still feel the pill stuck in his throat uncomfortably.

At least he isn’t going to die by choking on it. That’d be embarrassing.

He hears the front door slam open aggressively, and his father yells an unceremonious “Son of a bitch!” as he slams the door shut. Michael doesn’t know what’s happening, nor does he care. William, however, seems to notice he has no one that will listen to his angry rants anymore. So what does he do instead?

Yell at the wall, apparently. He is – quite literally – talking to the walls. Like a completely, one hundred percent sane person. “I cannot believe Henry would do that to me! What, he thinks he can run the business on his own and not go bankrupt? Without my ideas he’s never going to make it! I know, he’s crazy! Right?” He continues ranting to nothing for a while. And Henry’s the crazy one? Yeah, sure.

Michael tunes out the yelling, moving from his room to Liz’s. He hasn’t been in there for a while. He gently opens the door and just stands in the doorway for a bit. He’s horribly aware of the pill making its extremely slow descent down his throat and he kind of wants to make himself throw up just to get rid of the sensation.

He shakes away the thought, and closes the door behind him. His eyes dance over the room, studying his surroundings. Her room is the same as she left it the day she vanished. Messy, since she never bothered to clean up, and dirty from the months of vacancy. He moves into the room and, beside her bed, on the playmat, is a stuffed doll.

Its hair is a vibrant red pulled up into pigtails. Its smile is wide, and it has red circles right at each corner of the mouth. Its eyes are a dark blue. It's wearing a red and white dress, and it has a microphone sewn onto one of its hands. Michael dully notes that this doll is a Circus Baby plush. He crouches down and picks it up. Standing back up, Michael can’t help but stare at it.

He doesn’t know what makes this doll stand out to Michael, it’s not the only one strewn around the room, afterall. But something just attracts all his attention to it. It reminds him so much of his sister, but he can’t really remember why. He’s never really seen her with this doll, but he brings it to his room anyway, and it keeps it right next to Fredbear.

He sighs, glancing at the pill bottle briefly. It’d be so easy to just…

He shakes the thought away before it even fully appears in his head. He has to get better, if not for him then for Jeremy.

He sighs and slumps in his bed. His eyes flutter shut and sleep consumes him quickly.

Michael can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing. He really doesn’t understand. It is too early for his brain to process this. He’s just woken up and, when headed to the kitchen, he did not expect to be greeted with… whatever the hell this was.

William Afton was completely different. Not personality wise, he’s still a fucking disaster and a weirdo, but he just…

Why the fuck is he blond?

Not only is his hair a different colour, it’s styled completely different to how he normally does it. In fact, it’s not even the same length, he chopped most of his hair off. And… are those coloured contacts?

He’s too stunned to speak as his father prepares himself coffee as if nothing is wrong. Why did he have a makeover? Is this some kind of weird ass coping mechanism? It’s been almost a whole year, and he’s only coping now? That can’t be right. What the hell is he doing?

His father doesn’t acknowledge him much, but he seems to be amused by Michael’s confusion. Well, isn’t he a fucking asshole? “Henry’s opening a new restaurant.” The “without me” goes unsaid. But why the hell is he saying that as if it’s supposed to clear everything up?

What does he want Michael to say? “Oh yes, that makes complete sense. You obviously need to change your entire appearance because your ex-business partner is opening a new themed kids restaurant without you. My mistake.”

Instead, Michael replies with. “Oh, okay.” As if he perfectly understood what this interaction was. His father pushes past him and leaves the house shortly after pouring his coffee inside a bottle. Michael shakes his head, deciding to ignore everything that just happened. He’d rather not question William anymore.

As he approaches the counter, he notices what looks like a document on the table. In big bold letters, the title reads “Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rental.” Michael doesn’t read anything else, simply sighs and moves the document aside. He really doesn’t know how his father continues to do this, even after everything that happened.

Whatever. He doesn’t really care anyway.

Chapter Text

Michael was having the time of his life running around the park, Elizabeth chasing him in a fit giggles. Tag was always his favourite game. They hear their mother yell their names, and they momentarily stop their game to go to her.

William was putting sandwiches in little paper plates for each of them on the picnic blanket. Elizabeth squealed as she ran to hug her father. Michael noticed his mother gently rocking Evan to sleep. He sat down next to her and took a sandwich.

“Isn’t Evan going to eat as well?” Michael asked once he noticed there wasn’t any food for his brother. His mother let out a gentle chuckle. “No, Terrance. He’s too young to have any solid foods. He can only drink milk for now.” Michael lets out a hum of acknowledgement.

He glances at his sleeping brother as he takes another bite of his sandwich. He grins. He’s sure his brother will love to play tag with him and Liz when he’s older.

Michael had no idea how William knew Henry was planning to open a restaurant. But, true to his word, Henry opened the new Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria around September of 1987. Jeremy had told him that he was excited to see all the new additions and wanted to go to the opening, but Michael wouldn’t go if he was paid to do so. He could not stand those animatronics.

Being the social butterfly he is, Jeremy made friends with the workers and found out they were understaffed. Michael guessed it was because of the reputation Fazbear Entertainment had, but he also couldn’t care less. That is, until Jeremy told him some unsettling news.

“What?” Michael faltered, but Jeremy just kept smiling as he nodded. “I mean, I don’t want to control your decisions or whatever but a job at the pizzeria? Isn't it dangerous?” He inquired, and Jeremy’s smile softened and he put a hand on Michael’s curls, messing up his overgrown hair. “I’ll be fine, Micha. I’ll just be working with kids anyway.”

He’s pretty sure Jeremy is extremely awkward with kids, but at least he won’t be messing with the animatronics. “Wait.” Michael said, apparently coming to a realisation. “Did… Did you just call me Micha?” Jeremy nodded animatedly, messy blond hair bouncing atop his head. Michael’s face flushed red and he looked away, trying to hide his face with his unruly hair.

Jeremy put a hand on the back of his neck and looked down. “Sorry, do you not like that?” Michael looked up, face still slightly red. “No! No, it’s not that! I just didn’t expect that.” He chuckled slightly, embarrassed. Jeremy grinned at him. “So that means you like it, doesn’t it Micha?” He said in a teasing manner, and Michael just blushed more and looked away again as Jeremy laughed at him. His laugh is contagious, and Michael couldn’t really help himself.

“What I actually don’t like is you getting a job at that wretched place! Why would you even do that?” Michael said exasperatedly.

“Calm down, I’ll be fine. I just needed some money of my own, y’know? I’ll get you free pizzas whenever I can, will that help your anxiety?” Jeremy said, laid back and obviously not taking his concerns to heart. “No, it won’t help at all.” Michael mumbled through a pout. Jeremy huffed and stopped to think for a while.

He suddenly gasped and smiled, and Michael could almost see the lightbulb appear above his head at that. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you get a job there too? They definitely need it, and you turned 18 not too long ago, so the requirements are met!”

Of course the restaurant doesn’t hire minors. It makes sense, really. The liability risk is insane with those stupid animatronics running around. And that fact does nothing to ease his nerves. “Uhm, I’m pretty sure my name is blacklisted from Fazbear Entertainment, so I don’t really think I can get hired.” Michael said sheepishly. Jeremy cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Huh? How come?”

“Well, my dad used to be one of the owners and he kinda got kicked out of the company, so… I think anyone with the name ‘Afton’ is just prohibited from getting a job there.” Jeremy hummed in acknowledgement before freezing. He snapped his head to Michael and leaned forward.

“Wait, your dad was one of the owners? How come you never told me?! No wonder you’re so rich!” Jeremy’s surprise was cute, at least to Michael. He couldn’t hold back a laugh at the face Jeremy was making – mouth slightly opened, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide.

“What are you laughing at? And don’t avoid my questions, you ass!” Jeremy laughed as he spoke, leaning in just out of touch. Michael pushed Jeremy’s face away, which sent him tumbling back on the bed. “Hey!” He screeched as he flopped down, clutching his stomach, still not being able to contain his joy.

Michael threw himself at him, landing face-first on Jeremy’s chest. Michael could feel the air being pushed out of Jeremy’s lungs as he landed, then the blond groaned. “At least let me get my arms out from under you, jackass.” Michael laughed, pushing himself up just enough for Jeremy to remove his arms from his belly.

As soon as he did, Michael flopped back down. “Ugh, that hurts! Stop doing that! If you wanna cuddle, ask nicely!” Jeremy sputtered out, and Michael couldn’t contain his embarrassed giggles. “Sorry.” He responded, not sounding apologetic at all.

Jeremy shook his head in disbelief, rolling his eyes playfully. He rested an arm on Michael’s back as the two calmed down. Jeremy put his other hand in Michaels hair, gently petting it. Michael hasn’t felt this calm – and good – in an extremely long time.

“I have an idea.” Jeremy whispered, and Michael could hear the smirk in his voice. “What is it?” Michael questioned with a playful sigh. Jeremy was academics smart, sure, but for anything else? He was an idiot. And Michael adored his idiot.

“You said the name ‘Afton’ is banned from the pizzeria, but not any other name… So you could totally apply for a job with a different name! Going undercover, like those spy movies! How cool is that?” Jeremy’s excitement was radiating off him, but Michael was too busy thinking about what the fuck he just heard come out of Jeremy’s mouth.

“There is no way I’m doing that, I’ll get caught!” Michael said, lifting himself from Jeremy and staring down at him. Jeremy’s stupid grin was plastered on his face along with a smug expression, and Michael knew that he would keep persisting.

“You won’t if you get a disguise too! Plus, I can back you up.” Jeremy was stubborn, and Michael really couldn’t handle going into a discussion about this. He sighed, plopping back down on Jeremy’s chest and pressing his face in the crook of his neck. Jeremy’s cologne was amazing.

“Okay, fine. But you’ll have to help me if I get caught, or I’m beating your ass into next week.” Jeremy laughed at that, pressing a hand to Michael’s hair. “Sure you will, big guy.” Jeremy responded, sarcasm evident in his words, then laughing again shortly after. Michael softly slapped his stomach, muttering a quiet “Shut up” as Jeremy snorted harder.

Michael could barely recognize himself in the mirror. That seemed like an exaggeration, but he really couldn’t. He looked extremely different already, and the only thing they did was cut his hair. Jeremy stood behind him, grinning and holding a box of hair dye that Michael hadn’t seen before.

He spun around so quickly he almost got dizzy. “You are not putting that in my hair! I already had to get rid of my mullet for this!” Michael held up a defensive finger in between him and Jeremy, which just made the other boy chuckle. “Calm down, it doesn’t have to be blond. I have other colours as well.” Jeremy put the box down and rummaged through the bathroom cabinet.

“Why do you even have hair dye? Is your hair not naturally blond?” Michael questioned, lifting an eyebrow in surprise. Jeremy didn’t stop looking through the cabinet, but he sputtered a little at his question. “What? Of course I’m a natural blond! Have you ever seen dark roots on my head?” Michael shook his head as Jeremy looked at him through the corner of his eye.

“Exactly! Plus, my parents are both blond. Honestly, I’m offended you’d even ask such a thing.” Jeremy said dramatically, putting a hand on his chest as if he’d been wounded. Michael rolled his eyes at him. “Well sorry, but that doesn’t explain the amount of hair dye you have.”

“I bought some after you agreed to go undercover.” Jeremy smirked as he said that. “Stop saying I’m going undercover, it sounds stupid.” Michael retorted, making Jeremy stick out his tongue at him. It reminded him of Elizabeth. Michael shook the thought away.

“Anyway, I bought some for you. Plus, my brother had some at his house. He’s always dying his hair.” Jeremy continued, and Michael sighed as Jeremy pulled out at least five boxes of hair dye. “So, which colour do you want?” He extended the products to Michael.

Michael didn’t want to dye his hair at all. He looked up at Jeremy again, a sceptical look on his face. “Can’t I keep my hair this colour? Why do I need to dye it?” Jeremy groaned and put all the hair dyes on the counter. “Doesn’t the owner know you? He’d surely recognize you if you didn’t!”

“He’d recognize me even if I did dye it! He’s known me for years!” Michael said, exasperated. “Ugh, fine! But you need to change your accent, you can’t be the only British person there, that’d be too obvious!” Jeremy said. Michael crossed his arms. “What do you have in mind, then?” He questioned.

“I don’t know… try to copy my accent.” Jeremy answered. Michael nodded and Jeremy started rambling about different things. Michael tried his best to pay close attention to the way he talked, every word he pronounced and the way his lips moved. The way his lips moved? He didn’t need to pay attention to that! Michael internally slapped himself, telling himself to focus.

“Alright, you try!” Jeremy said, smiling wide. Michael swallowed thickly. “Uhm. Hi, my name is… uh… we didn’t decide what name I’ll use.” Michael said, his British accent returning as he finished the sentence. “Oh, you’re right… I have an idea!”

Jeremy practically leapt out of the bathroom, Michael following close behind. He went into the living room and started looking through the bookshelf. Jeremy grabbed a book and tugged Michael up the stairs and into his bedroom, sitting him on the bed.

“Alright, so my mom actually never gave this book away, but it comes in handy now!” Jeremy explained, putting the book between himself and Michael. “A baby names book? Really?” Michael questioned, raising a brow at Jeremy.

Jeremy brushed it off. “Yes, really. And talk to me with the american accent, you need to train it!” Jeremy stated, opening the book to a random page. “Alright.” Michael said, forcing his voice just a little. Jeremy smiled proudly at him before his eyes returned to the book.

“What about… Oh! Fritz! That’s a cool name, I’ve never met anyone called that!” Jeremy said, turning the book towards Michael and pointing at the name.

Fritz: Short German form of Frederick, from the German frid, meaning "peace" and ric, meaning "ruler, power"

That’s a cool name. “Okay, sure. I don’t really care, as long as it’s not ridiculous. What about last names, though?” Michael asked, and Jeremy seemed to freeze for a second, as if he’d forgotten. “Ah, uhm…” He stuttered, placing the book back in his lap and paging through it rapidly before looking back at Michael. “How about… Smith?” Jeremy’s uncertainty was very obvious. Michael deadpanned.

“Smith? Really? That’s the most basic name ever.” He replied, and Jeremy made a fake offended face. Michael snorted as he shook his head. “Hey! It's a great balance! A unique first name with the most basic last name ever!” Jeremy explained, trying to redeem himself. Michael laughed.

“Okay, fine. Fritz Smith it is.” Michael rolled his eyes with a smile as Jeremy beamed at him. “Great! You changed your looks, your name and your accent! Now we need to falsify some documents!” Jeremy’s mischievous smirk made Michael grimace a little.

“Shit, I forgot about that part.”

“I cannot believe that worked.” Michael stood dumbfounded in his brand new uniform as Jeremy cackled beside him. “I knew it would! Now let’s get to work, Fritz.” Jeremy giggles, making sure to tease Michael as he called him by that name.

“I’m already starting to regret this.” Michael sighed as Jeremy handed him a broom. Kids and their fucking messes.

Michael made his way to the Kid’s Cove to clean it up. He jumped out of his own skin when his eyes landed on the new Funtime Foxy, completely dismantled and ruined. “What the hell happened to him?” He yelled to Jeremy, who came to take a look at what had scared Michael so much. He giggled as he made his way over to the animatronic, putting him back together in whatever way he wanted.

“Oh don’t worry. The kids kept taking him apart all the time, so we said that she was a ‘take apart and put back together’ animatronic. Everyone loved it, and the employees started calling her The Mangle.” He laughed at the name. Michael glanced back at destroyed Foxy that Jeremy was still remantling.

The animatronic moved a bit, and Michael immediately jumped into action, grabbing Jeremy by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back. He fell on top of Michael, who hugged him close as he breathed hard and heavy, keeping his eyes locked on Mangle. She didn’t move again.

“Woah, what happened? Why did you do that?” Jeremy asked, glancing back at Michael to see his panicked face with a bit of cold sweat running down his forehead. “Hey, what’s wrong? Micha?” Jeremy turned and rested a hand on Michael’s cheek.

Michael snapped out of his panicked state, meeting eyes with Jeremy’s worried ones. “Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“You didn’t, I’m fine. Are you okay, Michael?” Jeremy didn’t move from where he sat between Michael’s legs, keeping a hand rested on his cheek. “Oh, yeah, sorry. You can’t call me that here, remember?” Michael answered, trying to change topics.

“I know, but I was worried. You scared me! What even happened?” Jeremy questioned, getting up and offering Michael a hand. He grabbed it and got up, wiping down his clothes as he did. “Oh, uh… The Mangle moved when you weren’t looking. I thought…” He trailed off, looking away.

Jeremy’s face softened. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. The animatronics are in a free roaming state most of the time. Don’t worry, they don’t do anything. Unless you’re a criminal!” Jeremy laughed, shaking his head. Michael grinned with him, adrenaline still pumping through his veins from the scare.

Henry did an amazing job at designing the new models. Not only do they look less terrifying, they’re also connected to the criminal data-base. They can detect a predator – or any other transgressor – from a mile away. No repeats of last time. It was good.

“Alright everyone, to the Game Area! I have some news!” The manager, Philip, announced. Jeremy grabbed the forgotten brooms and guided Michael towards Phil. They waited a moment for the employees to gather around, before Philip sighed and put a hand to his face in frustration.

“So, I got word from the boss that we had some employees quit, now we’re more understaffed than ever.” The unison groan everyone let out made Phil aware that they all knew where this was going. “I know, it sucks, but I’m going to have to extend some shift periods. Don’t worry, though, your pay will grow a bit and everyone who has been granted a time off will still have their breaks. Please take a look at the new schedule.”

He started handing out some papers, as if he wanted to be sure everyone was aware of their new shift hours. Michael already knew some people would try to pull the ‘I didn’t know about that’ card, so he mentally congratulated Phil for thinking ahead.

He glanced at the new schedule, and his heart leaped out of his chest. Jeremy was transferred to the night shift. Michael could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips and his lungs had to make a stronger effort to get air in and out. He glanced at Jeremy, who seemed to be excited.

He moved closer to Jeremy, leaning in and whispering. “You could give me the night shift. I won’t mind.” Michael muttered. He couldn’t let Jeremy alone with these robots. It didn’t sit right with him. Jeremy leaned in as well, smiling brightly. “Hell no,” he whispered, “I’ve always wanted the night shift. You just sit around doing nothing and get paid. I’m keeping this shift.” Michael could hear the smile in Jeremy’s voice, so he just nodded and went back to looking over the schedule.

He knew Jeremy was perfectly capable of defending himself, but something just didn’t seem right.

Michael remembered all those missing children posters from a few years ago once he saw them again. Different kids, same story. Gone. Vanished without a trace. “If seen, contact the police” and all that stuff. Michael had a feeling they wouldn’t be found, just like last time.

He remembered seeing some posters a few weeks ago, but he didn’t think much of it until the story seemed oddly familiar. Five kids are missing. Last seen at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. And now, something else is happening just as it did last time.

Something was off with the animatronics. They’ve always been weird, at least to Michael. With a free roaming state and facial scanners, it felt like they were alive somehow. But this was different. They all still acted normal around the kids, but with the adults? They just stopped and stared. Those plastic eyes boring into their souls. Parents complained to employees and employees complained to managers.

The mechanic’s shift was later in the day, though. Michael had never seen that guy, and he wondered if he was even doing his job properly. But that wasn’t Michael’s business. It seemed like history was repeating itself, though.

Michael was woken up the next day by the phone ringing. He groaned, his body sluggish as he got up from his bed. He hadn’t seen his father in what felt like months, and he wondered briefly if he just left at some point without Michael even noticing. His suspicions grew as no sound was heard besides the ringing of the phone.

He made his way down the stairs and answered the phone. “Hello?” He muttered, voice deep and dripping with sleep deprivation. “Hey, Michael. It’s Jeremy.” The voice came through the phone, and Michael made sure to check the clock. Almost 7AM, Jeremy’s shift ended not long ago and his alarm would ring soon.

“Hey, Jer.” Michael answered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I wake you up? Sorry, but it’s like we don’t talk anymore!” Jeremy exclaimed, and Michael chuckled. “Yeah, well you are working nights now while I do opening shifts. Our schedules are super different. Y’know, it feels weird not working with you.” Michael admitted, and Jeremy cooed. “Aw, do you miss me?” He teased.

“Well, yeah, you’re the only one I talk to outside of work.” Michael replied, and Jeremy laughed. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re anti-social.” Jeremy spoke through his giggles. “There is something I wanted to talk about, though.” Jeremy said as he calmed down. “What is it?”

“Y’know how the night shift workers get those pre recorded messages from Phil?” Michael hummed in acknowledgement. “Well, the ones from my previous shifts were all relatively normal, telling me what to do and what to be careful with or whatever.” Jeremy continued.

“But this time Phil mentioned someone tampered with the animatronics. Are they acting weird or something?” Jeremy asked, and Michael was bitterly reminded of piercing eyes, seemingly scanning his every move. “Yeah, they just stared at all the adults as if we were threats. No one seemed to know why, but I guess the mechanic figured it out. Did he fix it?” Michael answered.

“I don’t know, Phil didn’t say. There’s something else, though. So we have these spare yellow suits in the back from one of the previous restaurants, and it looks like someone used the rabbit one. Did you see that during the day shift?”

Michael paused. Yellow rabbit suit? Was he talking about Spring Bonnie? The only ones who know how to operate it are Henry and William. Father was the only one who ever wore the Spring Bonnie suit, but he’s sure his father isn’t even allowed in the restaurant. Maybe someone had stollen the instructions manual for the springlock suits?

“Uhm, no, I didn’t see anything. Maybe it happened after my shifts? I only have early morning shifts, so I doubt that happened while I was there.” Michael spoke, and Jeremy seemed to pause for a minute.

“That’s… weird.” Jeremy finally says. His voice is monotone, as if his mind is somewhere else. Michael knows something isn’t right. “I can take the night shift if you want.” Michael offers. Jeremy denies it, though.

Michael is about to speak again when he hears his alarm go off in his bedroom. He mutters a curse under his breath. “My shift starts soon, I need to get ready. I’m sorry, Jer. I’ll talk to you later.” Jeremy replies with a soft goodbye and Michael hangs up.

Michael knows where he is, and he’s not surprised to be back here anymore. The dark room still makes him anxious, and he can feel his hands trembling. He knows what to do, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

He moves to check the door on his right. He stops, listens for breathing. There’s nothing. He shines his flashlight, and sees the corridor is empty. He moves to the other side of the room, checking the corridor yet again. Nothing.

He can hear scratching from inside his closet. He quickly makes his way to the open double-doors, closing them without hesitation. He waits for a second before the noises stop. He opens the closet, shining the light inside. The Foxy plush sits there, and Michael feels as if it's staring at him. He shudders and moves back towards the bed.

Michael hears the house phone ring. He turns around, and in place of the bed, there’s a dark corridor. Confused, he looks back over his shoulder. The whole room is gone, in its place is a narrow wall. Michael turns back around and sees, in the middle of the darkness, a small wooden table with a ringing phone on top being illuminated by a light that he has no idea where it's coming from.

He makes his way over, stopping right in front of the table. Only now does he notice the small plush Fredbear, who seems to have its gaze fixed on Michael, following his movements. He looks towards the still ringing phone. Michael feels something slim and metallic grasp his shoulder.

Michael turns slowly, making whatever is touching him slide off. He stares at a horrid version of the puppet animatronic – all boney with sharp teeth, glowing eyes and what looks like ribs protruding from its centre, which is as skinny as a toothpick. It just stares at Michael as he trembles. The slender hands – tentacles – reach Michael’s shoulder again, gripping so hard it rips part of his striped shirt.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” It says, voice distorted and raspy. “Or are you going to let him die?” What? What was that supposed to mean? Who was going to die if he didn’t answer?

The Puppet’s eyes seemed to glow more, almost blinding Michael. “You aren’t going to let him die because of you, right?” He is gruesomely reminded of his brother as the Marionnette speaks. Michael is about to turn around to answer when it raises its other arm and drives two of its sharp tentacles into his eyes.

Michael jolts out of bed with a scream. He can feel a sharp pain in his eyes, like metal digging into his sockets, just like that Nightmarish Puppet had done. Michael puts a hand to his face. There’s no blood and his eyes are intact. He takes a deep breath and looks at the clock. It’s almost 5AM.

Then he hears the phone. He doesn’t know for how long it's been ringing, but he gets up, making his way down to the living room. The Marionette's voice echoes in his head as he reaches the stairs. “You aren’t going to let him die because of you, right?” Michael rushes down the stairs and answers the phone.

Before he can say anything, he hears heavy breathing from the other line. “Michael? Is that you? I didn’t know who else to call.” The person utters, voice shaky with fear. Michael immediately recognises the voice. “Jeremy? What’s going on?”

There’s a sound of metal banging from the other line, and Jeremy holds in a gasp. “There’s something wrong with the animatronics. I know they always act weird, but it’s like they’re going to kill me. I don’t think I’m safe anymore, Micha.” Jeremy whimpers.

Michael’s blood runs cold. “You aren’t going to let him die because of you, right?” He doesn’t think twice before responding.

“I’m going to pick you up, okay? You’re going to be okay, just keep yourself safe, please.” He doesn’t wait for an answer as he hangs up the phone. He doesn’t change out of his pyjamas and he doesn’t put on shoes as he rushes to the front door, grabbing his car keys.

He makes his way to Freddy’s as fast as possible, ignoring several traffic laws in the process. He parks in a hurry and jumps out of the car, not bothering to lock it as he runs to the front door of the establishment. He shakes the glass double doors, but it’s futile. They’re locked. He curses at himself as he realises he left the spare keys at home.

He looks around for anything that can break the door when he sees something from inside the restaurant. He focuses his full attention on Jeremy, running in his direction in obvious fear. The boy bangs his shoulder into the door, trying to force it open. It doesn’t budge.

They both hear something from behind Jeremy. Jeremy turns around, looking directly at the dismantled Mangle animatronic – moving in his direction via the ceiling. Jeremy turns around, banging on the door. “Help me! Please, help me!” His voice cracked in fear. Tears of terror rolled down his beautiful freckled face.

Michael looked around him as Jeremy continued to pound on the door and throw himself at it in an attempt to break through. Michael spotted a very pointy rock near the entrance, moving to grab it without even thinking twice. He goes back to the door, repeatedly punching the sharp end of the rock into the glass.

Before it had a chance to shatter, Michael heard a paralysing scream. He looked up, only to be met with the sight of Jeremy screaming and fighting to get out of Mangle’s jaws. His blood dripped down his face and blond hair, staining his purple uniform and the pristine white and black floors of the pizzaria.

As Jeremy continues to scream and fight, begging for help, Michael freezes in place. The vision of Evan getting bit by Fredbear flashes across his mind, and the scene in front of him becomes mixed with the one that happened four years ago.

Michael breaks out of his thoughts as Mangle lifts Jeremy up by the skull, his feet now inches above the ground. He squirms, kicking his legs in yet another attempt to break free. More blood rushes from the wound on his forehead, and Jeremy visibly starts losing strength.

Michael panics, smashing the rock against the glass door, finally shattering it. He hears alarms going off around him, but he doesn’t care. Michael runs in, getting cut by multiple loose pieces of glass on the way. He leaves bloody footprints on the ground as he steps on the shards with his bare feet.

Michael tries to pry Mangles mouth open as Jeremy continues shouting in agony. His attempts are futile, yet he persists. Michael sees a red button at the back of Mangles mouth, and he reaches to press the emergency switch without thinking twice. Mangle’s mouth opens, teeth stained in Jeremy’s blood.

Jeremy falls to the floor, breath laboured, as Mangle returns to her stage. Michael crouches next to him, cradling him in his arms. Tears cascade down his face as Jeremy looks around in a daze, his eyes settling on Michael.

He reaches a bloody hand up and lays it on Michael’s cheek. Michael places his hand above Jeremy’s, sobbing as the boy in his arms smiles at him sweetly. Blood covers Michael’s clothes, but he couldn’t care less. Jeremy lets out a shaky breath. “You’re so strong, Michael. Thank you.” His voice comes out in a broken whisper. Michael feels another sob wrack through his body.

Jeremy pulls Michaels head down towards his own, softly resting their foreheads together. The blood from his wound makes its way onto Michaels hair as his tears fall onto Jeremy's face. Michael numbly registers the sound of someone outside, but he can’t bring himself to look away from Jeremy.

Jeremy smiles lovingly at Michael, dragging his thumb across his cheek in comfort. “You know, we never say this, but…” Jeremy makes an effort to pull in more air, making Michael cry harder. “I love you, Micha. I really… really do.” His eyes close and his hand goes limp in Michaels.

“No. No no no no! Please wake up! Jeremy!” Michael pleads. This can’t be happening again. He remembers being fifteen, holding his little brother in his arms almost exactly like he is doing with Jeremy. The blood is everywhere, and Michael briefly notes how he now has the blood of four people on his hands now.

The alarm ringing in his ears makes him dizzy, but he can’t bring himself to walk away. The smell of copper fills his lungs and he notices how everything around him is red. His body aches as he trembles and cries, and he hopes this is all a nightmare. “You aren’t going to let him die because of you, right?”

It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

The words repeat in his head like a mantra, and he’s so dazed he doesn’t register that Jeremy is being taken from him. His vision is blurred and he can’t seem to breathe. The restaurant keeps changing in front of his eyes, going back to being Fredbears’ before becoming normal again.

Someone shakes him, and he takes in a gulp of air, darting his head up towards the person. A paramedic is crouched in front of him with Phil standing behind the girl in a panicked state. He seems to calm down just a bit as he notices Michael is mostly uninjured.

“He has a few cuts and he seems to be in shock.” She says to Phil before speaking to Michael. “We can take you to the hospital to get you treated, and we’ll let you see your friend after he gets help. Can you come with us?” Her voice is gentle as she talks, but Michael can barely register a word she says.

He notices Jeremy is gone and he panics more. He looked outside to see an ambulance riding away and another one stopped right outside. “Your friend is going to the hospital, we’re going to help him. Can you come with us?” She says, as if reading Michael's mind.

Michael numbly nods as more medics come in with a gurney. They carefully lay him on it as they take him to the ambulance. Michael barely notices a thing on the ride to the hospital.

Michael doesn’t wait for Jeremy once he’s discharged. He can’t bear to look at him. He desperately wants to hold him and tell him he loves him too, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s his fault Jeremy is injured in the first place.

If he’d insisted on taking the night shift, Jeremy would be okay. If he’d stopped him from getting a job in the first place, Jeremy would be okay. Michael doesn’t even know if he’s alive when he walks out of the hospital, hair and clothes still covered in blood that isn’t even his.

He wants to know how Jeremy is doing. He really does, but he prefers to carry this doubt rather than be faced with a reality in which Jeremy is dead.

He feels numb as he walks into his empty house. His brother is dead, his sister is dead, his mother is dead and his father is never around. And now, the only person he had left could be dead too and he wouldn’t even know.

Michael can’t bring himself to shed a tear.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Terrance! What do you think of the new place?” William asks, stopping him from running around with his friends. Michael lets a toothy grin plaster itself in his face, smiling so wide you can see where he’s missing a tooth.

“I love it, dad! Foxy’s definitely my favourite now! Tell Spring Bonnie I said sorry.” His father smiled at him, ruffling his hair and sending him on his way. Michael was old enough to know that Spring Bonnie was his father in a suit, but he didn’t want Evan to know. He’s sitting on the table near Michael, listening in on the conversation.

Michael pays him no mind and he resumes running around with his friends. His eyes land on the masks of each of the new animatronics up on the wall. The only way to win one was with prize tickets from the arcades.

He’s going to get that mask soon.

“Okay, everyone,” Phil starts, his voice almost sad, “So, as you know, yesterday Jeremy had a… work accident. He’s in the hospital as of now, but I don’t know anything besides that.” Everyone seems remorseful as Phil says that. But they weren’t there, they didn’t know Jeremy like Michael did. They didn’t see it happen, didn’t see the blood and the wounds. They didn’t hear the screams. Michael feels a bubbling rage in his chest.

“But I also have some more news. This wasn’t really… disclosed to all of you, but I’m sure some of you have seen that police have been investigating the restaurant for some time now.” Michael didn’t know that. He hadn’t seen any of that. But then again, his shifts were always early.

“The boss did some miracles to keep this place open while they were investigating those kids' disappearances, but now…” Phil takes a moment. He breathes, looking at all the employees. Michael made sure to duck behind one of his taller coworkers. “Freddy Fazbear’s will be closed down permanently. The animatronics will be scraped and thrown out. We have two weeks left, so I recommend starting to look for new jobs right away. I’ll be taking night shifts, so I won’t be around much during the day.”

Michael’s interest peaked. He’d had some questions about this place for a while, and maybe this was his chance to find out some things. Phil muttered a short apology as Michael made his way to the front. Philip’s eyes widened when he saw Michael. “Fritz?” He questioned.

“What are you doing here? I thought I told you to take a break for a few days.” Phil moved closer to him, face twisted in worry. He dismissed the rest of the workers with a wave of the hand as he pulled Michael to a corner. “Why are you here? You need to take care of yourself, you should go home. It's paid leave, you don’t need to worry about that.” Phil seemed genuinely concerned, which was… nice. Michael hadn’t had an older person take care of him in a while.

Phil acted like a father, something he really didn’t have at the moment. Michael maintained his expression blank, waving off Philip’s worry. “I want to work the night shift.” That was all Michael said. Phil’s expression changed, looking at him as if he were crazy. Maybe he was.

“What? Fritz, there is no way I’m putting you to work nights-”

“I’m not asking. I want to work the night shift, so put me on the night shift.” Michael interrupted, not caring that he sounded cold and uncaring. Phil’s face stayed the same, but Michael could see the hint of worry in his eyes.

He stayed silent, seemingly going through a war in his head. He sighed after a moment, looking up at Michael, his face squinted in anxiety. Why was he fretting so much over Michael? “Fine, you can work nights. Come to the office, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

The office wasn’t far, down a few corridors and past some party rooms and there it was. No doors or anything. Michael guesses privacy isn’t a big thing at Fazbear Entertainment. Philip ushers Michael to sit down on the chair, then stands next to him. “There’s a few things you need to know that are extremely important.” Phil reaches for something under the desk, pulling out an empty Freddy head.

“This is very important for night shifts. I don’t know how this happened yesterday, but the Freddy head was missing from the office. It was hidden in the backroom. Make sure you keep a close eye on this.” Phil explains, handing the mask to Michael. He grabs it and looks at Phil for a moment before he puts it on.

“Okay, you already got the hang of that. So, when one of the animatronics wanders in, put that on and they’ll eventually wander back out. It works on almost all of them. The Foxy in the back doesn’t really fall for it, but if it gets close, just shine your flashlight at him and he’ll go away eventually.” Phil hands him a flashlight from one of the drawers on the desk. Michael turns it around in his hands. He finds the switch, and turns it on. He shuts it off after.

“Also, speaking of flashlights, there’s one character that seems to love the batteries on that thing, Balloon Boy. If he comes close, the Freddy Head trick should make him go away. If he steals your batteries, it’ll be bad.” Michael grimaces at that. Why the hell would they make an animatronic that steals stuff? Philip grabs a monitor from the top of the desk and turns it on. He gives it to Michael as he takes off the Freddy head, face sweaty.

“And this is where you access the cameras. With this, you can keep a close eye on all the animatronics. There is also another feature.” Phil clicks on Camera 11. The image on the screen switches to the Prize Corner. “So this ‘wind up music box’ thing is to keep the puppet under control.”

Michael clicks on the text. Nothing happens. “It doesn’t really start working until midnight. But if you don’t wind up the music box, the puppet comes out of their box and, well… Let’s just say the Freddy head doesn’t work on them. Neither does the flashlight.” Michael sighs. Great, the only thing that keeps that thing away is music. Fucking awesome.

“Uhm, I think that’s it. Just… Please be careful, Fritz. And you can call me if you need anything.” Phil grabs a yellow Post-It note, scribbles a number on it and sticks it next to the phone. He pats Michael’s shoulder and looks at him with an unreadable look. “Have a good shift. There’s coffee in the kitchen if you need it before it starts.” Phil leaves, his posture screams that he’s uncomfortable that Michael is staying the night.

Michael can’t bring himself to care.

Michael doesn’t know how long he’s been winding the music box, checking cameras, putting on the Freddy head and shining the flashlight, but, frankly, he’s had enough. He can’t just sit around and watch the cameras all night. He wants to find out what’s happening.

The new models weren’t this aggressive, and the old models weren’t supposed to work anymore. He puts the Freddy head on after winding the music box. He grabs the flashlight and makes his way to the back room where the old models were kept.

He notices the mangle skittering above him on the ceiling. It stares at him for a second. Michael notices that it’s been cleaned, its teeth are sparkling white and its parts seem to be almost shining under the light of his flashlight. Its pupils glow, and he can tell it’s using facial recognition. A beat passes and it scurries past him towards the office.

He can’t see that thing the same anymore. Not since he saw Jeremy hanging from its jaw, clamped down on his skull with blood everywhere. Michael didn’t notice he was holding his breath until Mangle wasn't in view anymore. He noticed how he felt clammy, and numbly noted that most of his sweat wasn’t because of the heat.

He continued his way towards the back room. He passes a few other animatronics on the way, who stare at him for a moment before moving again. Michael has to duck behind a random door when he hears Foxy marching in his direction. He’d rather have him looking around the empty office than having to constantly keep his flashlight on him when looking at all the other models.

Foxy’s footsteps echo through the empty, dark hall. Michael peeks through the door, and he can tell Foxy has his hooked hand up in front of him, almost as if he was ready to attack the first thing he sees. The animatronics eyes glow in the corridor, and Michael briefly notes how that shouldn’t be possible. He remembers the Puppet’s glowing eyes back in Fredbears diner and shudders.

Weird things have been happening for years, and Michael has an inkling that he’s somehow connected to this mess. He’s always believed in ghosts, but he can tell there’s something more to this situation than a simple ghost story.

Foxy disappears down the dark hall, and Michael opens the door quietly. He can hear movement in the walls, like the banging of metal on metal. He knows one of the animatronics made their way into the vents. He moves silently down the hall, shining his light at every corner he can, just in case.

He stops in front of the old door, Parts and Service etched onto the sign that’s attached to it. He extends a hand and hesitates. He doesn’t really know why he freezes – maybe it’s the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be doing this or how he could end up like Jermey if something goes wrong, but deep down he doesn’t care about any of that. He puts his hand on the cold metal of the door handle and slowly opens the door.

The room is darker than the rest of the establishment. It looks like a scene from a horror movie, with what looks like a mould on the corners of the walls and wires draping down the walls. Spare endoskeletons decorate old tables that are falling apart, and he can see extra toys offered at the Prize Corner. Michael can feel his heavy breathing with the Freddy mask. The dirty floors make him question if maybe all the employees are scared of coming in here.

The heavy door of the room closes with a thud behind him and he’s swallowed in darkness, the only light coming from his flashlight. He feels his nervous fear spike as he hears metal clanging in the room. He points the light at Chica – her beak hanging by rusting metal, arms extended permanently and no hands – and she stops. He approaches her and quickly inspects her.

She’s rusting all over, it’s no surprise she can’t move her arms. Seems she hasn’t been taken care of in a long time. There’s something else, though. Mucus seeps through the cracks in the metal, along with other things. Michael slightly lifts his mask to hold the flashlight in his mouth, then grips the animatronics bib and pulls. It falls to the floor with a loud clang, exposing her interior.

Michael grabs the flashlight and flashed it inside the robot. Its insides are covered in what looks like dried blood. His eyes widen as he inspects closer, swiping a finger at the brownish crust. It’s definitely not rust. He’s seen and helped with enough of his father’s work to know about the mechanical parts of these pieces of junk.

Michael gags as the smell from the robot's insides reaches his nose. He has to hold his breath and move away slightly to keep himself from throwing up. He looks up at Chica’s face. Her plastic eyes seem to look into his soul. Michael shivers, then turns to grab her fallen bib.

He pauses as he grabs it. Besides the rust, dried blood and mucus – these things are disgusting – there’s a purple liquid. It seems to have dried on the inside of the metal bib. He reaches to swipe his finger on it but pauses. What if it’s harmful to his skin? Or toxic?

Michael looks at it again. He glances around the room. There’s nothing around to put the substance in. He sighs, putting the sleeves of his new guard uniform over his hand and swiping at the liquid. Most of it absorbs into the fabric, but some of it seeps through and hits his skin.

“Shit.” He curses under his breath and lifts the sleeve back to take a look at his arm. Nothing happens, but the liquid seems to evaporate as it touches his skin. It doesn’t hurt, nor does it itch, but it feels as if whatever the purple thing is was absorbed into his skin.

He’s snapped out of his confused state as he hears Chica move next to him. Michael shines the light on her face and she stills. He moves to put the metal back on her torso. Once he’s done, he moves to look around.

Bonnie sits next to an extra wall of the room that separates one of the corners. Michael moves toward him. He shines the light at Bonnie’s face, which only helps illuminate the missing part of the mask that’s supposed to cover the endoskeleton. His eyes shine red under the light.

Moving closer, Michael can see that purple substance on this animatronic as well. He doesn’t touch it. He inspects the endoskeleton closer, only to find it mouldy and rusty, just like Chica. He shines the light at Bonnie’s torso, and he finds the addition of what appears to be more dried blood and mucus seeping through the holes in his body. The fucking purple thing is there too.

Michael hated not knowing stuff, and this is really making him irritable.

He sighs, shining the light at Freddy, who’s strewn on the floor. Poor thing, it really was abandoned. At least it doesn’t look as bad as the others. Michael crouches in front of the animatronic. It barely looks damaged, but Michael wants to see if it has the same… substances on it as the others do.

He grasps Freddy’s jaw, about to pry it open, when the animatronic seemingly flinches. Flinches? What the hell?

It shouldn’t be able to do that. But it scares Michael nonetheless, and he jumps backwards and lands on his ass. Freddy’s head lols to the side, the metal making a loud banging noise as it hits the ground. It looks to be staring into Michael’s soul now. He grimaces.

But he notices Freddy’s jaw fell open when his head moved, so he drags himself forward enough to peek into his mouth. He can barely see anything, so he points the light at Freddy’s stomach. Michael hesitates, he doesn’t feel like this is a good idea.

His body moves before he can tell himself to go back to the office and just finish his shift. His hand grips the stomach hatch and pulls. It makes a creaking noise, but it doesn’t come off. Michael sets the flashlight on the floor, light still shining on Freddy’s belly. He grasps the hatch again, and Michael grunts as he has to make more of an effort than he initially thought.

The hatch comes off abruptly, and Michael is sent flying back yet again landing on his ass. He lets out a frustrated huff as he goes back towards Freddy, taking the abandoned flashlight and illuminating Freddy’s robotic insides. It’s the same as the others – blood, mucus and purple.

Michael groans as he puts the stomach hatch back in place and gets up. So far, he’s gotten nowhere. Fucking awesome. He’s about to make his way out of Parts and Service when something compels him to stay. He can almost hear someone speak, a child’s voice. “Terrance, wait.” It says, voice echoing around the room.

It sounds sombre and eerie. Michael feels a shiver run down his spine, and he slowly turns around. That feeling that compelled him to stay in the room wants to drag him into the corner of the room that’s blocked off by the camera. The one that’s nothing but darkness.

The voice calls to him again. “Terrance.” The word is stretched out, beckoning him closer. Why is this ghost – or whatever it is – calling him by his middle name? No one’s done that in years. It makes him think of pleading cries and striped shirts.

Michael takes a step closer to the darkness. He can feel the voice echoing so much, he almost feels as if there are two people – kids – speaking. He shines the light into the dark, and the voices stop almost as soon as he does.

There’s nothing there.

Just an empty section of the room, separated  from the rest of the space. Michael feels his shoulders slump as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

He opens his eyes.

Blood. Everywhere.

Michael gasps, jumping back in surprise. His eyes dart around the room, and all the animatronics are covered in blood, the room is crimson with the fleshy liquid. Michael can feel tears prick his eyes and he turns back to the empty space.

Evan is there, standing. A chunk of his head is missing, and he’s see-through. But he’s there, head down, almost as if he’s scared to look at Michael.

The boy looks up, and his eyes are pitch black. His tears are replaced with a thick, black liquid. It looks like tar, dripping down slowly, drip by drip falling to the floor. In a heartbeat, Evan’s form glitches.

He’s replaced by a girl, black hair in pigtails and overalls on top of a simple striped shirt. Her eyes are the same as Evan’s, with the same stiff liquid drips down her face. Despite not having any pupils, Michael can feel when her gaze fixes on him.

She tilts her head to the side, and smiles unlike any child should. Her smile is filled with malice and barely concealed rage. Michael feels his body turn and run out of the room. He sees the blood covering the floor seeping beneath the door, but as soon as he steps out and the door closes behind him, there’s no sign of any blood ever being there.

He sits there, just taking in deep breaths as he tries calming himself.

Michael messed with all the animatronics. Every single one. While the old one’s mechanisms shouldn’t even work anymore – he has no idea how they wander around considering they have no more fluid in their hydraulics – the new ones work just fine. And every single one of the new animatronics has been tampered with.

All their facial recognition sensors were fucked with, wich explains why they have murderous intent towards adults – and why they bit… him. Someone fucking tampered with the animatronics. It was deliberate, and probably done by a mechanic. All the parts were meticulously altered or damaged, and he can’t help but think someone did this for them to attack – to kill. Michael tries not to picture the blood covering beautiful blond hair.

Not only were they tampered with, but that stupid purple liquid was in all of the animatronics. All of them. There was something he didn’t know, something important. And he had a feeling it revolves around him and that fucking purple ooze. He steals a small container from the kitchen and puts some of the substance in it.

By the time Michael finally slumps down on his office chair again, the 6AM alarm rings. Michael groans as he finally removes the Freddy head and shuts off the flashlight. He’s sweating a lot, but he doesn’t care. There's something else on his mind. He rests his head on the table and sighs, closing his eyes.

Apparently, he fell asleep, because he’s woken up by Phil. He blearily blinks up at him, trying to figure out what’s happening. His manager looks pissed, and he thinks for a second that it’s because he was technically asleep on the job.

Then Michael notices the people dressed in the mechanic uniforms, and he knows exactly what this is about. He makes sure to keep his container of the purple liquid hidden from sight.

“Fritz, did you seriously tamper with the animatronics?” He sounds exasperated. “It is your first goddamn night, and you do this? You can’t be serious!” Phil sounds like he’s containing the urge to scream in Michael’s face. He can’t blame the guy.

“This is a huge violation of company policy!” Michael wonders – with his more awake brain – how they even found out it was him who tampered with the things. Phil seemingly reads his mind, but maybe it’s because Michael is still too asleep to control his expressions.

“We have to do a check on all the animatronics at the end of every week because of what happened to Fitzgerald. The guys here found some abnormalities.” He says, motioning to the two mechanics who seem disgusted, for some reason.

“I checked the camera footage.” Phil continues. “Seriously, what were you thinking?” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. He motions for the mechanics to go away, and they don’t think twice before they leave.

Phil pulls out a pink sheet of paper Michael wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. “I’m going to have to fire you, Fritz. This is the one thing the boss asked not to be merciful with.” He takes the pink slip from Phil. He grabs all his belongings and heads out of Freddy’s for the last time.

Only when he gets home does he look at what’s written.

To: Fritz Smith

Notice of Termination

Employee # 3

Effective date: now

Reasons:

 

• Tampering with animatronics

• Odour

 

Note: First day on the job? Really?!?!

Philip is extremely passive aggressive. He chuckles at the thought. Maybe he should’ve been less careless on the first day as a night guard. He rereads the note. “Wait, odour?” Michael questions.

He lifts an arm up and smells his armpit. He smells gross. He looks down and notices the stains on his uniform. Rust, mould and mucus. Shit. He smells the shirt and, yeah, he smelled absolutely disgusting. Kind of like the inside of the old animatronics.

He pats his pants pocket, and the container with the purple thing was still there. At least he had that going for him.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long before his family caught on to how badly Michael wanted the Foxy The Pirate mask from the prize centre. He just couldn’t help it – Foxy was so cool, Michael wanted to be as brave as him!

Everytime his father brought the kids to the new pizzeria, Michael would run to the arcades, not paying any mind to anything else. He made sure to get as many tickets as he could. Every once in a while, he’d take a break to either eat or watch Foxy perform. He liked the other animatronics, but he just couldn’t help how infatuated he was with the fox.

It wasn’t long before he started noticing how his sister would spend more time in the arcades than she used to. Michael saw how she would run from game to game, saving up her tickets. Elizabeth never spent a single ticket she won.

One day, however, she came up to him, all her tickets grasped in her little hands. “Hey, Terrance.” She said, hovering over his chair as he swallowed a bite of pizza. “Yeah?” He questioned, taking another bite as he watched her extend her hand. “I, um, wanted to give you my tickets.” Michael dropped his slice of pizza on his paper plate, staring at her in disbelief. “What? Why?” He asked.

“I just saw how excited you were over that Foxy mask and I wanted to help. I don’t want anything from the prize centre anyway, it’s all rubbish to me.” Michael smiled, hugging Elizabeth as she squeaked in surprise in his arms. “Lizzie! Thank you so much! You’re the best sister ever!” She laughed, hugging him back just as hard.

William has a habit of randomly disappearing and coming back whenever he wants to, not caring whatsoever to warn Michael about his mood swings – that’s what Michael calls them anyway, but he’s not so certain that that’s appropriate anymore, it seems more like a mental decline. Michael never voices his concerns, he never questions anything. When William comes back looking a little worse for wear? That’s none of Michael’s business. Whenever he comes home looking pissed, face scuffed and dirty, Michael doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t interact. He’s sure that if he were to accidentally get in his way, he’d receive a beating, even if William had never done that to him before.

So whenever the door to the house swings open, he scurries to his room and only leaves when strictly necessary. That’s how it’s been for months now.

Except Michael is barely ever outside his room these days. He doesn’t have a reason to leave. There isn’t anyone nagging at him from outside his closed door to play. No one calling for him from downstairs, asking him to clean the dishes or take out the trash. No one calls him to go on walks or do stupid things with. Not anymore.

So Michael stays in bed, his hair so greasy it’s starting to bother him, but he doesn’t have the strength to get himself to the shower. He hugs the yellow plushie closer to his chest, buries his face in his pillow, and drowns out the outside world.

Sometimes, he relapses. Does things he hadn’t done to himself in a long time. Michael does not care about his own wellbeing as much as he should. William doesn’t either.

Because William would have noticed a few months ago, would have hugged him and searched his room and sent him off to that shrink again. Instead, whenever William sees him, he looks away immediately. They barely see each other anymore, and Michael feels like there is nothing worth staying around for. Not anymore.

The house is always empty these days. Occasionally, Michael will hear a car pass by his house, or a bird will sing right outside his window, and everything will seem normal, just for a second, before he’s brought back to reality.

Doomed by narrative. That’s what he’s been telling himself. He doesn’t believe it, because he started this chain of events in the first place. It is nice to forgive himself for just a moment, though.

Michael walks down the stairs, looking for something to eat, maybe have a cup of water. His wrists itch, and Michael resists the urge to pick at his wounds. The house is empty.

Except, it’s been empty for a little too long. This isn’t normal. Sure, his father would sometimes spend a day out of the house doing God knows what, but he’d always come back the next day. He isn’t back. Maybe he’d come back that night – sometimes he did that too, coming home at odd hours of the night just because he can. He always wakes up Michael with the ruckus he makes, but it’s fine. At least Michael knows he’s there.

And then night comes and goes, and William still isn’t back.

So Michael panics.

He doesn’t know what he should do. He looks around the house, because maybe his father left a note. There’s nothing Michael can see. Michael panics more, so he goes outside for the first time in weeks and knocks upon his neighbours door.

They look a little worried over Michael’s dishevelled state, and they ask him to calm down. Michael hadn’t noticed that he was almost hyperventilating until the woman put her hands on his shoulders and asked him to breathe.

When Michael asks if she’d seen his father, she furrows her brow as she answers. Michael can feel his stomach drop and his breathing pick up again as he realises that he has no clue where his father could even be. He doesn’t even notice when she escorts him inside her house and sits him down on the couch.

He gets shaken out of his panic as someone shakes him gently. He looks up at the man, and the first thing he notices is that this man is in uniform. A cop. No words register in his mind as the man in front of him speaks, so he looks around. There’s another cop talking to his neighbour.

It takes minutes for him to calm down enough to listen to the man in front of him. He’s being interrogated. He tells the man everything he knows – which isn’t much. Michael tells him about his father’s unpredictability, gives a general description of him and where he works. The cops take him to his house, and he lets them look around his father’s things.

When they leave, the only thing they can promise him is that they’ll keep him updated, and that they’ll put up posters if needed.

Michael guesses he’s gone a little crazy. Everyone he ever knew and truly cared about – the people he truly loved and held close to his heart – are all gone. His siblings and mother are dead. His father vanished. Uncle Henry probably never wants to see his face again. Michael doesn’t even know whether Jeremy’s even alive right now either.

He knows he’s spiralling. He knows that if he doesn’t figure out a way to get himself together, he’ll be too far gone. And yet, Michael can’t bring himself to even attempt to leave the house. He doesn’t bother lifting the blinds from any of the windows of the house. He’s sheltered in complete darkness, only turning on lights if he really needs to, because if he looks at his house too long, he’ll start to think about his family.

If he goes outside at this point, his eyes will most likely burn and he’ll be blind for the rest of his life. Maybe that’s an exaggeration.

Worst part is, he can’t seem to look at his stashed weed anymore. That’s the only way Michael knew how to cope with this feeling of doom, back when he was younger and still had family and friends. If he looks at that stuff now, all he can think about is Jeremy.

Jeremy, smiling through a badly rolled joint, the gap between his two front teeth visible. It wasn’t ugly, it strangely complemented his looks. Jeremy was like that, he had these things that could make anyone look horrible, but not him. At least, not to Michael.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or whatever the fuck it was. Michael always hated those stupid sayings, along with other poetic things. He especially hated reading.

Nowadays, all Michael seems to do is read. He reads through his father’s old engineering books that he left behind. One of the only things his father left behind, in fact. Michael guesses that William has all the information in these books memorised by now. He is a mechanical genius, after all.

But that wasn’t why Michael was reading. Not because of boredom, either. He wanted to figure out if there was anything about purple substances in these books. Or maybe he wanted to find out if his father had anything to do with the animatronics acting up. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a clue as to where he could’ve gone.

Michael is beginning to question why his father was kicked out of the company in the first place. Did he have something to do with the missing kids? William did mention that Henry kicked him out right around the fifth kid’s disappearance.

It was also right around that time that the animatronics started being odd. Almost as if they were possessed – Michael is a fan of the supernatural, but he doesn’t just make these assumptions at random. If William really was the one who did this then… Where did he put those children?

But there’s no way his father could do something like that. There isn’t. His father isn’t a psychopath. He wouldn’t kill anybody, especially not kids.

Michael shivers at the thought. He can’t think like that. William is still out there, and he’s not a murderer. Michael gets up from his spot on the couch. His knees crack as he gets up, and he groans. As he opens the fridge in the kitchen, he can’t help but notice that the light of the fridge is the only illumination the house has.

He grabs a beer and plops back down on the couch. The can makes a slight sizzling noise as he cracks it open, then chugs half of it. Michael wipes the edge of his mouth as he grimaces. It has a horrible taste that lingers on his tongue. He has another method to let himself relax, but bandaging himself up later is too much work for him right now. He could drink water to at least get rid of the taste, but that would just make him sober.

The last thing he wants right now is to think clearly. Michael does not want to think about his siblings or Jeremy. He refuses to think about his theory of having a murderous father. He just wants to relax, and if drinking this foul tasting liquid will help him do that, then so be it.

Michael has a lot of things about his current life he hates. One of them being his new job at a shitty gas station. At least it’s right next to his house. He just wishes he could spend the rest of his days in this house, thinking back to when he’d still play with his siblings as his mother made food and his father took pictures.

But now Michael’s alone. Alone in an empty house that’s much too big for one person. A house still decorated with all his family’s belongings, but he’s the only one left.

Sometimes, he goes into all the unoccupied bedrooms and thinks. If he hadn’t fucked up so bad back in ‘83, would he still have his family? What if he’d kept a better eye on Elizabeth that day? His mother wouldn’t have done what she did to herself, and his father…

Would he still have disappeared? He doesn’t know. And despite having every right to hate his father for how he’d treated him before he vanished, he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

He’s fallen asleep in all of the beds at least once. Even though his brother’s bed is much too small for him, Michael thinks it’s better than sleeping in his own room. Something about it just makes Michael want to cry.

How old would his siblings be today? He doesn’t remember. Why doesn’t he remember? He remembers their birthdays, celebrates them every year all alone. So why can’t he remember how old they were?

They were far too young, that’s all Michael can seem to recall.

The doorbell rings suddenly, the sound echoing through the silent house. Michael stirs from the table. He’d fallen asleep with his head in one of his father’s books. It wasn’t the first time, but it doesn’t mean it makes it less uncomfortable.

He groans as he gets up, his back aching from the uncomfortable position. He makes his way to the door slowly. If he can avoid interaction, he’ll be grateful. Unfortunately for him, the person rings the bell again. They seem to be persistent.

Michael rolls his eyes as he reaches the door. He opens the door, and is greeted by two cops. “Hello, are you Michael Afton?”

Michael freezes. Maybe they found him. Maybe, he’d have at least one person back. Maybe he was hoping too much. “Yes.” For a second, Michael thinks the answer is a bit dry, but the thought doesn’t last long.

“Ah, hello Mr. Afton. We’ve come to inform you that your father’s case has remained unsolved with no new leads. We regret to say that the investigation will be closed.” What? No. No no no no no. This can’t be happening. How? How could this happen? How does someone just disappear without a trace?

“However, we’ve also been contacted by one of the managers at your fathers company, “Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rental.” They claimed to have found a note addressed to you in your father’s handwriting. No one could decipher the meaning behind it, we were hoping you’d know.” The cop pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Michael. He stares at it for a moment. If he can find a meaning inside this letter, then maybe the investigation will be reopened, and they'll finally find him.

And yet, deep down, Michael knows that he and his father were not so close as to be able to communicate through any kind of coded message. He unfolds the paper.

Michael, if all goes wrong, I ask of you one final favour. You’re the only one who I can trust fully with this job. I need you to become a mechanic for my machines. When you have access to the building, I need you to find her. Put her back together, set her free. You’ll know what I’m talking about once you get there. I know you can do it.

He didn’t know what the fuck this was refering to, yet he knew the situation was more complicated than he originally thought. Shit.

His new uniform is actually better than the one from Henry’s place. It’s purple, has a Afton Robotics sewn onto the right part of the chest and is made of a really comfortable fabric. Michael rolls the sleeves up until they rest just above his elbows and is pleased to find they have a piece of fabric and a button to keep them in place.

The location is nothing special. Almost like a warehouse, but then Michael walks in and it looks more like a lobby, with some doors that he doesn’t know where they lead. He doesn’t care either, as he grabs his Hand Unit from the person sitting at what he assumes is the front desk and makes his way to the elevator and presses a button. Some robotic voice starts with a generic greeting that he doesn’t really pay attention to until it asks to insert his name in the Hand Unit.

The electronic switches on almost as if it heard, and Michael takes one glance at the keyboard and sighs. It’s busted – twitching and glitching all over the screen. None of the letters stay in place long enough for Michael to type, but he still tries. After a bit of struggling and concentration, he presses enough buttons that the voice starts up again. “ It seems that you had some trouble with the keypad. I see what you were trying to type, and I will autocorrect it for you. One moment. Welcome: Eggs Benedict. ”

Fucking awesome. Eggs Benedict is his name now and it can’t even be changed. At least his badge still says Mike, along with the tape at the top of the Hand Unit. He guesses the employees will notice the weird name in the system and laugh about it together, but Michael doesn’t intend on socialising or acknowledging any of the people who work here unless it’s necessary.

As he opens the elevator door and crawls through a vent, Hand Unit starts babbling about his job description or whatever. Michael already knows how to work with animatronics, so he doesn’t pay attention. Then he’s in the main control module, and he suddenly feels intimidated. The two rooms he can see through the glass on either side of him are pitch black, he can’t even see what’s in them.

Michael is directed to his left, looking into what the Hand Unit called Ballora Gallery. He presses the button that shines a light into Ballora’s room. The light is barely effective, all Michael can see is the stage, but that’s enough for him to see that Ballora isn’t there. He sighs, and the Hand Unit instructs him to shock her with the button underneath the light switch. Michael hesitates, then grimaces as he presses the button with just enough force to activate the controlled shock. He flinches back with a yelp, covering his head as the room lights up with the shock. The noise it makes is the worst part – a zap of electricity so strong it feels like Michael was also hit with it.

He calms his breathing as he shines the light at Ballora’s stage. This time, she’s there, twirling around in the dark. It makes Michael shudder ever so slightly – the eerie face of the humanoid robot in the dark looks like something straight out of a horror movie that Michael doesn’t want to be a part of.

The Hand Unit says Funtime Foxy is located at his right, in the Funtime Auditorium. He pauses for a moment, thinking about that character for a second. It holds so much importance to Michael’s life, and not in a good way. It reminds him of the mask he used to torment his brother, reminds him of his missing sister, reminds him of his only true friend hanging from a robotic mouth and screaming out in agony, reminds him of a foul smelling animatronic with mysterious purple liquid clinging onto it.

He’s snapped out of it when the Hand Unit tells him to shine the light in the auditorium. He does, and Foxy isn’t there. At the same time he dreads having to use the controlled shock, he feels relieved that he doesn’t see the face of a character that seems to haunt him every time he sees it.

This time, Michael is prepared for the sound, so he takes a deep breath and lets the ground underneath him shake with the power of the zap. But then he shines the light again and Foxy still isn’t on his stage. Michael’s dread is now greater than his relief, and he hurries to release a zap again. Funtime Foxy is there this time, and at the sight of the animatronic, Michael is forced to imagine Elizabeth, his little sister, running around Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rental hours before her disappearance.

The Hand Unit instructs him through another vent, and coming face to face with yet another room that’s pitch black, the only thing separating him from that room is a thin sheet of glass. He repeats what he’s done twice now, shining the light in Circus Baby’s Auditorium. Michael curses under his breath when he realises the light barely works, and he can’t even see the stage where it’s supposed to be illuminated.

The Hand Unit tells him to administer a controlled shock, and Michael already feels irritated with this monotone voice. He does it twice, and even though he sees nothing as he shines the light, the robotic voice tells him she’s there, and that he’s now allowed to leave and go home.

Michael sighs in relief as he finally crawls back through the vents and into the elevator. He’s surprised that his clothes aren’t covered in dust, and he mentally congratulates whoever cleans the vents.

His house is empty and dark as always, but he decides to celebrate his first night at the job by making himself popcorn and turning on the TV. He watched the first mildly interesting thing that pops up, which just so happens to be a crappy soap opera about a vampire who insists a baby that is clearly another vampire isn’t his kid. He also refuses to pay child support. He sympathises with that child, even though his father has only been absent in his life for a year or so. Michael lost count of how long it’s been, and he also doesn't really want to be reminded.

The episode ends, and Michael shuts off the TV. He’s bathed in the warm light that seeps through his blinds as the sun comes up. He grunts, getting off the couch and putting the leftover popcorn on the kitchen sink. Michael begins shrugging off his uniform as he’s going up the stairs, neatly folding the dress shirt and setting it aside on his desk. He sluggishly takes off his pants and puts on his pyjama bottoms, not bothering with a shirt as he dives into his bed, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

By the time he wakes up, it’s around 11PM. Michael groans as he gets up, stretching the muscles in his sore back. He feels the bones pop into place, and he lets out a satisfied grunt. Michael feels his shoulders relax as he puts his arms down, wiping his eyes to get rid of the blurriness.

He yawns, and as he opens his eyes he startles back into his bed. He rubs his eyes again and again, pleading in his mind to whatever deity or superior being out there that he’s hallucinating – to make the thing in front of him go away. But it doesn’t move, it stays in front of him, half transparent, staring into his soul. Michael feels a chill run down his spine, and he swallows a gasp.

The thing moves closer, although he supposes he shouldn’t call him that. Michael should give more dignity to the boy that’s moving closer to him, even though he looks nothing like he did before.

Blond, curly hair drips with leftover blood, frizzled from the cause of his wound. His left eye is white, surrounded by a bite mark that carves a hole into his face. Freckles are barely visible, as his skin turns sickly pale and translucent. The colourful glasses the boy used to wear are nowhere to be seen, but Michael can see a few shards of glass stuck in his face from where they broke on the moment of impact.

Jeremy is just as beautiful as Michael remembers, but now he’s covered in his own blood and glass shards. The only person who stood by Michael’s side until the end is standing in front of him again, just not in the way Michael wanted.

Jeremy moves forward, and Michael feels hot tears slip down his cheeks as he registers the apparition. Jeremy lays a gentle ghostly hand on his face. Instead of the warm touch Michael is used to receiving from Jeremy, all he gets is an ice cold feeling on his face, as if an ice pack was pressed against him. Michael’s body shudders as Jeremy moves his face closer, a loving smile on his face.

Michael feels himself relax ever so slightly against the familiar hand and face, slipping his eyes closed. And then his breath is cut short, and his eyes snap back open in surprise. Jeremy’s face morphed into one of absolute disgust and hatred as the icy hand grips his throat. “You left me.” Jeremy’s voice comes out raspy and echoing around him. His grip on Michael’s throat tightens.

“Look at what happened to me. Look at what you’ve caused.” Michael doesn’t need the boy to tell him directly, he already knows he’s referring to Jeremy’s death. Michael feels dread pool in his stomach, his fears being confirmed. Jeremy is dead.

“I hate you.” The words hit him like a punch to the face, venom seeping through the kind man’s voice. He never thought Jeremy could ever sound like that. He hears the words repeating over and over again, and the mantras of Jeremy’s hatred are the last thing Michael hears as his vision begins to darken.

Hel jolts up with a gasp, tears rolling down his face. He can still feel a phantom grip on his throat, but the room is empty. He’s on his bed, under the covers, and his back is still sore. Michael glances at his clock. 11PM.

A nightmare. But it felt so real. It looked so real. Michael hurries into the bathroom, glancing at his throat. Surely, with the tight grip the phantom had on his neck, it’d left a mark. But his neck was the same as always – no marks, bruises or hand prints. It really was just a bad dream.

Michael sighs, running a tired hand down his face. The rundown elevator makes his whole body shake as it descends, and the Hand Unit starts speaking again. It welcomes him back, then tells him to select a new companion voice on his keypad. The monitor in his hand springs to life, showing the glitching letters on the screen.

He can’t think of a single character of the franchise that wouldn’t haunt his shift, so he tries to type “default.” He knows he’s failed miserably when the monotone voice comes back, saying he’s had some trouble with the keypad or whatever. Michael groans as he irritably rolls his eyes. The default voice switches to “Angsty Teen.”

As the new voice starts, Michael thinks it sounds strangely familiar. As he crawls through the vent, the voice continues to tell a story as to how a dead body was found in these vents. But Michael’s seen worse, so he doesn’t really flinch, although he does start paying closer attention to the smells of the vent – just in case he senses something rotten.

And then he recognizes what the voice reminds him of. It sounds almost exactly how he did in his teen years. He snorts, rolling his eyes as he imagines his dad setting up this voice to deliberately mess with him. Yeah, that’s definitely something William would do. Michael lets out a chuckle as he finally reaches the control room. He’s instructed to do his routine check on Ballora and, just like the previous night, she’s not on her stage.

The teenager's voice eagerly tells him to zap her, and as soon as the loud zapping noise is over, the slightly more human voice starts glitching. Michael can’t understand a single thing as the voice becomes wobbly and more mechanical than ever. The sound lasts for a minute before it becomes quiet, and then the Angsty Teen voice is back, instructing him towards his routine check on Funtime Foxy.

Michael shines the light, and a few seconds later, the voice becomes wobbly and deep. It repeats the word “Great” over and over again, and Michael can’t help how he feels creeped out at that. Which, frankly, is ridiculous. He’s seen and experienced much worse than some creepy voice over an intercom. Yet Michael looks around wearily as it goes quiet, feeling as if he’s being watched.

Just as Michael feels the nervous sweat beading at the back of his neck, the default voice comes back. He’s never felt so relieved to hear it again, letting out a sigh as his shoulders sag. The voice just tells him something went wrong, and to proceed through the vent in front of him. The trapdoor opens just as the voice finishes talking, and Michael lets out a huff as he gets on his hands and knees and starts crawling. Seriously, if every shift is like this, he’s going to get some serious knee problems.

He pops through on the other side, the only source of light in the room being the control panel in front of him – which he doesn’t know how to use or even what it does. He starts his routine check on Circus Baby, shining the light only to notice it hasn’t been fixed, and he still can’t see a thing. He sighs, choosing to just trust the mechanic voice when he says to shock her. The button does nothing, only letting out a small noise of electricity. He tries again, and the same thing happens.

The Hand Unit states that there’s been a power malfunction, and to fix it, he needs to reboot the system – which includes putting offline the security doors, vent locks and, worst of all, the oxygen. Of course. Michael can’t seem to escape his rotten luck, no matter what he does. He curses under his breath as the room goes pitch black and silent. Michael feels chills run up his spine as a different voice starts announcing all the vents opening.

Michael feels utterly useless in this situation. Stuck in this dark, underground room with limited oxygen and no protection. He nearly jumps out of his skin as he hears a feminine voice talk. “I don’t recognize you. You are new.” It says matter-of-factly. Michael recognizes the voice, and dread runs through him, pooling in the pit of his stomach. “I remember this scenario.” Circus Baby’s voice continues, sounding almost amused.

“However, it’s a strange thing to want to do. To come here. I’m curious what event would lead a person to want to spend their nights in a place like this. Willingly.” Despite himself, Michael lets out a snort. “Who says I want to be here?” He remarks sarcastically to no one in particular. Circus Baby doesn’t hear him – if she can even do that – as she continues on. “Maybe curiosity? Maybe ignorance.” She pauses for just a second, maybe less.

“There is a space under the desk. Someone before you crafted it into a hiding place and it worked for him.” Michael doesn’t want to know why someone could possibly make a hiding spot like the one he spots. A small thing right under the desk – just like she said there was – full of holes on the makeshift door. “I recommend that you hurry though. You will be safe there. Just try not to make eye contact. It will be over soon. They will lose interest.”

Michael has no idea who she’s talking about, but he doesn’t want to stay out here long enough to find out. He opens the door to the small space and crawls in, closing the opening as soon as he finds a way to sit. Michael can feel his breath in his lungs and nose, scared to make too much noise and being found out. He hears two sets of metal feet clanging on the floor as they leave the vent right in front of his hiding spot. Michael sucks in a breath, placing a hand over his mouth.

He hears them wander the room for a minute before both stop right in front of his hiding spot. It’s all quiet for a moment, and Michael can feel his heart rate spike in fear. He looks around his little hiding space, and locks eyes with a plastic eyeball. Michael sucks in a sharp breath as he looks down. Nothing happens for a moment, so he looks back up, only to look directly into another plastic eye. “Someone is inside.” A childish voice says quietly.

“Is it the same person?” Another equally young voice whispers back. A beat goes by in silence, and then Michael hears the sound of the makeshift door opening. His eyes widen as he shoves a hand forward, trying to push the door close again. Whatever is on the other side of the door is strong. Michael sees tiny robotic hands on the other side, pushing the hatch open, and he briefly wonders how something so small can be so strong.

He manages to close the door shut, and the resistance stops. He lets out a sigh of relief, then he hears the sound of metal feet shuffling right in front of him. Not even a second after the sound stops, the door starts opening again, and Michael does the same little game with the animatronics. Maybe it’s just his anxiety spiking, but he swears the weight keeping the door from shutting is stronger this time. He feels sweat pooling at his brow as he fights to keep his only safety method from failing him.

He shuts the latch again, and the second it touches the wall, the youthful voices come back. “She’s watching us.” One says, still whispering. The other gasps before replying. “We have to leave now!”

“We will see you again soon!” The first one directs the sentence to him, and Michael hopes to any all mighty spirit that they will not meet again. He hears metal banging on the floor, getting farther away from him, then he hears the sound becoming fainter as the two little animatronics crawl back through the vent. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting his shoulders relax momentarily as he sinks back into the wall behind him, shutting his eyes.

Michael breathes in, and breathes out, repeating the motion again and again until he feels at least a bit calmer. “When your ‘guide’ comes back online, he is going to tell you that he was unsuccessful. That you must restart the system manually.” He jumps out of his skin as Circus Baby’s voice talks to him again. He leans forward ever so slightly to show he’s paying attention – even though he knows nobody can see him.

“He will then tell you to crawl through 'Ballora Gallery' as fast as you can to reach the 'Breaker Room'. If you follow his instructions...you will die.” Michael’s eyes widen, and he clenches his fists. There’s no way. They wouldn’t tell him instructions to get him killed, that’s not possible… Then again, they did shut his oxygen out.

“Ballora will not return to her stage anymore. She will catch you. The power will be restored shortly. When you crawl through 'Ballora Gallery', go slowly. She cannot see you and can only listen for your movement. When you hear her music become louder, she is growing near. Listening for you… Wait. And be still.” Michael listens intently to the animatronic, not wanting to miss a single bit of information. If it can help him not get killed, he will use it. He knows personally how dangerous these robots can be.

He hears a glitching sound, then the default voice of the Hand Unit comes back. “Thank you for your patience. It seems that the power system cannot be restarted automatically. You will need to restart the power system manually. Please return to the 'Primary Control Module'.” Michael sighs, getting out of the small hiding space and crawling back through the vent. He quickly makes the trip back, not wanting to take too long to do what he needs to.

As soon as he reaches the Primary Control Module, the Hand Unit starts talking again. “You will now be required to crawl through the 'Ballora Gallery' using the vent to your left to reach the breaker room. It is recommended that you stay low to the ground and reach the other side as fast as possible as to not disturb Ballora. I will deactivate myself momentarily as to not create an auditory disturbance. Deactivating.” The vent to his left opens, and he only hesitates a second before he crawls through.

He stays crouched, as close to the ground as he can get, and starts crawling slowly to the other side of Ballora Gallery. The gallery is pitch black, the only light in the room coming from his headlamp. The only thing he can make out is the white tile floor. Then he hears it. A slight – very faint – music, coming from the direction of Balloras stage. It’s almost inaudible, and Michael wonders how big this room is if the sound is that far away.

It’s almost soothing how quiet the place is, with only the far away music and the sound of him moving across the floor disturbing it. At least, it would be peaceful if it wasn’t a life or death situation. And then, a loud, echoing voice comes across the speakers, and Michael nearly ducks into himself as the sound takes over the room. “It seems that you are taking a long time. Please proceed as quickly and as quietly as possible.” Michael silently curses the Hand Unit for interrupting the quiet – which was quite literally life saving at the moment.

He continues forward, moving as silently and as calmly as possible. The breaker room door is visible from where he is already, and Michael thinks he can make it to the door without a single interruption. And then the music from earlier is right next to him.

Michael pauses quickly, immediately staying frozen to the ground. He sees the dark silhouette of Ballora spin right in front of him. She’s tall, but maybe that’s just because of the angle. It doesn’t matter, because she scares him nonetheless. Her not-quite-human form spins, imitating ballet moves right in front of him, barely an inch from where he stays glued in place. The calming music coming from the speakers on her body made the situation more eerie, even though it was the only thing that could warn him of how close she was.

Just as quickly as she arrived, she was gone. Michael waits just a bit more, wanting the music to sound as far as possible before continuing forward. He hears the music coming just a bit closer multiple times, but makes sure to stop as soon as he hears Ballora move. She never manages to get that close to him again.

When he reaches the breaker room door, he can make out a poster of Funtime Freddy on it. The door is only illuminated by a singular light hanging right above it. As soon as he’s right in front of the door, he gets up off the ground and makes his way inside. Shutting the door behind him, he can see that this room is only slightly brighter than Ballora Gallery, and he curses his father for making this place even creeping with the hanging wires all throughout the room. There’s a small breaker box in front of him, all five of its lights shining red.

There’s a single light in the room that flickers every once in a while. Michael glances around the room, and tries – and fails – to not jump out of his skin when he sees that Funtime Freddy is right next to him, almost looming over his figure. The Hand Unit comes back as Michael continues staring directly at the animatronic. “You may now interface with the breaker control box. Using the interface may disrupt nearby electronics. If you feel you are in danger, feel free to disconnect the interface temporarily until it is safe to reconnect.”

He looks to the side of the breaker and sees a small button with the label “Mascot Response Audio” underneath it. Out of curiosity, he presses the button. A young voice floods the room, and Michael only has a second to realise the voice sounds exactly like BonBon’s – Freddy’s hand puppet. “Shhh, go back to your stage. Everything is ok.” He notices Funtime Freddy move back on his stage, and Michael feels dread bubble in his stomach as he realises the only thing keeping it from attacking him is an automated response.

He already feels like he is in danger.

Chapter Text

Michael was not enjoying himself in the slightest. This was the fifth time this week he had to babysit Evan. He loves his brother, sure, but his parents have basically ignored him this entire week. It’s not fair.

Evan stumbles around, giggling and playing with his toys. Normally, Michael would join, he may be a little too old to play with Evan, but he loves the plushies he has. But today, Michael is frustrated. He wants to be with his parents. His mom is too preoccupied with Elizabeth and his dad is too busy with work. Why is Michael always the last of their priorities?

His brother moves closer to the bed Michael is sitting on, tugging on his pants. “Terrance, come play with me!” Evan smiles, toothy and wide. Michael scowls down at him. “I already told you I don’t want to play today. Leave me alone.” Evan’s smile drops just a bit before he starts begging – whining – for Michael to join him.

“I said leave me alone!” Michael snaps, shouting at his baby brother as he shoves him off. Michael can’t bring himself to feel guilty, even as Evan starts crying.

Michael doesn’t care how much he’s getting paid, it is definitely not enough to do this shit. He noticed almost instantly that Freddy moves when he’s not looking, and he was not at all ready to deal with that. Neither Circus Baby nor the Hand Unit told him that an animatronic was going to be in here, and the only way he figured out how to keep the thing away was the button on the side of the breaker box. So yeah, his shift so far has been amazing.

He opens the breaker and starts resetting the first thing he sees – “Circus Control.” The reset timer goes by fast, the only problem is that he can’t reach the button on the side of the breaker box or keep an eye on Funtime Freddy when he’s resetting the thing. So when he hears movement and feels his anxiety spike, Michael has to let the reset timer stop as he presses the button over and over again.

It takes forever to reset the power from the first room, but he has another seven to go and the more time he spends in this room, the more he can feel his sanity slipping through his fingers. The robotic sound of Funtime Freddy’s voice rings in his ears by the time he’s resetting the third room’s power. He finishes it and looks at Freddy, who is almost in his face.

He mutters a quiet curse under his breath, moving to quickly press the button on the side of the breaker box. The childish programmed voice ushers something that Michael can’t hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Funtime Freddy seemingly stares right into his soul, and Michael fears there might be something more happening in here than just faulty programming. But then the lights flicker, and just as quickly as the animatronic was right up in his face, he’s back to its station between the wires.

Michael has barely a second to recompose himself as he turns back to the breaker box, the room around him shrouded in darkness, only the sounds of the electricity in the room keeping him company. Wires and metal shuffling are the only indicator he has of where Funtime Freddy could be in the small room. The robot moves fast, and he can only catch glimpses of it every so often when the occasional light flickers.

It doesn’t take long for Michael to find a way to reboot every room efficiently. He presses the automated response button at least three times every time he restores power to one of the rooms, but, sometimes, he still has to stop what he’s doing to be able to protect himself. He briefly wonders how his father managed to make such an insanely fast animatronic, but he doesn’t dwell long on that thought. He has to focus.

By the time he’s finished, Michael feels as if he’s been in Funtime Freddys company for at least 10 hours, and he can probably recite every pre-programed sentence the robot bear has in its system. He almost jumps with joy once he makes his way out of the breaker room. Almost.

Because his joy doesn’t last long once he’s met with the pitch black space that is Ballora Gallery. Michael can faintly hear her music box as he crouches down to the floor, turning his head lamp on. He stops every once in a while when he feels the music has gotten far too close to him, but Ballora doesn’t get as close to him as she did before.

He quite literally runs home after leaving his work place, a smile etched on his face from finally leaving the creepy and dark rooms of Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rental. The morning sun is rising in the horizon by the time Michael makes it to his street. He slows his steps and looks up at the sky as he walks through the quiet street. A few of his neighbours are already awake, doing whatever chores they need to do for the day, and Michael waves as he passes them.

Despite the harsh turn his life took, Michael takes the time to appreciate this moment. The soft chirping of birds and the gentle breeze hitting his face, brushing the hair from his eyes as he makes his slow walk home. Beautiful yellows and oranges paint the blue sky in a way that entrances Michael, and he stops right as he reaches his front door. He turns away from the house to look at the rays of sun seeping through tree branches and illuminating the sidewalk.

Michael takes a deep breath before turning away from the simplistic yet mesmerising scene and stalking back into his cold and dark house. He sighs as he slumps his way to the kitchen, not bothering to make anything and instead opting to eat the leftover popcorn from the night before. He makes his way into the living room and plops on the couch, empty beer bottles surround his feet and he kicks them away. He hasn’t felt the need to clean the house in a while.

Another episode of that crappy soap opera about the baby vampire flashes through the screen as Michael mindlessly eats his bucket of popcorn. He feels his life wasting away at every bite he takes, and wonders if he should just end it all right then and there. Nobody would notice, the sloppy bandages and cuts on his wrists are more than enough proof of that.

But then again, he wants to find his father again. He needs to. Michael has an urge to just scream at him for hours for abandoning him at his worst, but he wants to pull him in and hug him again. How he misses the feeling of his parents' gentle touches and soft smiles. Michael feels the familiar cascading of tears down his cheeks, and he wipes them away, shaking the thoughts from his head in the process. As he looks up, he notices the episode of the soap opera has ended.

He looks around. The house is filthy, trash scattered all around and the floors are even worse. The smell is also far from pleasant. Choosing to distract himself, he walks over to the storage closet and grabs some cleaning supplies, deciding then and there that he’s going to clean the whole house.

He starts upstairs, and finds that the cleaning of the upper floor is done rather quickly. He just can’t bring himself to even touch his siblings’ or parents’ rooms. He sweeps quickly and removes anything rotting from them, but refuses to tidy up. Michael leaves everything just the way it was right before everything he loved disappeared from his life.

Michael’s almost done cleaning downstairs when he finds it. A small, rusty key hidden away in a messy drawer. He doesn’t recall ever seeing it before, and he briefly wonders if the key is even for the house. Michael then takes notice of the small sticker glued onto the key. He can barely read what it says – the paper yellowed and disgusting with time. He squints and brings the key closer to his face and in small, messy handwriting, he can make out the word “basement.”

Now that he thinks about it, Michael hasn’t gone into the basement since he was very young. His father used the place as a sort of parts and service room – keeping old robotic parts, fixing and even making new animatronics. But that was so long ago, before Freddy’s had a proper warehouse. His father always kept the basement door locked, sharp tools and small children not being a good combination. Michael used to help out occasionally, but after Freddy’s got better funding, he never went back into the basement. There was no point. But his father would still occasionally go in, he never invited Michael though. He didn’t tell anyone what he did down there either.

Michael’s curiosity peaked, and he made his way to a dusty old part of the house that no one ever went to. The basement door was moulding, and the wood looked rotten. Michael stuck the key in the keyhole and turned it. The door unlocked with a loud “click,” the old, rusty hinges creaking as the door moved open just a bit. Michael made a move to push the door open.

Upstairs, his alarm rang loudly, startling Michael. He let out a quiet curse, realising he spent his entire day awake instead of getting some rest, and now he had to go to work yet again. He closed the old door, not bothering to lock it again as he raced upstairs to get ready. The entire time, the thought of the creepy basement door flooded his mind.

Chapter Text

Michael can’t exactly remember when was the last time he hung out alone with his sister. It’s been some time, especially now that he has to babysit Evan all the time.

But Elizabeth is here now, in his room. She’s brought some dolls and is quietly playing on his bed as he does some homework haphazardly. Maybe it’s a weird sibling connection that keeps Elizabeth from bugging him right now, or maybe she’s just too smart for her age and can tell when he’s stressed. He doesn’t mind.

They aren’t talking, and she isn’t begging him to play with her like she’d normally do – they’re just sitting in each other's presence. Michael feels at ease like this. He enjoys the quiet company quite a lot.

Michael is fighting to stay awake as the elevator descends slowly as always, Hand Unit babbling about something he couldn’t care less about – he does notice that it seems to be having an existential crisis, if that’s even possible for a robot. It then mentions putting on some music for the elevator ride, and Michael – for once – is interested in his options.

That is until his Hand Unit flicks to life to reveal the malfunctioning key pad he’s too lazy to ask to replace, and he’s reminded of how he doesn’t have a say in whatever the Hand Unit decides to choose. He presses random buttons, and Hand Unit announces Michael “chose” Casual Bongos. The music starts, and Michael can admit that it is quite calming. He likes the music a lot more than he probably should. Maybe he’s being driven insane by this place. But he also doesn’t care.

The elevator comes to an eventual stop, and Michael feels his knee joints cracking as he bends down to crawl through the vent yet again. He’s going to demand insurance for his medical bills since he’s fairly sure his knees are going to just give out at any moment. The Hand Unit then talks about needing to do maintenance, and Michael thanks his lucky stars that he’s been dealing with animatronic repairs since he was a teenager – although, back then, he was only assigned basic tasks. He’s relatively certain he can do whatever is asked of him right now.

He’s still asked to do his regular nightly duties, so he shines the light in Ballora Gallery. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep getting to his brain, or maybe he’s just gone crazy enough to hallucinate but all he sees as the lights illuminate Balloras stage is her dismantled parts being held up by her Minireenas. Before he even has time to question what he’s seen or if it’s even real, the light goes out and the Hand Unit instructs him to check on Funtime Foxy.

Michael turns away from Ballora Gallery slower than usual, his mouth hanging open – maybe he should get better sleep. He shakes himself out of his shock and shines the light on Foxy’s stage, but the stage it’s empty, as usual. However, this time, the Hand Unit tells him to continue through the Funtime Auditorium, and that Foxy is on his stage. He briefly wonders if the thing finally broke, but he – again – doesn’t have enough time to dwell on his thoughts as the small vent opens and he crawls over to the auditorium.

He’s told to move as he pleases and to use the flash beacon on his security belt as long as he uses it sparingly. Circus Baby didn’t give him any instructions as to what he needs to do here, so Michael simply follows the instructions given by the Hand Unit.

The eerie silence is filled by the echoing sounds of his footsteps, and he thinks he can hear quiet shuffling every once in a while. He stops, shines the beacon. There’s nothing. The light fades and Michael keeps moving.

Then he hears it again, the shuffling. This time, however, it’s much closer. Michael stops in his tracks, clutching the beacon tightly in his hand. He flashes it, and he can see it a few feet ahead of him, not quite in front of him, but too close for comfort.

Funtime Foxy’s face plates are open, and it’s twitching uncontrollably, arms open and hands out as if prepared to attack at any moment. It feels like something straight out of a horror movie, and Michael feels cornered as the light fades. He stays still, holding his breath as he feels sweat drip down his neck. It’s quiet for a long time, and Michael has to force himself not to shut his eyes in panic.

More shuffling noises echo quietly in Michael’s ears, and he feels his breathing accelerate. He flashes the beacon, and Funtime Foxy is gone. Michael keeps moving.

He enters the Parts and Service room just a little shaken up, but, then again, this is far from the worst thing he’s seen. He's still not entirely sure why he gets shaken up by these things. Maybe something to do with nightmares and past occurrences he wishes he could erase. Rewrite.

Well, it doesn't matter much. What's done is done. At least, that's what Michael likes to tell himself, even though he always seems to go back to those moments and loathe himself. Maybe, if he could just be erased, he'd be able to see them again. His family. He's facing Funtime Freddy right now, maybe he should just–

“Great job reaching ‘Parts and Service’” the Hand Unit says, automated voice resonating in Michael's ears and snapping him out of his transe. He glances around, the darkness of the room finally registering in his brain, he can only faintly see the animatronic he's supposed to repair. He turns on his head lamp.

“It seems that Funtime Freddy is out of power, which should make your job much easier.” The Hand Unit says as Michael carefully steps closer to the thankfully disabled robot. The guiding voice of the Hand Unit instructs Michael on how to open Freddy's faceplates, and he wordlessly follows the instructions.

To his credit, he's only slightly startled when the faceplates open rather aggressively, if that's even possible. It's sudden and quick, and Michael holds his hand to his rapidly beating heart as he registers the spring locks under the friendly exterior of the suit. He lets out a sigh as he calms down enough to not feel his heart beating out of his chest.

He faintly hears the Hand Unit instruct him to press the button on the underside of the endoskeleton jaw. He presses it, and this time is more prepared as the chest plates release with a slight sound, just as the faceplates had. He removes the power module from Freddys chest cavity as the Hand Unit says, mentioning doing some maintenance on Bonbon next.

He turns towards Freddy's hand, where the hand puppet normally is, only to find an empty space. “Fuck, of course this wouldn't go smoothly.” Michael whispers to himself, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on whatever noise he can hear that may indicate the tiny animatronics location, just like he did Funtime Foxy. He briefly wonders how the blue rabbit can even move around – considering the animatronic he's connected to is deactivated, and Bonbons lack of legs would also make it hard to move – but he doesn't dwell on it long as the Hand Unit tells him to press the black button beneath Bonnie's bow tie.

He looks around the room, and briefly notices there's nowhere to hide behind him, so he focuses on the animatronic in front of him. The only place there is to hide is behind Freddy. Michael frowns slightly, concentrating on anything that may indicate something moving in the room. The silence stretches for a long time, at least that’s what it feels like. His eyes dart around the animatronic in front of him, trying to catch a glimpse of anything peaking out.

A giggle reverberates in the darkness, and Michael thinks that he’s finally lost it. That is, until he sees small blue bunny ears emerging from behind Freddy, right at his hip. They sway from side to side so subtly, it’s barely noticeable. Just as he sees eyes peek out from the hiding spot, he turns towards the small figure and reaches out a hand to catch it. But Bonbon retreats back behind the safety of his much bigger partner, and Michael loses sight of him yet again.

He’s confused for a few seconds but soon notices movement from the corner of his eyes. He looks at Freddy’s right shoulder, and the blue ears are coming out again, right above their previous hiding spot. And just as the light of his head lamp reaches the ears, they go back once again. Which is… strange, considering only the very first models back from Freddy Fazbears Pizza are sensitive to light. In fact, these models shouldn’t even be able to detect any light at all.

But that’s the only plausible solution Michael can find at the moment, since the probability of the tiny animatronic being able to sense when it’s being looked at is much smaller – more like impossible. Michael, however, has learned that almost every single one of his beliefs on what’s possible or impossible is wrong. Sentient animatronics are obviously real, even though Michael never believed that could be possible. Little ghost kids running around with thick tar for tears is also something Michael has experienced, though maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him. Hallucinations.

He hears movement, and this time is very aware of his head lamp’s light, keeping his head facing strictly towards Freddy’s chest and face. He sees the rabbit ears popping out from behind Freddy’s left shoulder this time. He waits patiently, slowly raising his hand at the same time the bunny comes out from its hiding place. He sees huge round eyes appear, then a big, permanently open mouthed smile and a red bowtie. Michael has his hand right on top of Freddy’s shoulder, only an inch or so away from Bonbon.

The black button appears, and Michael reaches for it as fast as he can. He hears the quiet click resonate in the room, and the demonic little shit he’s been hunting down for what felt like hours finally stays still. Michael celebrates silently as the Hand Unit congratulates him, telling him to go back home.

Michael happily opens the door and exits Parts and Service, turning his head lamp off and grabbing his flash beacon. As he’s met with the darkness of Funtime Auditorium, his happiness seeps out of him almost instantly as a feeling of dread replaces it. He can’t hear anything for a moment, and he takes a few steps forward. He flashes the beacon when he hears movement. He sees nothing. Maybe it’s his paranoia, but he feels like his beacon isn’t flashing as much light as it did before.

He doesn’t see anything the entire time. He flashes the beacon at any unfamiliar sound, but it seems as if Funtime Foxy has just disappeared. Michael thinks it’s a miracle, especially as he flashes the beacon and sees the vent to his freedom just a few feet in front of him. Despite this, he’s still cautious, looking around as he flashes the beacon again. The light fades, and he takes a step forward.

Rough claws grab onto his shoulders, yanking him away from the exit. He’s forced to turn around, his resistance futile as the animatronic fox grips onto him with force before its faceplates open, revealing the endoskeleton underneath. A loud screeching noise echoes in Michael's ears as he feels his world go dark before he even has a chance to scream.

Michael wakes with a jolt. His eyes fly open and he tries to move, only to feel his head pound with a type of pain he’s never felt before, so strong it’s almost blinding. He closes his eyes with a groan, and he moves to put a hand on his head. Something stops his arm from moving, tightening around his whole body just a bit.

He slowly opens his eyes, confusion and pain clouding his thoughts. It’s dark, and Michael stops himself from trying to activate his head lamp just as he’s about to move his arm again. As his eyes try to adjust to his surroundings, he tries to identify where he could be. He’s being restrained by something, that much is obvious. However, he can’t make out what it is – a rough texture pressing against his body. It’s not rope or tape, but Michael can’t seem to think of anything else that could be used to immobilise a person.

His eyes adjust just enough for Michael to see some light, but his vision is blurry. Two small holes in front of his face shine a low, red light on him, and Michael has just enough consciousness of the situation to realise that what’s keeping him trapped are spring locks. His breath hitches in horror as he notices there’s no escape for him.

A soft, echoey voice shushes him silently, and it feels almost soothing – it would be, if he didn’t recognise the voice that came after. “Be still. And quiet…” Circus Baby’s gentle whisper feels like a weight in Michaels chest, but he does his best to stay as still as possible, keeping his breathing under as much control as he can. “You've been sleeping for quite a while.” She continues. “I think they noticed that you never left the building last night. The cameras were searching for you. But, they couldn't find you.” Needless to say, he noticed.

“I have hidden you too well.” A beat of silence, then an almost inaudible mutter follows. “I kidnapped you.” Michael also noticed that. He is not pleased.

Michael swears he hears Baby giggle, and it almost reminds him of…

He shouldn’t compare her to something like Circus Baby.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you.” Somehow, Michael had a feeling she wouldn’t. He doesn’t know why he even believes her. She is, after all, an animatronic – he’s seen too much death and hurt at the hands of these things. “I am only going to keep you for a while. Try not to wiggle, though.” Michael has enough common sense to know that, if he moves too much, the springlocks that surround him will lock into place and crush him. She is keeping him somewhat safe with her instructions, so he will do as she says just as he did that first time. She’s saved him before, afterall.

“You're inside something that came from my old pizzeria. I don't think it was ever used. At least, not the way it was meant to be used.” She says the last part a bit aggressively, almost like she’s hinting at something that happened. “Too dangerous.” She finishes. Michael has to wonder what it could be. He doesn’t remember any springlock suits that went unused at Circus Baby’s Pizza World back when it opened, but his father did have a knack for keeping secrets for whatever reason.

“It's just big enough for one person to fit inside. But, just barely.” Michael has, again, noticed that. If he moves an inch, he can feel the machine tightening its grip on him.

“You're in the scooping room. Do you know why they call it the scooping room?” She says it in a tone that Michael guesses was supposed to be a mixture of playful and sarcastic, but it just comes out sounding… angry. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “It's because, dummy. This is the room where they use 'The Scooper'. I thought that would be obvious.”

Playful banter, something Michael finds himself familiar with. It reminds him of days spent chasing after a young boy, both laughing and having fun. Reminds him of a small redheaded girl butting into every conversation she hears with some sarcastic remark that always made Michael laugh. Reminds him of feeling happy – proud – to be with the two.

A bittersweet thought, something Michael likes to repress and put away in the back of his mind so he doesn’t have that feeling of sorrow flood through his veins. He shakes a little at his thoughts, and feels mechanical parts snaking around his torso and limbs.

“Isn't that a fun name for something? ‘The Scooper’. It sounds like something you would use for ice cream. Or custard. Or sprinkles. It sounds like something you would want at your birthday party. To ensure that you get a heaping portion of every good thing.” Circus Baby talks in a way that resembles someone Michael knew. She’d go on tangents all the time and always talk about things she found fun. Michael expelled the thought before he lost control of his shaking again.

“I wonder, though, if you were a freshly opened pint of ice cream… How you would feel about something with that name.” Circus Baby’s gentle voice says, and in the quiet, it sounds more eerie than Michael would’ve liked. It almost feels like a threat – or maybe fear. “Thankfully, I don't think a freshly opened pint of ice cream feels anything at all.” Baby murmurs.

“Uh-oh. It sounds like someone else is in the building.” She points out, shushing him yet again. Michael hears a latch open, and then talking. It’s quiet, and it doesn’t seem to be too close to him. He doubts whoever just entered could see him even if they tried. The talking continues for a while, and Michael manages to hear something about animatronics breaking down before loud banging takes over the silence of the room.

It continues for a while, and Michael begins to see the figure of Ballora approach his right side. She looks deactivated, and she seems to be on some type of machine that brings her closer to the centre of the room. Michael can only assume the banging noise comes from the machine she’s on.

The machine stops suddenly and quiet takes over the room once more. It only takes a second for Circus Baby to start talking again. “There's something very important that I've learned how to do overtime. Do you know what that is? How to pretend.” She says the last phrase with an emphasis on each word, dragging it out with a sort of contained anger that Michael doesn’t wish to be on the receiving end of.

“Do you ever play make believe? Pretend to be one way... when you are really the other? It's very important. Ballora never learns…” He guesses that’s why she’s in the “Scooping Room” in the first place. “But I do. They think there is something wrong on the inside. The only thing that matters… Is knowing how… to… pretend…” Michael has no time to try and figure out what she means as a blaring alarm sounds in the room. Michael flinches, and he feels his body get squeezed even more.

Something comes out of the darkness quickly, striking Ballora three times before all her plates open, and she is left hanging and limp on the roller, one purple eye that was previously hidden behind her eyelids seemingly staring into Michael’s soul. He can see her endoskeleton perfectly like this. Michael feels a cold sweat run down his neck.

“I'll open the face plates for you.” Circus Baby says, sounding less angry than she had earlier. The face plates to the suit he’s in opens, and the springlocks let go of him. He feels the pressure on his lungs dissipate, and he has just enough room to move his arms again. “That way they can find you on the cameras. Now all you have to do is wait.” Michael should feel relief at these words, but now, he feels infinitely closer to Ballora, who still seems to be staring intently at him.

“I recommend that you keep the spring locks wound up. Your breathing and your heartbeat are causing them to come loose. You don't want them to get too loose. Trust me.” Michael knows what he’s dealing with. He’s never been in a springlock suit before, but he’s read enough of his father’s books and manuals to know how complicated these things are. If anything goes wrong, it could be fatal.

He reaches a hand up and starts winding up all the spring locks on his suit – a total of ten, five on each side of the face plates. He concentrates on keeping them tight for a while before he sees it.

Terrifying is how he’d describe it. Staring right at him as it slowly crawls up the side of his suit, the darkness of the room casting a shadow on the Minireenas ' pale face. He freezes only for a moment before he goes back to tightening the spring locks. It gets harder to concentrate as he feels the Minireena crawling on the suit like some sort of spider, and he can feel more of the start to join the first.

He watches a Minireena get close to his face, and when he notices that it's going to enter the suit, he wiggles just enough to shake it off of him. He hurries to tighten the springlocks in time, only for more of the Minireenas to attempt to crawl into the suit with him. With each passing minute, more Minireenas appear, and he can’t stop them all from crawling in with him. He can feel them on his body, and he hurries to occupy himself with tightening springs to try and distract himself from it all.

It feels like ages of tightening the locks and shaking off the spider like robots before he finally hears the rushing of footsteps outside. He hears the door to the room he’s in open, and all the Minireenas scatter like rats as the light of a flashlight illuminates the room. Michael hears multiple footsteps approach him, and they finally open the suit. The sweat on his body makes him feel damp, but he feels a gust of air and relief washes over him.

Two people he’s never seen before move to take him out of the suit. He takes a step forward to help, but the adrenaline that began washing off finally fades, and his legs wobble and become unstable. The pounding in his head returns with a much greater force, and Michael promptly falls forward into the person's arms and passes out.

He wakes up in the staff break room on the ground floor. He’s only ever been in there once or twice before, but he has a keen memory. He notices he’s laying on the couch, and slowly gets up. His head pounds as he moves, and he hisses, resting a hand on his head. He finds that there are some bandages wrapped around a portion of his forehead, and wonders just what exactly had happened.

He hears a gasp, and he turns just in time to see someone rush to his side. “Oh good, you’re awake. You made us all very worried.” Michael doesn’t know this guys’ name, but he recognises his face – one of the people that had saved him from that suit.

Another person comes up behind him, handing him a cup of water and a pill. “For the pain.” Is all she says. Michael takes it without question, silently thanking her. The water feels like heaven washing down his dry throat, and he gulps down the entire glass as fast as he can. The woman takes the glass and goes over to the water filter to refill it. Michael turns towards the man at his side and clears his throat before speaking. “Sorry, what exactly happened? Why is my head bandaged?” Michael inquires.

The man’s eyes widen, and the woman turns her head to him with a confused expression on her face. “We were hoping you’d tell us what happened. When we found you, you had a pretty bad injury on your head. Nothing too serious, but it seemed to have been caused by some sort of hit. There’s no way you got that by falling on your face.” She says, bringing him the cup.

“Yeah, and how did you even get inside that animatronic suit?” The man questions as Michael drinks another cup of water. He finishes the cup and puts it aside. Should he tell them about Funtime Foxy? It’d probably be best, if it's malfunctioning then it could hurt someone else. “I don’t know how I got in there. I was just finishing my shift when Foxy jumped at me. Next thing I knew, I woke up in that springlock suit with a headache.” He answers, omitting the part where Circus Baby talks to him.

The man seems to be even more confused than before, but the woman at his side seems pensive. “Well,” she starts, “you don’t seem concussed, but maybe it’d be best to go to a hospital anyway. We’ll get someone to cover your shift tomorrow. Erick, contact management and tell them Funtime Foxy malfunctioned.” The man – Erick – nods before scurrying away. Michael looks at the woman in front of him as he gets off the couch.

“Thanks for the help and all, but I don’t need a hospital. I’m fine, it’s just a bruise. And I’d like to come to my shift tomorrow as well.” Michael says. There’s something he’s close to finding out, he’s sure of it. All the animatronics are acting weird, and Circus Baby seems to act more human than robot. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he has to find out. Maybe it has something to do with the purple liquid from Henry’s restaurant.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by a chuckle. He looks and sees the girl shaking her head, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Workaholic much?” Michael stares with a blank face. “Alright, I can’t really do anything to stop you from coming in tomorrow. I’m not exactly your boss, am I? Though you should at least see a doctor.”

“Okay, I will.” Michael lies. She offers him a ride, and Michael refuses quickly. He doesn’t need a hospital. He leaves hurriedly out the front door, throwing a quick goodbye over his shoulder to Erick as he gets in his car and drives home to watch another episode of his not-so-crappy soap opera.

Chapter Text

“Michael! You’re bleeding!” He hears his younger sister shriek in horror. Michael wipes his nose, and a streak of red stains his hand. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Michael responds curtly. He moves past her and into his bedroom.

Elizabeth follows. “But Michael! Your eye! What happened?” She sounds so concerned. She is just a kid, she shouldn’t feel like this. Michael plasters on the best smile he can – it doesn’t work. “It’s okay, I just… got into a little fight.”

He didn’t. A bunch of bullies ganged up on him. He can’t really remember what they’d said to him. Maybe they called him a murderer. That seemed to be what everyone called him these days.

Elizabeth frowns. “I’m gonna get an ice pack.” Before Michael can protest, she’s running out the door. Michael sighs.

Michael made sure to arrive at the exact moment his shift started – not a second early, not a second late. It was the perfect excuse to rush past everyone that could potentially come ask about his wellbeing. He can’t deal with people right now, his head still hurts and he’s only here because he knows he almost uncovered something big. The something his father told him about. Things have just gotten interesting.

The elevator door shuts, and he slowly descends to the hell that is his security job. The Hand Unit welcomes him, and starts ranting about good employees or whatever. He guesses it’s because Michael was most likely the only person crazy enough to apply for night guard duty. Afterall, Hurricane is a small town, everyone has heard of the infamous bites and disappearances. Michael zones out as he’s done ever since his second day when he found out the monotonous voice never says anything of importance.

And then the Hand Unit mentions a one-week bonus gift basket, and his interest is piqued. Sure, Michael didn’t apply for the money, but who doesn’t love a good cash basket? He ignores the part about the price coming out of his paycheck – if he chooses the cash basket, then surely he’ll just get his pay money?

It’s been a while since he’s felt genuinely excited. It’s also been a while since the excitement is so quickly drained from him as he pulls out his Hand Unit and lays eyes upon the glitchy keypad. Michael doesn’t understand how he keeps forgetting about that.

He sighs, dejectedly pressing anything on the screen until the Hand Unit accepts whatever nonsense he put in as an answer. Michael groans loudly, throwing his head back as Hand Unit declares that the chosen gift basket was “Exotic Butters.” What is the difference between regular butter and exotic butter? He pouts slightly as he waits for the elevator doors to open again. He’s told that there are still two technicians on site, and that he has to “encourage” them to go home. Why should he even do that? It’d be less lonely, wouldn’t it?

The doors open, and Michael grumbles as he crouches down for what feels like the hundredth time this week. He crawls through the vent and pops up at the Primary Control Module, stretching and hearing his joints pop as he prepares to do the same old routine again. He moves to check on Ballora, placing a hand gently on his forehead as he feels his head throb.

When the lights shine, he has to do a double take, eyes wide and mouth agape as the lights go out and Balloras stage is engulfed in darkness. There was a body. A dead, human body, hanging from a rope on the centre of the stage. As the Hand Unit declares that Ballora is in place, he moves to check on Funtime Foxy. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe this place drove him mad. Maybe the injury in his head is worse than he thought. He shakes off the unease, taking a shaky breath as he turns on the lights in Funtime Auditorium.

There’s another one. A corpse limply hanging, noose tied tightly around their neck. He can’t make anything out in the darkness, only the vague silhouette, but it’s enough for Michael to panic. He’s seen worse, he knows he has. It’s nothing new, he’s seen people hanging before – their heads clamped tightly between big, metal teeth, their blood drip, drip, dripping to the floor. He’s seen people with a rope around their neck – pale, unmoving, with their heads lolled to the side and mouth agape.

He has no reason to panic. Logically, he knows that these sights are nothing compared to other things he’s seen. He doesn’t even know these people, so why does he feel his heart hammer in his chest and a cold sweat drip down his face?

Michael snaps out of it at the instruction to head to Parts and Service again, the vents opening with a noise that echoes in the darkness. He crouches down and crawls through the opening to Funtime Auditorium. He grasps the beacon on his security belt and does the same scheme as last time he was here.

He does not see Funtime Foxy once the whole time.

As soon as he enters Parts and Service, he switches on his head lamp. Immediately, he’s met with lifeless, pitch black eyes. Circus Baby seems to have had her eyes removed for whatever reason. The Hand Unit announces she’s been shut down for an unknown reason, and to make sure she’s secured to the conveyor belt. Michael flinches at the sound of the Hand Unit suddenly deactivating mid sentence.

There’s quiet for only a second before he hears the all too familiar voice that saved him two times that second night on this job. “Can you hear me? I'm pretending. Remember how I said I could pretend?” She says, voice quiet as if she’s trying to whisper. Michael could never forget a word she said to him last night, the eeriness of it all on loop in his head as he mulled over his father’s request.

“The cameras are watching. I must be careful not to move.” The voice declares. A beat of silence passes before she speaks again. “Something bad happened yesterday. Something bad always happens. I don't want it to happen again. There is something bad... inside of me. I'm broken. I can't be fixed.” Michael feels his previous unease swell inside his chest again, making his stomach churn uncomfortably. Something in him is screaming at him to run away. Michael gulps. Michael stays put.

“I'm going to be taken to the Scooping Room soon. But it's not going to fix what's wrong with me. What is bad is always left behind.” He has no idea what that means, the cryptic message leaving with more questions than anything. “Will you help me? I want you to save what is good, so the rest can be destroyed and never recovered. But you must be careful. Ballora is here. In the room with us. Ballora will not return to her stage. Ballora will not return to her body.”

Something is wrong. Something about Circus Baby feels… different. He can’t figure out what, but there is something. His gut tells him not to trust the animatronic, but the logical part of Michael’s brain says that it’s helped him before, why wouldn’t it help him now?

“You must be careful. You must remain calm. And listen to my voice. There is a button on my cheek. You must find it and press it.” Michael does as instructed, searching Circus Baby’s face carefully. It takes him a few seconds, but he faintly makes out a tiny button directly above its bright red cheek. He presses it, and part of its face plate opens, next to its eye. It reveals what looks to be a small number pad, though Michael can’t make out any numbers on it.

“There is a passcode that you must enter before you can retrieve me. Enter the code carefully.” It slowly says ten numbers, and Michael makes sure he’s extra careful as he presses each number. Nothing happens, and Michael fears he’s done something wrong. The voice reassures him not even a second after that thought crosses his mind. “Good. A hatch should have opened. Take the card that you find inside.”

Michael searches its body for any other part of its body that might have opened. On Circus Baby’s left arm, there is a tiny open hatch right below her red sleeve. He takes it without a second thought. “Now you must turn back. I will guide you through Funtime Auditorium so you can reach the Scooping Room. When you are there, I want you to destroy this body. Put the card into your handheld device so I can continue to speak to you. Now, press the green button to your left. This will send me to the Scooping Room.”

“Wait!” Michael speaks before his brain catches up. Circus Baby stops speaking, waiting. Michael doesn’t know what came over him, but his father was right. Whatever it is he’s looking for, he has a feeling he’s found it. He swallows thickly and stares into pitch black eye sockets. “What… What are you? How did you get here?” Something inside Michael tells him he’s being crazy, letting children's halloween stories – or maybe his own paranoia – get to his head. The silence stretches.

“Did you know that I was on stage once?” Circus Baby breaks the silence, and Michael takes a sharp inhale at her response. “It wasn’t for very long, only one day. What a wonderful day, though. I was in a small room with balloons and a few tables. No one sat at the tables, though, but children would run in and out. Some were afraid of me, others enjoyed my songs. Music was always coming from somewhere else down the hall.” She almost sounds… nostalgic. Michael can’t blame her. Afterall, he remembers that day very well.

“I would always count the children, I’m not sure why. I was always acutely aware of how many there were in the room with me. Two, then three, then two, then three, then four, then two, then none. They usually played together in groups of two or three.” How odd. Michael feels like he’s seen her do this. He can’t remember too well. “I was covered in glitter. I smelled like birthday cake. There were two, then three, then five, then four. I can do something special, did you know that? I can make ice cream, although I only did it once.” Michael remembers a small vanilla ice cream cone on the ground, abandoned.

“There were four, then three, then two, then one. Something happend when there was one. A little girl, standing by herself.” Michael remembers long red hair, partly tied back with a cute red bow. “I was no longer myself. And I stopped singing. My stomach opened and there was ice cream. I couldn’t move. At least, not until she stepped closer.” Michael remembers losing sight of a small figure in a crowded place.

“There was screaming for a moment, but only for a moment. Then other children rushed in again, but they couldn’t hear her over the sounds of their own excitement. I still hear her sometimes. Why did that happen?” Michael remembers a scream, loud and piercing, but there was nobody there. “You couldn’t find her.” Circus Baby says, and Michael realises he’s trembling. “But you almost did.”

Michael presses the button on his left with such force he’s surprised it doesn’t break. The rollers activate, and Circus Baby is slowly taken out of the room. He looks down at his shoes, clenching his fists tightly. “You must follow my instructions in Funtime Auditorium. Ballora is going to follow you. She will try to catch you. I will help you avoid her. She will not follow you inside the Scooping Room. She is afraid. Go back now.” It says. Michael turns off his head lamp. He heads out the door without hesitation.

He doesn’t bother to get his beacon, Circus Baby’s voice coming through the Hand Unit is guiding enough. It’s pitch black. If he were to extend his hand out in front of him, he wouldn’t be able to see it. He’s just moving forward, just like its voice instructed. “Stop.” Michael stops in his tracks.

Silence.

“Go forward and left.” Michael does as he’s told. He keeps going after making his turn, just like it told him to do. “Stop. Be silent.” He is already quiet enough, is he not? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. “Go forward and left.”

Michael does as he is told.

“Stop.” He waits, eyes cast down. It does not make a difference where he looks, it is all shrouded in darkness. “Go forward. You are almost there.” Michael continues his trek.

“Stop. She is right in front of you. Don't. Move.” Michael glances up. He cannot see anything. He can feel his heart beat in his ears. He should be more scared than he is now.

“He is here to help, Ballora. He is not here to hurt us. Ballora, he is here to help us.” Michael does not move his body. His eyes dart around him, but he is in a void. There is nothing but black surrounding him. He waits…

“Go forward again. Ballora is behind you. She is afraid of the Scooping Room. She will not follow you.” Michael moves slowly. He feels like each step gets heavier than before. He sees a door, ‘Scooping Room’ written on the sign hanging from it.

Hanging. Just like those two innocent technicians. Should he have helped them? What could have been done? They were already dead when he arrived. Should he have called for help? How would he do that? There is no phone down here. They were already dead, there was nothing any help would have done.

The door feels heavy as Michael opens it. He hears the Hand Unit drone out a warning as he reaches for his head lamp and takes a few blind steps in. The monotone voice cuts out, and Michael is greeted with the sight of the scooper. Except, he’s not in the operating area.

The scooper is directed towards him. Circus Baby is nowhere to be seen.

Michaels body tenses, and his eyes frantically search the room. The voice of the animatronic, the thing – the person? – that he was supposed to help fills the silence of the room. “You are in the Scooping Room now. Funtime Foxy has already been here today. Funtime Freddy has already been here today. Ballora has already been here today.” A pause.

“Circus Baby has already been here today.”

He looks up, and he sees movement on the other side of the glass. Whatever is there, it has Circus Baby's voice. It’s tall, but that’s all he can make out of the silhouette.

Michael turns, running towards the direction of the door. It feels farther away than it should be. His hand reaches for the handle as he practically launches himself at it in his desperation. Wires come out from underneath the door like snakes, tangling themselves on the knob and breaking it off. It clinks on the floor, and Michael slams into the door. “No, no, no, please!” He shrieks, pushing the door with all the strength he can muster. He takes two steps back, then throws himself shoulder first into the door. It does not budge.

“I've been out before, but they always put me back. They always put us back inside.” Michael feels his shoulder burn in pain. He does not stop.

“There is nowhere for us to hide here.” Wires wrap around him, and pull him away from the door. He crashes on the floor with a grunt. “There is nowhere to go... when we look like this.” The wires detangle from him, but before he can try to run, they wrap around his wrists. He lets out a yell of pain as he’s tugged upwards and made to face the scooper. He feels his shoulder flare in pain as he stands up.

The silhouette at the window is visible now, its body made entirely out of wires, springlocks and an endoskeleton. It has a mask on, white with a colourful party hat. Michael feels like he’s seen it before.

“But if we looked like you, then we could hide.” The thing never moves as it speaks. Michael yells in protest, struggling against the metal crushing his wrist. He feels something wrap itself around his ankles. “No, please!” He yells, and he feels hot tears run down his cheeks.

“If we looked like you, then we would have somewhere to go.” Michael chokes as he feels his throat constrict as a piece of metal around his neck blocking his airway. Michael can only look at it now.

It. It is a terrible mixture of parts and purple. Them. They are all tangled into one now, although he only knows one of them. Her. She has suffered so much. If Michael had been just a bit more careful that day, a bit more useful, she wouldn’t be like this right now.

She is gone because Michael was incompetent that day. He is gone because Michael has always been a horrible person. It is all his fault.

If the two of them – so young, full of hope and life – had to suffer because of Michael, because of his incompetence, then maybe…

Michael stops struggling against the robotic parts.

He looks the creature in its plastic eyes, almost challenging it. ‘Do it.’

Deep down, Michael always knew it. He was the one that should’ve died. Why couldn’t it have been him? At least now he’ll prove useful for one of them.

“The scooper only hurts for a moment.” It’s said so sweetly, Michael almost believes it.

But he wants to feel the pain, just like they did.

An alarm goes off, but his gaze never falters. “Let me help you, Elizabeth.” His voice is small, weak, as he uses the remaining breath he has to mutter those words.

The scooper comes forth, and for a second he can feel his flesh ripping apart, blood spewing out of his mouth. All he sees is red.

Michael didn’t know what was happening. He couldn’t figure out how he was still thinking, how he could still see.

He’d seen his organs laid out on the floor in front of him, had seen the familiar crimson pool, and now he sees himself. But it’s not really him. The ‘him’ in the mirror is smiling crookedly, covered in blood and wires. ‘He’ continues going to work for a few days, waving at ‘his’ neighbours happily as ‘he’ walks crookedly, awkwardly. Michael can hear multiple voices. He cannot make out what they are saying.

Michael can only watch. He is not controlling his body.

‘He’ consistently gazes at ‘his’ body in the mirror. Checking, analysing. Smiling. But Michael notices something. He’s sure ‘he’ notices as well. The skin on this body is changing. It’s becoming a yellowish-green colour.

One of Michael’s real eyes roll out of its socket, and ‘he’ has to scoop out the other one with a spoon and replace the real ones with fake, robotic eyes. The pupils are purple. His eyes roll on the floor and leave a streak of red in their wake.

This body is getting weak. It cannot keep supporting ‘him’ for much longer. ‘He’ is too heavy now. The wiring wrapped around his bones insists on making this body move. Its skin is now turning purple, the hair attached to the scalp is falling off. The house is covered in whatever blood remained in this body.

The neighbours look at ‘him’ weirdly now. ‘He’ stops going into work. ‘He’ does not stop going outside.

The skin is a dark purple. It is coming apart. ‘He’ has to stitch up the torso.

‘He’ has become much too heavy. This body barely moves anymore. Michael watches it all as it happens. He watches as his old body trudges slowly and heavily down the sidewalk. He watches as it stops, with only enough strength to keep itself upright.

Michael watches as the body convulses. He watches as the creature crawls its way up, up, up. He watches the left cheek rip open as it finally comes out of its host. The body falls to the ground with a thud, mouth still agape. The mess of scrap metal and wires crawls into the sewer.

The unintelligible voices he’s been hearing stop. There is only one voice now.

“You won’t die.” It’s repeated many times. Over and over and over again. A sweet, childlike voice.

“You won’t die.”

Michael stands up.

Chapter Text

There’s something odd about being alone in your bedroom as you hear your parents argue. Michael isn’t used to them yelling at each other, they’ve never done it before.

His mother was always gentle, and, even if his father was more stern, he was never the type to let his anger control him. Michael curls up into himself, knowing that the reason they’re arguing is his fault.

Wait, is it?

Why are they arguing?

Wait. What year is it? How old is he?

He can’t remember.

Why can’t he remember?

His body felt heavy as he stood. Is it really his body? He wanted to heave as he walked down the sidewalk, but his lungs were mislocated and torn. They did not work. It felt weird to not breathe, for his chest to not move. Michael wondered absentmindedly how he could see with these new, plastic eyes. But, then again, he was somehow still conscious – still moving and thinking – despite not having most of his organs. Despite being rotten. Despite being dead. Was he really dead if he had thoughts?

The door to the house creaked open, and Michael felt his heart sink at the sight of his old home now messy –  destroyed. Some furniture tipped over, his moms favourite decorations and fine China broken and sprawled on the floor. And the blood. His blood. His? It covers the walls and the floors. The messy furniture and decorations are stained red and brown. Michael can’t smell anything, but he’s sure the smell of copper and iron floods every corner of the house.

He was here when all this was done. It was his body that had done all this damage. Could he still call this body “his?” Despite this, it felt surreal to see his childhood home like this. Afterall, he was just an observer when it all happened. He couldn’t even feel anything, just numbness.

The door shut behind him, and Michael was shrouded in darkness yet again. He was used to the darkness of his house, but never like this. This dirty. This lifeless. This alone. Logically, he knew that he wasn’t any less lonely before, so maybe this crushing feeling stemmed from the fact that he was no longer himself. His skin colour is unnatural, his body odour will never leave. Because he is rotting. He is dead.

Or, at least, he was supposed to be.

Yes, that had to be it. He was now miserable because he had finally gotten what he wanted – death, slow and painful just like the rest of his loved ones – but he hadn’t actually become lifeless. Worst of all, he could still think.

This time around, he had no escape from his suffering.

Michael ignored everything as he made his way to the nearest bathroom. He hadn’t looked in a mirror yet. He needed to assess the situation, needed to find out what was happening. He limped all the way to the nearest bathroom. It had never felt so far away before, but maybe because he was no longer full of life. It felt like a curse. Maybe that’s what it was.

“You won’t die” echoed in his head.

The lights to the bathroom flicker slightly, and Michael freezes as he looks in the mirror. The sight is something surreal, his body completely immobile. He truly looks dead. Purple skin, some patches of a more greenish colour, and some parts flaking off to reveal the rotting muscle underneath. The right corner of his mouth is split open unnaturally. His teeth are showing, and he can clearly see where he is missing a tooth – something that he’s been hiding since childhood, when he lost it in the first place.

His hair was falling out in big chunks. Only a few patches of his previously long hair remained on his head, the strands now thinned. His eyes didn’t look real anymore, a purplish colour and unnaturally glossy texture. Those weren’t his real eyes.

His eyes. Oh God, he needed to find his eyes.

Michaels knees buckled. He clutched the edge of the sink as he slid to the ground, trembling. He wanted to cry. But his eyes were plastic, and the only liquid he could feel leaking down his face was blood. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout out his agony, to let everyone know how he felt, what had happened to him.

But Michael found that, as he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Nothing. Not a single sound of a gasping breath or that horrified yell he wanted to let out so desperately. Just silence. He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t make a single sound. Couldn’t produce a single tear.

A gentle stream of blood leaked from his eye, and that was all he could do to let out his distress. He shook pathetically on the dirty floor, wishing that he’d just die already. He’d lost so much already, why couldn’t he just have peace?

Why?

You won’t die.

Why not?

Michael found his eyes. They were in his bedroom, randomly tossed to random sides of the room. He saw his brother’s Fredbear plush on his bed, smeared with brownish dry blood. Why had that thing even explored his house? To make fun of him? To ruin the only thing he had left of his family before they fell apart? To destroy the only happy memories he had left of his childhood?

This was torture. He would’ve been so much happier if he were dead. What kind of demented game was happening, and why was he the one to be put in it?

Michael hugged the plush close, pulling away when he realised that the remains of his distorted and rotting body clung to the fabric and soiled it more than before. It would leave a permanent stain, he’s sure. That thought would’ve brought tears to his eyes, if he could still cry. He put the toy down gently, hands shaking at the sight of it. He looked around his bedroom, equally as dirty as the rest of the house. He wondered if his siblings’ bedrooms were also ruined.

His siblings’ bedrooms.

Michael rushed out of the room, entering Elizabeth's room as fast as his body would allow. It looked horrible. Every corner was smeared with dirt and grime, her toys and accessories strewn across the room as if that thing had been looking for something and hadn’t bothered to put the mess away. Elizabeth would do that often when she was alive, but this mess wasn’t something a child was capable of. Some of her things were broken, plushies torn and their fillings spilling out.

Michael slammed the door shut in a rageful fit of grief before opening the door to Evan’s room. It was just slightly less messy compared to his sister’s room, as if something was preventing that monster from completely destroying his little brothers’ things. That didn’t change the fact that most of Evan’s things were ruined beyond repair.

Michael closed the door as fast as he could – which wasn’t that fast considering his entire body shook like a leaf. He slid down the door, putting a hand over his mouth. He felt another pathetic rush of panic course through him, and he could do nothing to stop it.

He felt so helpless.

After he calmed down enough to regain his balance, Michael looked around the hallway in a disoriented haze. A part of him still couldn’t believe this was real. It couldn’t be real. It isn’t possible. But then he looks down, and he sees rotting skin and gross bodily fluids and remains on the floor. He just wants this to end, is that too much to ask?

He looks back up, trying to figure out what he should do next. His eyes land on his parents’ bedroom door. He ponders it for a moment – he hadn’t dared to step back in there since he saw his mother’s body laying on the floor of that room. But what other choice did he have? It was the only place in the house he hadn’t checked yet. This was his last chance at finding something to explain what’s happening, or, at least, why it’s happening.

Michael slowly made his way to his parents’ room, gently opening the door. The room was intact. No damage, no dirt besides dust, nothing. He briefly wondered if whatever was controlling his body was just as reluctant to go in this room as he was.

He took a shaky step in the room, quickly glancing around the entire room. There was nothing important he could see, and he considered just walking away and searching his siblings’ rooms properly. The thought of going back in there made his mood sour immensely, so he opted to just search this room before doing anything else.

A few minutes pass as he checks on the shelves and the closets, finding nothing but a few old family photos that make him look away immediately. And then he opens the second drawer on his father’s nightstand, where a relatively rusty key resides. Michael picks it up and inspects it, noting an old piece of paper attached to the handle that reads “basement.”

And that single word is all it takes for Michael to leave the room without a second glance, limping down the stairs and rounding the corner to reach the basement door that had been locked for years. The door is falling apart, and Michael could probably knock it down if he used enough force, but he feels that, with how weak he currently is, no amount of hurling himself at the door will cause it to open.

So he steps up and puts the key in the lock, turning it quickly. The door opens with a click, and Michael pushes it open the rest of the way to stare at the flight of stairs leading down to the basement. As Michael slowly descends the dark stairs, he tries to recall what this place was even used for. The only thing he can recall is his father making and repairing animatronics here all the time before they had enough money to buy a warehouse. William was the only person who was even allowed down here.

He steps off the last step, switching on the lights after blindly searching the wall for a while. The first thing he notices are the spare robotic parts laying around – exoskeletons, generic parts and even the suits to some of the robots. Michael glances to the shelf in the corner of the room and freezes. There is a whole jar of the purple liquid Michael had found all that time ago in Henry’s restaurant. It’s vibrant and it almost taunts Michael from afar.

He approaches the jar and notices that it’s been set atop a journal he’d never seen before. Michael grabs the jar of the mysterious liquid and the journal, then moves to his father’s workbench, where he finds some of his newer blueprints. He sets the items down on the desk and moves a chair closer so he can inspect everything calmly.

As he takes a closer look at the blueprints, he notices some distinct mechanisms on these machines. He flips through them, noting that the animatronics from Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rental all have some kind of feature that seems odd to add to party robots. Some of them have decently sized hidden compartments in their chest cavities, others have some kind of device that allows for a calming gas to be released.

And then he sees Circus Baby. She has a claw-like appliance hidden away in her stomach compartment. As he reads through its intended purpose, he can’t help but notice how similar the mechanism is to the scooper. He shivers at the thought.

Michael can’t see why these things would be added to these animatronics. Everything his father wrote in the blueprints is oddly vague. He looks at the journal.

Surely, there must be something in there that explains what all these additions are. It is, afterall, the only journal that was separated from the rest. There must be confidential information in it. That’s exactly what Michael needed.

He places the notebook in front of him on the table. Its cover is worn down, as if it’s at least a decade old.

Michael flips it open.

Chapter Text

I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t remember.

Let me remember, please.

Entry #1

I hate him God I hate him so much. He’s so entitled! Why can’t he just shut up and listen for once in his fucking life? Henry Emily is fucking worshipped in our indstry and he acts like he doesn’t fucking know it just to rub it in my face later I just want to fucking scream at him until he finally stops being so annoying I fucking will, I swear Henry don’t test me

Entry #2

Oh god oh fuck im so fucked oh god why did i do that please forgive me god please She was just a child and i killed her in cold blood because of her father dear lord im a monster im so sorry charlie

But why god did it feel so good? Why did i feel relief of seeing my hands around her throat as the life drained out of her face? God im going to hell, please forgive me lord

Entry #3

There’s something so weird going on with these animatronics, it feels too intentional to be a coincidence. Why only the puppet and fredbear? They stare at me. They shouldn’t be able to do that. Their eyes follow me I swear they do. It’s almost like /////////////////////

Entry #4

i knew it i fucking knew it god im not insane i knew it i fucking did. That stupid fucking puppet attacked me i swear to god they’re possessed i know they are im not insane im gonna prove it

Entry #5

I did a little experiment. And I did it right under dear old Henry’s nose, he didn’t even notice. I couldn’t properly investigate fredbear or the puppet thanks to that goddamn police investigation, but it’s fine. I have other ways to prove my theories. It just so happens that a little girl paved the way for the first step of my little experiment, I didn’t even have to try that hard. I stuffed her remains inside the Chica animatronic, now all I need to do is wait.

Entry #6

Police seem to be hot on my trail, I need to lay low.

Entry #7

It took forever, but I finally did it. All five animatronics from the main cast at freddys are now stuffed and acting weird. All of them are possessed, i know they are. I don't know how or why, but i did it, i proved my theory to be right! I just need to figure out the details and then i can finally do something revolutionary without being in Henrys shadow.

Entry #8

All the possessed animatronics have been secreting a sort of purple goo from their metal parts. It doesn’t seem to have any distinct odour, so I’ll just bring it down to the basement and do some experimenting. I have a suspicion that this is how those brats ended up possessing the robots.

Entry #9

After some trial and error, I managed to make a few analyses;

• The purple goo is not secreted from just any type of cadaver. The one from the funeral house I found died of natural causes, and it did not possess any of the purple liquid, even after part of its biological material was used in the same extraction method
• The liquid seems to be held in metal exclusively
• It seems to possess some regenerative abilities. From the little I have of the goo, I can’t tell how much it’s necessary to heal bigger wounds, however, a single drop closed a small cut on my finger
• The goo does get absorbed into fabric like any other substance with the same viscosity, but it does not allow the “spirit” to possess it like it does with metal
• The goo disappears completely when caught on fire

My theory is that this substance is created by some kind of raw emotion, maybe anger or fear. This needs to be further tested. I must find a way to more efficiently gather the liquid.

please god forgive me for what im doing

Entry #10

God i fucking HATE him, how DARE he do this after everything I’ve done for him! You will PAY henry emily, i will make sure of it! I dont need him anyway! I can make my own fucking restaurant without his help

Those fucking police officers won’t leave me alone they are almost sure it was me who killed those kids. They don’t have any evidence to prove it, I will not get caught. I am sure of it. If this notebook ever gets close to getting discovered, I will burn it down along with this basement if I have to.

Entry #11

I let her die. How could I do this to her? I am so sorry, Clara. I will make it up to you, I promise, my love.

Entry #12

I salvaged her. Clara, you will forever live on. I managed to sample just enough of her to produce the goo, all from the razor she used on herself the night she died. It was so little, but it was just enough. I injected it into the ballerina robot. Clara always loved to dance, now she will get to do so forever. My dearest, I will never let anyone take you from me ever again. I promise.

Entry #13

I completed all the tests I could think of with the liquid. The body count is bigger than initially planned, but it was worth it. Thanks to Clara, I now know how it is produced. Raw agony and enough metal can allow it to be generated. I don’t know how it’s produced, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. I have found a way to be immortal, to heal people's wounds. Finally, I will never again be in Henry Emily’s shadow.

Entry #14

I need to scrap every single animatronic used in my experiments. If I burn them all, I will produce enough of the regenerative liquid (remnant, I’ve named it) to last me decades. I have yet to see how effective larger amounts of remnant are to bigger wounds. However, I cannot be the one to go after the circus animatronics. They seem too violent, it’s too much of a risk. I need to figure out a plan. While I do that, I will find a way to break into the abandoned restaurant without being caught and dismantle the old robots. It should be easy to obtain their remnant after that.

Chapter Text

…

Michael stares. That’s all he seems to be able to do for hours, look into the last pages of this notebook – William’s notebook – as he lets the information register. But it can’t be real. There is no way his father wrote all that, there is no way he did all that.

Michael gently shuts the notebook, not quite believing it’s contents. He looks around again, his gaze lands on the jar of purple liquid – remnant, his father had called it – and he feels sick. He’d throw up if he could. His eyes don’t linger on the jar for long as he continues searching around himself, as if the objects around him hold answers to questions he can’t bring himself to linger on.

Uncapped pens and broken pencils, graphite marks on the table, old and worn down cups being used to hold even more pens and pencils, stained and rusted tools, yellowed papers with random things scribbled on them, blueprints. Blueprints.

The blueprints.

Michael’s arm moves before he even realises what he’s doing, grabbing the papers and pulling them close to inspect them once again. The chest compartments, the calming gas and the claw.

No. Michael won’t believe it. This is some sort of sick joke, it has to be.

His father may not have been the best person in the world, he may have been too aggressive at times, but he was still a good man. He raised Michael and his siblings so well. They had so many memories together, so many things they did happily. Michael loved him, and he loved Michael. He won’t deny that the Aftons started falling apart after Evans death, all because of him, but that didn’t mean his father would ever do something like this. It’s not possible.

William Afton is a good person.

He has to be a good person, because if he’s not, then what does that make Michael? He’s always been ungrateful for what he’s had, he can see that now more than ever. He was a horribly spoiled kid, he was awful. His parents were kind. Michael has always been different from them. He has always been worse.

William was always the one to reprimand Michael. He taught him everything, raised him to be who he is. And if the man who raised him, who taught him right from wrong and told him everything he needed to know, is a terrible person, then what does that mean for Michael? Is he even worse than his father? Has William always been this awful? And if so, that can only mean that Michael was always just as horrific.

He always was, and he always will be.

And Michael thinks about Evan, how he was the one to have put him in the jaws that killed him. He thinks of Elizabeth, how he was responsible for her the day she disappeared. He thinks of his mother, how he was the cause of all of her anguish. He thinks of Jeremy, how he should never have let him near that restaurant in the first place, never have let him near Michael.

And then he thinks about those kids that disappeared without a trace. He thinks of his father acting more and more unlike himself. He thinks of Charlie Emily and William's hatred for her father. And he thinks of that notebook, and those blueprints and that jar, just sitting on the table.

It’s taunting him now. He should’ve noticed.

The container smashes on the ground into a million pieces as Michael quickly pushes it off the desk. Some of the shards cut him, but he doesn’t even feel it anymore, and that makes him angrier. He wants to feel it, but even that was stripped from him.

Some of the remnant gets on his shins, and it closes some of the wounds. It makes no difference, his body no longer works.

Michael shakes as he knocks everything he can reach off of the table and the shelves. He hears things break, he catches glimpses of the mess he’s making. He continues throwing things, he steps and kicks stuff that didn’t break when falling. And he’s shaking the entire time he does so.

He wants to yell until his lungs hurt. He wants to curse at his father, curse at himself out loud.

He can’t.

It takes what feels like hours for Michael to calm enough to look around. The mess was even bigger than he expected, but he can’t bring himself to clean it all right now. So Michael simply picks up the things that look most important and puts them on the closest shelf he can reach. Some of the papers and notebooks have been covered in the remnant, and they don’t seem to be salvageable. Michael sighs and continues picking apart the stuff he needs from the rest of the broken and soaked items.

As Michael bends down to grab a notebook, he pauses at the contents of the page. It’s a design for a small disc, similar to the one he found in Funtime Freddy when he was working at Circus Baby’s. He picks up the logbook and quickly scans the description of the disc. Most of the handwriting looks like gibberish, and some of it has been scribbled out, as if William was in a hurry when he wrote this, but he can make out the basic function of the device. The illusion disc, as William named it, produces a specific type of sound frequency that, when it interacts with the brain, causes hallucinations.

He supposes that this device helped his father with his… plans. Something he plans to think about later, not being able to bring himself to do it now. Michael absentmindedly flips the page and freezes. There is a detailed drawing of the layout of his room, with scribbles and arrows around specific parts of the room. He frowns in confusion. What could his father want in his room?

Michael doesn’t want to think of the worst case scenario yet. He doesn’t want to think about this at all, so he simply sets the notebook aside for later, and continues his task of cleaning part of the room, trying not to look too closely at anything else.

Michael feels like he’s playing a kids game as he’s following the crude drawing of his own room, trying to find all the marked places. It’s hard, his room is a mess. Even more so now that that thing that was in his body took over and destroyed the house. He searches up and down, even going as far as taking his mattress off the bed, but he can’t find anything out of place.

He’s searching the top of one of his cabinets, about to give up, when he feels something brush his fingers. He concentrates, trying to grasp onto what it is and pull it down. It keeps slipping from his fingers, and his feet are starting to hurt from being on his tippy-toes when, finally, he manages to slide it close enough to the edge that he can grab it without much of a fuss. He brings it close to his face, and he blanches as he realises what it is. Why would William need to use this in his room?

The illusion disc is covered in a thin layer of dust, and Michael thinks that, if he were still normal, he wouldn’t be able to stop sneezing with it so close to his face. A wave of betrayal courses through his body as he looks down at the small disc in his hand. What did his father do to him with this?

Then he feels the guilt, the sadness. He was the one that got his family into this mess to begin with. It’s all his fault. He doesn’t deserve to feel betrayed, and he doesn’t deserve to suffer less than his siblings and his mother. He wishes he could go back.

But time marches forward, and if you don’t follow along, it’ll crush you just as quickly as it moves.

So Michael takes the disc back to the basement, ignoring the mess he didn’t clean up, and starts pouring over his fathers notes and blueprints searching for an answer. He doesn’t care how much time it takes, he will find out everything he needs to know.

It could’ve been minutes, hours or days that he spends down there. He doesn’t care, it’s not like there are any repercussions for his body. Finally, Michael finds a cluster of papers and blueprints that, between all the nonsense and scribbles and stains, he finds something. It’s small, barely anything at all, but it’s something.

It’s a small piece of paper, stained and ripped. On it, he finds a drawing of one of the discs, the word “PROTOTYPE” written right next to it. Then, a small description detailing its intended effect – produce hallucinations based on fear. Michael was never the best at science, so trying to decipher anything else that was written about how the brain worked was out of the question. It didn’t matter, anyway. What mattered is William using his fears to test a project of his. A project that he’d supposedly used to…

Michael doesn’t want to think about that right now.

No, instead, he’ll do some experimenting with this little gadget. No more extremely vivid nightmares of killer animatronics and vengeful ghosts. Michael might not be good at biology, but if there’s one advantage to being the son of William Afton, it’s the natural talent to deal with electronics.

If William could create it, Michael can use it to his advantage.

Michael knew that he would never get his old body back. He’d never get his eyes back, and he’d never get his voice back. He’d stay a weird, purple shade for the rest of his life – although he’s been thinking if his existence right now can even be considered life.

And Michael is mad about it. Of course he is, he lost the only normal thing he had going. But Michael, despite contrary belief, is extremely smart. He can come up with fairly quick solutions to problems he comes across.

He’s been exploring every crevice of the basement he can. It’s relatively small, but the amount of hidden compartments and little spaces filled with important looking notes he’s found is astounding. And he took the time to read over everything William left behind, carefully, slowly, making sure to see if there were any clues about him. The man who was once Michael’s anchor, someone he thought he knew, turned out to be a complete mystery to him now.

And Michael will do whatever it takes to make sure he can find him.

But first, he has to make some arrangements. As much as Michael hates to admit it, he needs not only himself, but the house to look presentable if he wants to be able to find William without suspicion. And so, the next few weeks are spent alternating between cleaning the house thoroughly and going to the basement to finish his experiment.

He discovers that the disc was programmed to turn on every night at the same time. Michael finds that out after he nearly shit himself as the ghosts of his family surrounded him. After that, he made sure the first thing he did when he went back to the basement was deactivate the timer.

Beside that, things seemed to be going smoothly enough, all things considered. Although his body was getting weaker and weaker. He had to resort to leaning on the walls and using a broom as a make-shift cane. He tells himself he’ll buy an actual cane when he can leave the house.

After about a month or more, Michael doesn’t pay much attention to the time anymore, he can say that most of the house looks presentable and his projects are finished and ready to be used. He sits himself inside the bathtub, he’s sure that whatever he has to do next will get messy. Next to him, he lays out the reprogrammed illusion disc, a repaired animatronic voice box, some different variations of knives and tools and, as much as he hates to use it, some salvaged remnant.

He’s hoping he won’t have to use it, but, if push comes to shove, he’ll have to do some half assed surgery on himself in this bathroom, and his body cannot heal itself anymore.

He gets to work. He tries to push the voice box down his own throat forcefully, but he can’t seem to get it where it needs to be. His throat squeezes against the gadget, almost as if trying to activate his gag reflex, but it only serves to make the process more difficult. Michael reaches blindly for one of the knives and makes a horizontal cut on his throat as carefully as he can. He doesn’t feel any pain, the only thing he can sense is the cold metal of the blade on his flesh. When he deems the cut big enough, he takes the knife out and pushes the voice box into place. Through the hole in his throat, he can prod it into position without much stress. Once he’s satisfied, he grabs a scoop of remnant, making him cringe ever so slightly, and lathers it on the wound. It closes quickly.

Michael takes a second to regain composure. His hands are shaking. He put a knife in his throat and didn’t even feel it. His throat was closing around the box and he wasn’t even affected. He looks down and sees his hands are shaking. The bathtub has a bit of blood pooling at the bottom, but not much. He’s lost most of his blood by now. Michael closes his eyes and tries to calm himself as he opens his mouth.

“Hello.” He says, a bit too robotic to truly sound like him, but at least his accent is still the same. The relief that surges through him feels like a miracle. He can speak again. He laughs ever so slightly, and the sound makes him smile. Part of his normalcy is back, and he’s not giving it away easily again.

He puts the knife back in its spot by the other tools he’s brought with him, then he reaches for the illusion disc. He looks down at it for a minute, then he grabs a flat head screwdriver and brings it up to his right eye. He breathes in and out as best as he possibly can and sticks the tool under his plastic eye, scooping it out. It pops out of its socket with ease – it disturbs Michael how easily it came loose, how he felt nothing at all. The eye rolls around in the blood of the bathtub before it comes to a stop. Michael will have to clean it before he puts it back in place.

He places the screwdriver back where it’d been and puts the small disc in his eye socket. He fiddles with it, small tracks of blood occasionally pouring out of the hole, until he deems the position of the disc good enough. He gets up from the bathtub then, making sure to clean himself before stopping in front of the mirror, pushing his now clean eye back in place. It takes a bit of effort to get it aligned, but that’s done, Michael looks down at the small control he’d made.

Once he powers on the device, what will he see? Will it work? Will he finally be able to see himself without being reminded of that dreadful night on the job? Or maybe he didn’t properly program it, and he’ll see something entirely different in the mirror. Before his thoughts can continue to spiral, he presses the button.

A sharp sound rings in his ears for a moment, and he thinks he feels the phantom pain of a migraine coming in. He closes his eyes, everything is suddenly too bright. Michael groans out, putting his hands over his ears. It does nothing to block out the noise.

The ringing stops after a few minutes, and Michael slowly lowers his arms. He blinks carefully, feeling himself get used to the light. And then he looks up at the mirror, and everything stops.

He looks just like himself again.

Chapter Text

"Father. It's me, Michael. I did it. I found it. It was right where you said it would be. They were all there. They didn't recognize me at first, but then... they thought I was you” – he sighs heavily – “and I found her. I... put her back together, just like you asked me to. She's free now.” He pauses for a second before continuing, voice strained. “But something is wrong with me. I should be dead. But I'm not. I've been living in shadows. There is only one thing left for me to do now. I'm going to come find you.”

Raw emotion coating his voice, his anger and anguish taking over, he repeats, “I’m going to come find you.”

Michael has yet to find a way to mask his odour. He’s noticed that it’s hard trying to keep a job, especially the simple ones he’s been applying to, while smelling like a rotting corpse. He’s already been fired from who knows how many jobs in customer service. And, yeah, he gets it – no one wants to be near someone that smells like they have never even heard the word “soap” before – but how the hell is he supposed to pay his bills without any money?

Michael sighs as he limps into his house, adding yet another termination letter into the growing pile on his table. It’s been another month with no electricity, but at least he had enough money to afford a proper cane for himself – he didn’t know canes were so expensive, he had to use a portion of his father’s money to even buy it. At least, in his current condition, he didn’t have to eat, so he didn’t struggle with hunger.

Although the house is dark, Michael found that he could easily modify his eyes to see in the dark. While it was weird seeing everything in a slightly green hue, he didn’t have another option if he wanted to continue his investigation into his fathers research.

Michael walks to the basement, mostly leaning on the wall to walk down the stairs. He still can’t quite figure out how to use his cane on the stairs, but it doesn’t matter much. If he falls, he wouldn’t feel much besides some mild frustration at having to get up. Although, from the few times he has, in fact, fallen, he noticed an odd development; he’s been getting up with a lot more ease. And while he’d normally chalk it up to gradually getting used to this body, he can feel that that’s not exactly what’s happening. His legs no longer shake much when he exerts himself, he can no longer hear the slight creak his bones seem to let out when he puts too much pressure on them. And he can’t seem to figure out how that’s possible – his body isn’t capable of healing itself anymore, much less strengthening.

So he throws himself into his father’s research, hoping to find answers to all these things that don’t really add up. Searching for ways to help himself and every other poor soul who’s been forced into a body that doesn’t belong to them.

Michael reaches the bottom of the stairs, making his way back to the desk he’s spent most of his free time at, scouring every single document and book he can find, deciphering every last line and trying his best to understand rushed handwriting and scattered codes. If there is one thing he managed to find out, it’s that William Afton has found a way to keep himself from dying, and he isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. And if there is one thing Michael is determined to do, no matter what, is to find where he is, and end the misery he started.

If not for himself, then for Evan and Elizabeth, his mom and every innocent kid that had their lives ripped away from them for the sake of an experiment. There is something that every Afton has in their blood – stubbornness. And Michael is nothing if not stubborn. He refuses to go down without a fight this time.

So Michael sits himself on the creaky desk chair and tries to make sense of the puzzles William has left behind.

Michael is pulled away from his work by a sudden thump coming from above him. He doesn’t actually know how long he’s been in the basement without leaving – maybe a day or two? But the house is always silent, no matter what hour of the day. There is no one left to make any noise aside from himself. But right now, Michael can’t bring himself to go check on whatever it was that just made that noise. It can’t be more important than what he’s currently doing anyway. It can wait.

Until he hears another noise, followed by the very obvious sounds of someone swearing. Then Michael is standing in alert, reaching for his cane and going up the stairs as fast as he can. There is someone in his house, and they cannot see the secrets he hides in his basement, no matter what.

As he’s fumbling to get up the stairs, he reaches for his pocket and quickly presses the button to activate his illusion disk. He hears more noises, and he can’t help but think that whoever broke in is terrible at doing so.

Michael closes the basement door as quietly as he can, making sure to lock it behind him. He tries his best to stealthily move towards the noise, assessing his situation. Whoever it is, they can’t kill him or harm him. But if they try to do so only to find that Michael can’t actually die, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. How can he possibly fix that situation?

He makes his way to the entrance of the living room, peering around the wall to examine the person. They look unarmed and clumsy and mostly harmless. They’re looking at old family portraits Michael never bothered to put away, gently touching the pictures. They’re not too tall, but Michael can tell that he’s still shorter than them. They have dark blond hair and are holding themselves up with crutches. Michael can’t make out any more features as they’re facing away.

Michael can’t fathom why someone would break into a random house while injured just to stare at random family pictures. So Michael schools his expression and steps into the living room, deciding that whoever is in front of him isn’t going to cause him harm.

“Hey!” He says, voice firm. The person startles, and turns around to look at Michael. As they do, Michael makes a note of what they look like. They have one blue eye and another pale, almost cloudy. There are weirdly symmetrical scars over their misty eye and part of their forehead. Light freckles scatter over his pale skin, and Michael can’t quite place why they look almost… familiar.

“Wh-what are you doing here?!” The person asks, slurring their words ever so slightly. “What am I doing here? This is my house! What the hell are you doing here?!” Michael asks, taken aback at the question. “And how did you get in?”

“The window was op-open, so I climbed in. I thought this place was aban-abandoned!” The person answered, and Michael noted the subtle lisp they had. “So you just came in?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

The person didn’t even look slightly embarrassed as they stood there. For a second, they both stood there, staring at each other. And then Michael saw the scrutinizing gaze directed at him, as if he was the out of place person here. “Why do you have, have these pictures?” They asked, motioning to the family portraits behind them.

Michael looked at them as if they were stupid for a second. “That’s my family and I, why wouldn’t I have them?” Michael doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining this person like this. He should just kick them out and continue on with his life as if this never happened. He should probably start locking his windows now, too.

The person tilted their head, looking even more confused. “No they aren’t, I knew that family. You’re not even in the, in the photos.” Now Michael is even more confused. Because of course he was in the pictures, he even remembers being very irritated as a teen at having to take a family photo. And he also had no idea who this person was, but they seemed to have some kind of mental problems if they just went around breaking into houses and questioning the owner about their pictures.

Michael sighs, going towards the phone. Maybe the police would take this person back to wherever they live. “What’s your name?” Michael asks, picking up the phone and starting to dial the number. “Jeremy.” The person answers. “Jeremy Fitz-Fitzgerald.”

Michael freezes, his finger still hovering over the dials.

No. That’s not possible. Michael had prepared himself for the worst back in 1987. He had convinced himself that the boy with the bright blond hair and bubbly personality, the boy who had stayed by his side despite everything, was dead. He had made himself believe it was true, made himself believe he had lost everyone who had once maybe loved him for who he was.

But now, that boy grew up, and was standing in Michael’s living room. He had jumped through the window of Michael’s house and was staring at him as if silently questioning what Michael was doing.

Michael slammed the phone down on the receiver as he turned around. Jeremy blinked, looking somewhat taken aback at the aggressiveness of the action Michael's just done. And now that Michael is looking at him again, he can see where that sense of familiarity had come from.

Because now that Jeremy had grown – had survived the bite that was supposed to be fatal – he looked different, but if Michael looked, and allowed himself to believe for the first time since 1987 that Jeremy was alive, he could see all the similarities. The blue eyes, curly hair, little freckles that became more visible in the sunlight and even the little gap between his two front teeth. He still looked to be around the same height, and doesn’t seem to have lost the very last traces of his adolescence, but it was Jeremy.

Jeremy was standing right there, breathing and living and with the proof of his survival portrayed right on his face in the form of scars and a blind eye.

Jeremy tilts his head as Michael stares at him. He probably looks like a gaping fish, but the only thing he can concentrate on is the man in front of him. And as he stares, he’s brought back to that night – watching a scene he could’ve prevented unfold in front of him through the glass door. The blood, the glass shards, the tears and the soft look in his eyes despite it all. “I love you” he’d said, as if he knew that Michael had only heard someone tell him that once or twice in his life. As if he needed Michael to know that he wasn’t alone.

He wonders if Jeremy would still say that to him now.

Michael inches closer, but Jeremy just continues looking at him with that look of confusion. And Michael still isn’t entirely convinced this is real. For a second, he considers that maybe he’s dreaming. He shakes the thought away, he doesn’t even sleep anymore. But this is too good to be true, isn’t it? Good things don’t happen to Michael anymore, they haven’t happened in a long time.

Maybe the illusion disks have side effects he didn’t know of. Maybe he made a mistake while tinkering with it and the errors are only showing now. Maybe frequent exposure to the sound waves the disks emit cause side effects his father hadn’t discovered and–

He touches Jeremy's arm, holds it and feels the flesh move under his palm. He squeezes tighter, and Jeremy doesn’t disappear right before his eyes. He stays there, and his expression changes in a miniscule way as Michael gets closer, as he feels his emotions bubble up inside him. And Jeremy, with those eyes that have always given Michael the time of day, looks down at him. He opens his mouth to speak, and Michael thinks of the kind, reassuring words he’d heard as a teen come from the person standing right in front of him, and–

“You stink.” Jeremy says, and Michael’s suddenly reminded of what he’s doing. He pulls away quickly and looks away. Jeremy cringes. “Sorry.” He says, but Michael knows he’s right. He doesn’t hold it against him. “It’s fine.”

“Well I, uh, better get going then. Can I take one of these pictures?” Jeremy asks as he’s already picking up one of the framed portraits of his family. Michael just watches him for a second, then Jeremy makes his way to the window. He sits on the windowsill, letting his crutches lean on the wall, and grabs his leg, throwing it out the window. As he does so, Michael realizes what he’s doing.

“Wait– Jeremy! Do you… not recognize me?” Jeremy looks back at him, looking him up and down. Michael thinks it’s a bit of a stupid and hypocritical question. He didn’t recognize Jeremy at first, and it was clear that Jeremy didn’t recognize him either. But a part of Michael thought that that wasn’t possible, the illusion he made of himself is almost identical to how he looked in the very same pictures Jeremy was looking at.

“No.” Jeremy answers simply, moving to throw his other leg out the window. Michael moves to stop him, resting a hand on his knee. “Wait, Jeremy… It’s me, Michael. You remember me, don’t you?” Michael asks, his voice hesitant. Because it’s too good to be true for Jeremy to be alive. Too good to be true for him to just show up at his house. Of course, Jeremy wouldn’t remember him.

But then Michael sees the way that Jeremy’s eyes widened, the way his breath hitched. He felt him tense under his palm. And then Jeremy reaches out to him, just like Michael did earlier, and rests his hand on his shoulder, then his neck, his jaw and then his cheek.

“Michael..?” He questions in a whispered voice, the touch of his hand feather light as it traces over his face. “Is it really you?” Michael shuts his eyes as Jeremy's hand skims over them. He smiles slightly. “Yeah, it’s really me.”

Michael is quickly pulled into a hug – something that hasn't happened in so long that it startles him more than it should've. He tenses slightly, feeling Jeremy's hands grip his back, before easing into it. He throws his arms around Jeremy and sinks into the feeling of being held after so long. It's reassuring in a way that's foreign to him now.

He pulls away, keeping his hands on Jeremy's shoulders, as if he's still concerned that Jeremy will disappear if he stops touching him. “I know I said you sti-stink, but I was enjoying that hug.” Michael startles out a laugh as Jeremy grins up at him from his spot on the window.

“Get down from there first, then tell me what the hell led you to break into my house.”

“I genuinely thought this place was abandoned. It looks horrible from the outside.” Michael chuckles, looking down slightly. “Yeah, I get that. I don't put much effort into cleaning up the place.”

“That much is obvious.” Jeremy says, then scrunches up his face subtly, cringing. Michael looks at him questioningly from his spot on the couch, but Jeremy doesn't seem to notice.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Michael asks. “Doing what?” Jeremy cocks his head in confusion, and for a second he looks younger. Too young to have ever experienced the horrors he went through.

“You say something and then immediately cringe at yourself. You’ve never done that before” Michael is very aware that this might be a stupid question – it’s been years since he last saw Jeremy after all – but this is still so unlike him.

Jeremy stares at him for a moment, looking as if he's trying to find the right words. Michael waits patiently for his response, and if he decides not to say anything, Michael will pretend he never even asked. He owes Jeremy that much at the very least.

Jeremy glances at his crutches before looking back at Michael. “You know what hap-happened that night, back in ‘87.” Jeremy says slowly, and Michael winces, staring down at the floor. Of course he knows, he saw it happen.

“The doctors said it was, uh, a miracle I even survived.” Jeremy continues. Michael makes sure to pay attention to every single little detail. “But they also said that I was never going to be, uhm, be able to go back to normal.” Jeremy takes a breath.

“I can't walk properly anymore, but that much is obv-obvious” – He gestures to his crutches – “and I'm blind in one eye now. But that's just the, uhm, the physical part. They said my front- uh, frontal lobe got damaged. And because of that, my behaviour is just… different now.”

Jeremy looks ashamed of himself as he looks away, and Michael wants to say something – anything – that would comfort him, but before he can even think about something to say, Jeremy continues. “The doctors said it was normal for people with my, uh, condition to lose their filter. I've offended a lot of people by accident.” He chuckles, but it doesn't seem genuine. Michael only smiled sympathetically, even though Jeremy has yet to look back at him.

“I also stutter now, which is ju-just so annoying.” At that, he looks back at Michael, and he can't quite decipher the look in Jeremy's eyes. “So, yeah, I can't control myself or my words properly. That's why I, uhm, do that.” He finishes, and Michael just smiles softly at him.

It's quiet for a while, before Jeremy speaks again. “What's been up with you, though? You look terrible.” 

Michael freezes. How could he possibly explain ‘what’s been up’ with him?

But Jeremy mistakes his shift in demeanor. “Oh, uh, sorry. You don’t look that bad.” He says, awkwardly grinning. Michael blinks, glancing back at Jeremy. “Oh no, it’s fine. I’m unpleasantly aware of how shitty I look. It’s just…” Michael slowly turns to look around the room.

His gaze wanders past the photographs of what was supposed to be a normal family, traces the scattered dolls and toy robots he’d somewhat organized when cleaning the house. He looks at the wilted flower sitting in its vase on top of the dining table, eight chairs circled around it – five for the family, the rest for visitors. All evidence that the house was once a home.

The place is empty now. Cold and dead.

The chair at the right end of the table still awaits the head of the house. The flower wilted away just like the one who took care of it. The toys are still waiting for the tiny hands that adored them to come back.

The worn down couch beneath him that had once held a family for movie nights now only feels the weight of the eldest son – withering away, but unable to move on – and the one person who ever understood him, now a familiar stranger.

Michael is aware that it is all his fault. This place will never be a home again because of him.

But the innocent kids, victims of an angry and hate filled man, had nothing to do with Michael's wrongdoings. So he will keep fighting, keep searching, to free them from the prison William had trapped them in.

But… how the hell does he explain all that to Jeremy without sounding like a fucking maniac?

Michael takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then lets it out in a sigh. He looks back at Jeremy, who stares at him, waiting patiently. Michael averts his gaze again, looking down at his lap, staring at his fidgeting hands.

He doesn’t even know where to start.

Even so, he wills himself to open his mouth and say something. “Well, it’s… a long story.” Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

Jeremy chuckles. “Yeah, I bet it is.” He looks away from Michael and gazes ahead at the TV. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I get it. I remember… a little of what was happening with your family. Not any details since, well – y’know.” He laughs breathily, gesturing at the scar on his face. “But,” he continues, “I know it must hurt.”

Michael stares at Jeremy as the other looks ahead. Then, he shakes his head and sighs. He feels like he’s been doing that a lot lately. “To be honest,” Michael starts, “it’s nothing like that. It kinda hurts to think about everything, sure, but mostly… I’m pissed off.” Jeremy finally looks back at him, a confused expression painting his face. “I just… found out a lot of shit that makes no sense, and it’s fucked up and it’s hard to talk about because I’m going to sound insane. I… don’t want to scare you off.” Michael looks away, exhaling shakily. “You’re the last person I have left. I don’t want to get you hurt again because of my mess.”

Michael shuts his eyes and waits. He waits for confusion. For laughter. For accusations of insanity.

There’s silence for a long time. And then, Jeremy speaks. “I’m not gonna lie, that sounds overly dramatic.” He chuckles faintly in the silence, and Michael feels a twinge of disappointment, even though he expected this. “But,” Jeremy pauses, “I believe it.”

Michael’s eyes widen with surprise, but he refrains from looking back at Jeremy. He’s afraid for the first time in a while. Afraid of the expression that will be on his face when he looks back. Afraid of mockery. But Jeremy continues talking, and Michael can’t detect any of that in his voice, even if he tries. “I mean, look at what’s already hap-happened. At this point, I don’t doubt anything. Especially coming from your family.” Jeremy pauses. “No offence.” He says, a little later than what most would expect.

Michael lets out a breathy laugh, and puts a hand to his face. He hears Jeremy laugh too, soft and calm despite everything. “None taken. You’re right, anyway.” Michael responds, looking back up at Jeremy. He’s grinning, and Michael feels like a teenager again, just hanging out with friends and laughing at stupid jokes. He missed this, more than he’d like to admit. He’s become bitter, but maybe he’s more human than what he’d made himself believe.

“Y’know,” Michael breaks the moment, “since this situation is too ridiculous to believe, how about I show you what’s happening instead of just explaining it. More believable that way.” He proposes, and Jeremy nods. “Yeah, probably a good id-idea.”

“Wow, uh. This is… a lot.” Jeremy says, looking around the messy basement, occasionally trying to make sense of the scattered documents in his hands and the blueprints on the table. Michael pulls the swivel chair away from the desk and plops down on it, trying to look calm about all this. He knows Jeremy would never purposely tell anyone about all this, but with his lack of a filter… Michael is ashamed to say that he is very afraid of this secret getting out.

“Why haven’t you told any-anyone?” Jeremy asks, looking over at Michael as he gently puts the notes down. “Why?” Michael asks, incredulous. He’d think the reason is pretty damn obvious. “You could’ve gotten help by now, tracked him down.” Jeremy adds, turning towards Michael.

“Who would’ve even helped me? Better yet, who would ever believe me?” Michael sits up straighter. “These kids’ parents would’ve helped. I’m su-sure they’re dying to rip your dad apart – well, if they knew.” Michael scoffs.

“I can’t trust them. I’d have to show this place to them for them to believe me, and who’s to say they wouldn’t get suspicious of me, the only family member left? What if they contact the police?” Michael says, and Jeremy lets out a little ‘huh’ at that. He hadn’t thought of that. “Besides, if they did believe and trust me, I’d still not be able to trust them to act sanely. Their kids got fucking murdered, for christs sake.”

Michael sighs. He’s getting frustrated thinking about hypotheticals – that’s a new low for him. He hasn’t done that since before he died, really. “Well, I believe and trust you.” Jeremy says, grinning. “And I’m acting san-sanely about all this.” Michael gawks at him for a moment. Then aggressively gets up out of his chair. “No. Absolutely not.” Michael says, turning around and grabbing his cane before marching his way up the stairs.

“Oh c’mon, why, why not?” Jeremy asks, following after Michael. “Why not?!” Michael exclaims, turning toward Jeremy as he appears at the top of the basement stairs. “Because it’s dangerous! Look at you! You’ve already been hurt, next time you might get killed, Jeremy! Killed!”

“You’re really under-underestimating me?! For what? The bite?” Jeremy yells, slamming the door to the basement stairs behind him. It rattles in its frame. Neither notice.

“I’m not underestimating you! I’m fucking worried!”

“Worry about yourself! I’m just as capa-capable as you are! Why won’t you ever accept any help?!”

“You don’t understand, Jeremy! It doesn’t matter if I get hurt, but you-”

“If I don’t understand, then explain! Let me, let me help, Michael! Goddammit!” Jeremy interrupts, slamming his fist against the door in rage. His hand goes right through the old wood, and the door shakes. “Oh, fuck!” Jeremy screams, wanking his hand back and holding it close to his chest in pain.

Michael rushes forward, reaching out to inspect Jeremy’s hand, but Jeremy pulls away, scowling at him. Michael puts his hands down. “Okay, fine. You want me to explain? You want to know?” Jeremy says nothing, just continues glaring. Michael takes a step back.

“You want to know why it doesn’t make a difference if I get hurt or not?” Michael runs a hand through his hair, a nervous laugh escaping him. His hand slides down behind his ear. “Did you ever stop to think about why I smell so bad? Or why I need a cane?” Jeremy's scowl shifts, and he looks confused. Michaels finger hovers over his illusion disk. He presses down.

He doesn’t feel anything happening, but he knows the disk turned off the moment Jeremy lets out a scream. “Oh God, what– what are you?” Jeremy huddles into the wall farthest away from Michael, face contorted into an expression Michael’s never seen before. He can't tell if it’s fear, disgust or both.

Michael grins, and it’s a bitter thing plastered onto his face. He hates this. “Dead.” Michael responds.