Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Should he get up early and sneak out the house? 

Should he get up at the usual time and just get it over with? 

Mike lay in bed and stared out the window. His bedroom looked out onto the endless fields of maize surrounding their house. It was a bright summer dawn, and light was already seeping through the clouds. He hadn’t bothered to change into pyjamas. In fact, he’d only been back for an hour. 

“Be home by nine, Mikey!” His mother had given him a tight hug before he walked out the door. He had nodded obediently before turning and rolling his eyes. Down the track he had gone, past the sun-scorched fields and into the town. The whole gang had been there, waiting for him. 

Seven o’clock. A graffiti contest. Everyone was bent double from laughing so hard at the increasingly rude slogans. Nine o’clock. Sweets from the store. The clerk asked where their parents were, and Mike flipped the bird. Ten o’clock. Too late to go home now. Ben’s parents were out of town, so they went to his place. Twelve o’clock. Jeremy found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and they decided to try alcohol for the first time. Mike hated how it numbed his throat. He drank it anyway. One o’clock. Vomiting into the garbage can. Two o’clock. Sleeping on the floor. Five o’clock. He dragged himself home, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of darkened windows. 

During all the fun, he had felt invincible. Now, his heart thudded in time to each tick of the clock. Running away would make things worse. He decided to wait. Face it like a man. 

He got up and changed into a fresh shirt. After grabbing his school bag, he loped downstairs. 

William Afton was, by all appearances, a typical specimen of the white middle-class male. But there were certain things about him, different things. Things that Mike had only started to notice as he reached the age of teenage rebellion. For example, as a child, Mike thought his dad was really good at hide-and-seek. Now, he thought his dad got some sick kick out of sneaking up on people. 

Thinking himself alone, Mike grabbed a pop tart from the cupboard and went to leave. He turned around. And there he was. His father William, standing in the corner, just out of sight from the doorway.  

“When did you get back?” 

Michael’s mouth gaped like a goldfish. William wore a clean, pressed shirt. He even had a tie and shoes on. No way had he just woken up. He'd been waiting for him.

“Just last night, dad,” he said at last, turning the pop tart over in his hands.  

William sighed and shook his head as he walked over to his son. His pale eyes scanned the boy. 

“I heard you coming in. Now we’re going to talk about it. Just you and me.” 

“Is Mom awake?” 

“I'm taking care of this. She’s already worried sick. You’re going to tell her you came back at twelve; not that that's much better, mind.” 

William’s voice was hard and flat as a wooden plank. He pinched a fold of Mike’s shirt and held it out, looking at the material as if searching for something. 

“I was getting ready for school,” Mike said. 

“It’s Saturday.” 

“Oh.” 

“Do you remember what I told you yesterday?” 

Michael’s eyes shot down to the hand holding his shirt. Since he’d turned thirteen, a new tension had begun to bubble whenever his dad spoke with him. All his life, he’d been a perfect son. Obedient, respectful, quiet. Now everything was exploding out against his better judgement. 

“You didn’t say anything. Mom spoke to me, not you.” 

William placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder. The touch was light at first, before suddenly turning into a painful grip.  

“You said nine, home by nine,” Michael said. Then under his breath, he added, “Whatever.” 

“Don’t disrespect me.” 

William didn’t raise his voice. Michael had heard his classmates’ parents really laying into them. Yelling their names, screeching in frustration, ranting like gobbling turkeys. But his father didn’t need any of that to make his point. 

“Now, Michael, what did I say?” 

“To be home by nine. I’m sorry, alright?!” 

His dad tilted his head.

“Are you stupid, Michael?” 

Michael tensed his muscles as something clicked in his brain. So often, the anger would do this. It roared out of the young boy in a storm, only to collapse once his father said the right words. In the wake of the fury would come the humiliation. Because he could handle his dad thinking he was bad; he couldn't handle his dad thinking he was dumb.

“No.” 

“You obviously didn’t forgot what you were told. So why didn’t you do it? Are you stupid?” 

“...Yeah." He wished for all the world that he could disappear. When he piped up again, his tone was pleading. “I didn’t mean to, I was just having fun.” 

“Oh, well, that changes everything.” William folded his arms and leant back, regarding Michael like a mysterious stain on the floor. “As long as you were having fun, everything is okay, isn’t it? We’ve got to make sure Michael is having fun.” 

Michael could feel the sting of oncoming tears. The shame of this burned into his throat, eviscerating any comebacks that may have been brewing in his mind. 

“I’m really sorry, Dad.” He took a slow breath, willing the tears to stay back. “I’ll never do it again.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

Michael glanced down at the pop tart still clenched in one hand. He’d crushed it without realising, sending a little rainbow of crumbs down onto the kitchen tiles. William bent down onto one knee so he was face-to-face with his son. 

"Are you crying?"

"No, no, I'm not!" Mike said, blinking hard.

“You'd better not. Did you do anything bad while you were with those boys?” 

“We...” 

“Tell me the truth.” 

“We drew graffiti. We drank some whiskey stuff, too.” 

William shut his eyes for a moment. A quiet groan escaped from him as he processed the news. At last, he spoke again. 

“Did anyone see you?” 

“It was just me and the guys from school, no-one saw it.” Michael met his father’s stare. It felt like William could see the inner workings of his brain just by looking into his eyes, and he shivered. “No adults saw it or anything.” 

Michael gasped in pain as his father’s fist connected with his head. He was suddenly on the floor, staring as the polished black shoes through blurry eyes. William’s vice-like grip snapped around his shoulders once again as he was pulled back onto his feet. 

For one hideous moment, nothing happened. He braced himself for another blow as best he could with an already spinning head. But instead of pain came a sudden flood of warmth. His father was hugging him tightly. 

“I’m not happy to hear that. But it could have been worse, hm? You know everyone in town knows who you are, don’t you?” 

The memory of flipping off the cashier floated into Michael’s mind. He shoved it down, genuinely petrified that his father would somehow see his memories. But William just gave a nod and let his lips curl up into a hint of a smile. 

“Well done for being honest with me. I know you don’t mean to disappoint me, son,” he said. There was so much tenderness in his voice that Michael’s tears finally broke free. He let out a coughing sob as he wrapped his arms around his dad. 

William gently rubbed his back, slowly easing the wracking breaths that rocked Michael’s body. 

“I’m so sorry, dad.” 

“I know you are, kiddo. You’ll do better next time. You know what they say: tomorrow is another day. Come on.” 

Without any resistance, Michael let William scoot him out into the living room. He was led to the sofa, where his father gestured for him to take a seat before sitting down next to him. 

“You understand everything I said to you?” 

“Yeah, Dad, I do – I'm sorry.” 

“Atta boy.” He deposited the TV remote on the boy’s lap. “Here. Relax for a bit, okay? Still got the rest of your weekend.” 

William wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Michael leant against his side in turn. The crisp white shirt felt soft against his cheek. It smelt of citrusy washing powder. He switched the TV on, but didn’t bother to surf through any channels, leaving the morning news to flicker away in the background. Normally he would be switching straight to the cartoons. Today, though, his mind was distracted. He rested his forehead against his dad’s chest, ignoring the unpleasant sensation as his dark fringe flicked into his eyes. 

Elizabeth was the next to wake up, albeit a good while after her brother. She skipped down the stairs and smiled at the sight of Mike and her father flopped on the sofa. 

“Morning! Did you have fun, Mikey?” 

“Sure he did,” William said, giving Michael a squeeze. “Now. You want cereal or toast?” 

“Toast, please!” 

William got to his feet, letting Michael’s limp body slip off his chest like water. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, mom.” 

Mike paced across the soft carpet and perched on the edge of his mother’s bed. The curtains were drawn. Dulled yellow light filtered in from the window behind, barely illuminating the sallow face on the pillow. He reached out to stroke the mess of thin blonde hair. 

“Mikey,” said the voice. It was weak, barely perceptible. 

“Hey,” he said again, forcing a little smile. “Are you hungry? I’m gonna make dinner now.” 

“No.” Soft and rasping. A dying sparrow. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll save some just in case you get hungry later. Love you.” 

“Evan.” 

Mike tensed. His fingers played against the frills decorating the hems of the pillowcase. 

“They’re fine, Mom, they’re just playing.” 

“That’s. Good.” 

The young boy leaned down to kiss the forehead gently. 

“Love you.” 

And without another word passing between them, he left. 

Beyond that quiet sanctity of the bedroom upstairs was chaos. A piercing squeal from Elizabeth suddenly pierced through his ears, and he bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time. In his haste, he didn’t see the plastic dinosaurs lying at the bottom. 

“Ow! Damn it!” He almost tripped as he grabbed his sore foot. A spiny stegosaurus had punctured little dots into the skin. With another groan, half of pain and half of frustration, he dashed towards the sound of his little sister. 

Elizabeth was in the kitchen, standing on a little stool so she could reach the sink easier. She was elbow-deep in a mountain of bubbles that foamed over the counter and dripped onto the floor. Evan sat on the windowsill, kicking his feet into the water below and giggling madly. 

“Stop it!” Elizabeth said, giggling as well as she tried to swipe his feet. 

“What the hell are you doing?”  

At the sound of Mike’s voice, both children froze. Elizabeth put her arms behind her back, as if to hide the soapy suds on her hands. 

“Evan needed a bath because his feet stink,” she said.   

“You’re gonna ruin the floor, you idiot!” Mike hauled her off the stool and reached out to grab Evan, who screamed in protest. In his struggle to escape, the boy’s flailing arms hit the overburdened dish drainer, sending an avalanche of plates and cups to the floor. All three yelled in horror as the crockery exploded into shards. 

“Look what you did! Damn it, Evan!” Mike howled in frustration and tightened his hold on his brother, who still squirmed in his arms. “Stop wriggling, you’ll cut your feet!” 

After depositing his bare-footed sibling a safe distance from the broken plates, he turned a venomous glare on Elizabeth. Her face was pale as she surveyed the damage. 

“I’m sorry, Mikey,” she said, looking up at him pitifully. He could never quite tell if she was putting that innocent expression on or if she genuinely felt bad. Regardless, it wasn’t a face he could stay angry with, however much he may wish to. 

“Just think next time, okay?” he said. “Go in the living room and watch TV or something, I need to clean up.” 

Elizabeth happily took the invitation and scampered off, rolling down the sleeves of her blouse as she did. Evan stayed behind, looking after her mournfully before eyeing Mike. 

“I’m sorry too,” he said. Tears begun to build in his wide eyes. Unlike his sister, there was never any doubt as to whether Evan really felt sorry.  

“It’s fine,” Mike said, his voice hard. He ruffled Evan’s hair despite a hint of reluctance. “I’m sorry I yelled. But seriously, stop doing stupid stuff behind my back.” 

With a nod, Evan turned and ran after his sister. Mike let a long sigh escape as he looked back over to the mess. 

It took a good half hour to get things back in order. The first bin bag soon tore under the burden of a hundred sharp ceramic pieces. After double-bagging the rubbish, there was the homemade flood to tackle. His jeans stuck to his skin as he knelt down to mop up the water. 

In short, it was absolute misery. But there was one saving grace that kept playing in his mind as he calculated the cost of all that broken tableware: at least dad’s not here to see it. 

And the universe laughed at him. 

“Michael, what’s going on?” 

Michael yelped as his dad appeared in the doorway. It couldn’t be, he was never home before 10 PM these days. He slipped as he hurried to stand, arms flailing to correct himself, to get up, to get away. William stood in an eerie, calm silence, watching his son without emotion.

“Dad! It was an accident, I swear! We were just playing about.” 

William’s watery eyes flicked between his son and the bin bag. Mike hadn’t tied the top yet, and it openly bore its contents for anyone to see. 

“We?” 

“I mean, I mean...” Mike wavered. At the edge of his hearing, he could just make out the sound of Evan giggling at some cartoon show. “I was messing about in the sink, trying to throw water at Evan and Liz. And I – I hit the rack with my elbow. It was an accident though.” 

“Why don’t you ever think, Michael?” His voice was calm, just as usual. So calm.  

“It’s not a big deal, I cleaned it up. I’ll, uh, I’ll pay it back, promise.” 

“That’s not the point, is it?”  

Despite his level tone, Michael could see the muscles about his neck and mouth tightening. His eyes were just a little too wide, his stance a little too rigid. The boy stepped back, only to skid again on the slick tiles. This time he couldn’t keep his balance. With a smack, he landed hard on his back. His father leant down over him like a wolf cornering wounded prey.  

“You destroyed my things, Michael, things I paid for. Why don't you ever learn?” 

“What’s with the scarf?” 

“Got a cold.” 

Charlie kicked her legs against the brick wall they were sitting on. Her trainers clattered against the surface like a metronome.  

“Really?” she asked. 

Mike gave an exasperated sigh. He had hoped his raspy voice would help him pull off the deception, but Charlie was still throwing him a doubtful look. 

“Course, why the hell else would I wear it? It’s fricking hot.” 

It was hot, unbearably hot. The summer days were merciless. Not even the evenings could offer relief. And there he was, in a loose shirt and shorts, wearing his thickest winter scarf. 

Charlie gave a small ‘Huh’ and went back to her chalk drawing. They had covered most of the wall in scribbles, so they had resorted to drawing on the top surface now. A little scene was taking shape in the space between them. With a yellow piece of chalk, Charlie carefully added the finishing touches to a little Freddy picture. 

Mike looked down at their illustration, too. He twirled a thick red chalk stick between his fingers, taking comfort in the distraction it provided for his senses. Every part of his body was burning, both inside and out. For some reason he couldn’t quite understand, he desperately wanted to cry again. 

“So anyway, why’d you need to keep your throat warm with a scarf when it’s hot already?” 

“Just drop it!” 

He scowled down at the half-drawn Foxy he’d begun. He spat on the chalk and rubbed the picture out furiously with his thumb. 

“Aww, it was so good, too!” Charlie said, staring at the smeared dust as if he’d just erased the Mona Lisa.  

“It was crap. I’m drawing something else,” Mike said. 

“But you said you’d draw the band with me!” 

Although he didn’t lift his face, his eyes met hers in a dower stare. 

“Sorry, Charlie,” he said. “I guess I don’t feel like it anymore. Can we just... Argh! Can I just help with it next time?” 

“Sure,” she said, brow furrowing at his increasing frustration. “Why are you so mad?” 

“I don’t know. Guess ‘cause I’m sick.” 

“Let’s go in and I’ll get Dad to make you a sick drink.” 

“Sick drink?” He wrinkled his nose. “What’s that? It sounds gross.” 

“Not like that. Eww!” She gave him a little push. “It’s a drink you have for when you’re sick so your throat feels better.” 

“Fine.” 

The kids jumped off the wall and headed back to Charlie’s place. The wall marked the boundaries of a small neighbourhood park; her street was just on the other side. Most of the local kids had also taken advantage of the warm summer evening. Every inch of the grounds teemed with children playing ball, spinning hoops, or jumping rope. Happy squeals and screams filled the air, even drowning out the sound of car traffic nearby. 

Mike’s thoughts wandered as they made their way through the sea of fun and games. Every now and then he’d see a gaggle of parents sitting at a bench or picnic blanket, chatting and watching their children play. It was difficult not to stare. He looked over at Charlie, who was ploughing on without a second glance at anything.  

“Dad! Dad, Dad, Dad!” Charlie’s voice bellowed through the house as she swung open the door. Mike flinched as she let the handle bang into the wall, imagining what kind of massive dent she could have made. The young girl didn’t care, or perhaps she didn’t even think about such things. She just bolted up the stairs, yelling like a foghorn. 

“In here, Charlie!” Henry’s muffled voice responded from a room upstairs. “Be there in a second!” 

It was always fascinating for Mike. No matter how much she stomped about, or spilt paint, or yelled indoors, Henry never got angry. Maybe he waited to scold her until Mike left so he didn’t embarrass him? No way could Charlie just get away with it all the time. He readjusted his scarf as Henry appeared at the top of the stairs, his daughter clinging onto his back like a monkey. 

“Mikey needs a sick drink,” Charlie announced. 

“Yikes, got a cold?” Henry said, giving Mike a sympathetic smile as he awkwardly made his way downstairs.  

“Yeah, but you don’t have to, Uncle Henry,” Mike said, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Ah, it’s no trouble.” Henry marched into the kitchen, swaying about with each step so that Charlie had to hang on even tighter to keep her grip. She laughed madly as she clung to his shirt. “That’s some pretty rough luck though, getting a cold in the summer break!” 

The sick drink turned out to be blackcurrant juice mixed with hot water and honey. It wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice on a warm afternoon, but it tasted pretty good, and Mike finished it in three gulps.  

It was only when he put the glass down that he realised he might have tilted his chin up too high. Charlie was sitting with him at the dining table, watching with wide eyes. With a small, fake cough, he slid the scarf higher up and smiled. 

“Thanks, Uncle Henry,” he said. “It’s pretty good for something called a sick drink.” 

Henry nodded and grabbed the glass. 

“Heh, well, it does sound pretty gross,” he said with a chuckle. “Not one I’d put on the menu, for sure.” 

Mike laughed a little too keenly, trying to avoid meeting Charlie’s eyes. A bead of sweat ran down his back. 

“I should probably go though, I don’t wanna stink up your house with germs or anything.” 

“You sure?” Henry asked. “It’s very nice of you, Mikey, but we’re pretty used to germs with this little gremlin around.” 

Charlie ducked down as her father ruffled her mousy hair. She was smiling, but he could see a kind of distance clouding her eyes. 

“I’m sure, Uncle Henry.” 

“I’ll walk you back, Mikey,” Charlie said quickly. “Just wait outside and I’ll change my shoes.” 

She’d been wearing her blue trainers all day without any sign of discomfort. Swallowing his sense of unease as silly paranoia, Mike just nodded and headed out, thanking Henry again as he left. 

The sun-baked tarmac burnt Mike’s bare legs as he sat on the curb, idly watching fat flies darting through thick air. He waited, and he waited.  

“How long does it even take to switch your shoes?” With a disgruntled look at his wristwatch, he realised Charlie had already been ten minutes getting changed. He was just about to head back in and check on her when he heard the door open. 

“Finally!” he said, hopping up eagerly. But instead of Charlie, he saw Henry’s bulky form making his way towards the street curb. “Is Charlie okay?” 

“Charlie’s fine,” Henry said, smiling as he approached. “She’ll be out in a minute, just grabbing some ice pops for the road. Hey, Mikey?” 

“Yeah?” 

Henry stopped in front of the boy. His arms hung awkwardly at his side, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether or not to touch Mike. Finally, he settled on patting his shoulder. It reminded Mike of his dad, except it didn’t. Henry’s hand felt soft. It didn’t grab or pinch. 

“You know,” Henry began slowly, “when you call me ‘Uncle’ - I want you to know that’s not just a thing you have to call me because I’m your dad’s friend. We’re family, okay? Same with all your siblings. I want you to know you can count on me if you’re ever in need of some help, alright?” 

“Sure,” Mike said. Henry’s smile twisted inwards as he nodded. 

“I know it can be hard to talk to your old man sometimes. Heck, when I was your age, I used to get so shy telling my dad how I felt. Couldn’t tell him if I was getting picked on at school, or if I’d fallen off my bike and scraped up my knee. It’s hard; you want to show you’re tough stuff, so you keep it bottled up. I reckon that’s where uncles come in handy sometimes. They’re pretty good listeners.” 

“I know, Uncle Henry,” Mike said, smiling. He felt his dry lips crack. “Thank you.” 

Henry gave him a thumbs up, looking just as embarrassed as Mike felt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not quite able to fully laugh at himself. 

Charlie appeared soon after, and once Mike had repeated his goodbyes, the two set off. She passed him a pop. The packet bit into his hand like a knife, so cold that it almost felt otherworldly amidst the heatwave. 

“What did you say to your dad?” he asked as he tore off the wrapper. 

“I said I was worried because you were kind of moody today.” 

“Sure.” He snorted. “Just tell me, okay?” 

Charlie paused mid-bite into the lolly. After finally crunching down the ice, she shrugged. 

“Just that. Why?” 

“You saw it.” 

“What, your sweat patches?” She made a lunge to tickle his armpits, but he backed off forcefully. 

“I’m not playing, Charlie!” 

Regret hit him as soon as he’d spoken. Charlie’s mischievous smile evaporated instantly. In its place, there was just a trembling mouth. 

“Yeah, I saw,” she said in a hushed tone. She sucked on the pop to still her warbling lips.  

“It’s nothing, I just rubbed it too hard after a shower.” 

His cheeks were burning red. He could only hope the heat would give him plausible deniability. Without lingering on the weak lie, he shoved his pop back into his mouth, too, and kept on walking down the quiet road.

Chapter Text

Mike lay on the bedroom floor with his ear pressed tightly against the carpet. He held his beath and strained to hear the phone conversation happening below. William’s voice was soft, broken only by the occasional spike of frustration.  

“Has he mentioned anything about liability yet?” A pause. “Why the hell should we? We gave him all the safety training! We did everything we could. And the waiver-” He cut off mid-sentence. Then, with a more notable rise in volume, “What the hell were you thinking?!”  

Mike scrunched his eyes closed and forced his ear further into the itchy carpet.  

“No, of course,” William said. “I’ll have it ready before end of play August. Do you reckon you’ll have Fredbear finished by then?”  

There was a creak as William began to pace around the hall.  

“So we just leave it on stage and have Bonnie as the only roamer? You don’t think we’ll have any complaints about that? At least keep the old suits in use until we make the new Fredbear, too! Henry? Henry, you’re overreacting...”  

The conversation began to die. His father’s responses grew less enthused, less frequent.   

“Okay, Henry. Yeah, that’s fine. See you later.” Blip. Clunk. The receiver was returned to its place, and Mike returned to his bed.  

The sky was cloudy that night, and with no streetlights near their isolated home, there was nothing to illuminate the view outside the window. Just a square of black against the wall. Mike stared into the void and bunched his quilt around his neck despite the lingering heat of the day.  

In a town like Hurricane, there were no secrets. William could send his kids to bed and shut all the doors, but it didn’t matter if he was overheard or not. Because they already knew. Michael had spent the last two days on damage control. Some kids at school had been rubbing the news in his little siblings’ faces as if it were somehow their fault.   

“It squashed him up all like a bug!”  

“Yeah, my sister says his brains came out his eyes!”  

“Eww, eww, eww! Your dad actually wears that costume?”  

“I don’t want to go to the Diner anymore if there are bodies in the suits!”  

Mike had tried to tell them it was all made up. Despite his efforts, Evan still kept bursting into tears as his imagination ran wild. Charlie had been on the receiving end of the taunts, too; Mike had desperately wanted to ask her what she knew about the incident, but she’d evaded everyone between classes, her face a stiff and expressionless mask.  

No-one knew who had spilt the news about the workplace accident. Apparently, William was still trying to pin the culprit down. Whoever it was would obviously be fired for spreading the story; Mike just thought it was strange that they hadn’t quit of their own volition yet. He knew he wouldn’t stick around if he’d seen a man getting brutally crushed at work. Especially when he might be the next one ordered to put the costume on.  

There was a tiny knock at the door. Mike sighed and rolled out of bed, surprised it had taken this long.  

“Okay, Ev, come in.”  

To his surprise, he found Elizabeth standing on the other side instead. Her hair fell in curly waves that matched the frills of her nightgown. There were tears dampening her face.  

“Liz. Did you have a nightmare?”  

“No. Can I snuggle a bit?”  

“Sure.”  

Elizabeth hadn’t needed to come into him for at least a year or two. Even though she and Evan were twins, she had always seemed more mature than him, like she was in a race to grow up first.   

Now she blushed in mild embarrassment as she climbed into the familiar, comforting bed. Mike wrapped his arms around her protectively.  

“Sorry, Mike,” she said. “I don’t mean to be such a baby.”  

“You are a baby,” he said, giving her a little squidge. At her silence, he added, “You wanna talk about it?”  

“I keep on imagining it,” she whispered.  

He did, too. And if he’d known how to stop, he would have already done so himself.  

“It’s not real, dummy. Try thinking about something nice. Is Evan still scared?”  

“He’s asleep now. Mikey, can I ask something bad? I know it’s stupid, but is Daddy gonna get in trouble?”  

“No way. Like I said, nothing happened.”  

He rested an arm behind his head and stretched out, hoping to seem more relaxed than he felt. Elizabeth rolled over and picked at her fingernails.   

“When you went to the bathroom, I told Daddy.”  

“Great, now he’s gonna think I scared you. Thanks for that.”  

“No! Dad said it was a made-up story, just...” She trailed off, digging into her nails so intensely that Mike felt her little elbow jabbing his side. “I know he was lying.”  

The humidity became suffocating. He felt a heavy pressure in his chest, as if the heat had replaced all the air in his lungs. There was no talking her out of it now. Elizabeth knew their father better than anyone, and she was well aware of that fact.  

“He wouldn’t lie to you,” he said. Fruitless as it may have been, he couldn’t just give in and tell her the hideous death was real, not when the mere thought of it was keeping her awake. “Sing that song you’re learning for the play – quietly, obviously.”  

Elizabeth began to recite the words for her upcoming school performance, stuttering every now and then as she tried to remember all the lyrics. The distraction finally did its work as her words became slower and slower.   

Mike did not sleep. He rolled over to stare at the red numbers of the clock glaring out from the dark. The gentle shuffling of Elizabeth at his back nudged him into wakefulness whenever his eyelids grew heavy. In this manner, the time slowly marched on until he was looking 1:23am in the face.  

He couldn’t take it.  

Sidling out so as not to disturb Elizabeth, Mike made his way down the stairs. The telephone was in the hallway by the front door. A perfect place to make sure no-one could get away with secret conversations.  

After slowly lifting the phone from its cradle, he dialled the number he knew so well and waited.  The phone was atop a small table under the stairwell, and he crept underneath this, clinging to the wishful notion that the barrier might muffle his voice.  

“Hello?” Henry’s voice was soft and urgent, the voice of a man who had been called past midnight before and knew it usually meant bad news.  

“It’s Mike.” His lips brushed against the handset as he pressed it close to his mouth and whispered.   

“What happened? Why are you doing up so late?” The urgency in his voice turned to panic.  

“Everyone’s fine,” Mike said quickly. “I’m sorry, I just need to ask you something. At school today, everyone was saying...”  

He swallowed hard. Although he doubted Henry would be outright angry, the news that he and Charlie knew might still upset him. Anything that could push the Emilys further away was to be avoided at all costs. But he needed to know.  

“I know that a springlock malfunction happened, okay?” he said. An electronic rasp came through the receiver – a sigh, a gasp, he couldn’t tell. “Dad always told us not to get too close to the animatronics. Because of the metal... The suits really did kill someone, didn’t they?”  

The once imperceptible ambience of the house became deafening in the ensuing silence. Even the buzz of the AC sounded like the low hum of some giant insect. There was a creak from somewhere nearby. He froze, hoping it was just the wind knocking against the walls.  

“William said he was going to tell you,” said Henry. “I’m sorry, Mike. It shouldn’t be a secret. Naturally, it’s not the sort of thing I’d want you to go around telling your friends. But you deserve to know, given... Well, you know.”  

“Was it bad?” he asked, feeling stupid for even asking such a braindead question.  

“It was a terrible accident, Mike. A terrible accident that should never have happened. And I’m ashamed I let it happen on my watch.” A moment of hesitation. “Your father and I knew about the design flaw. We’ve been keeping the springlock suits in the best possible condition to try and prevent this very thing. Fixing it wasn’t an option, you see; they need completely rebuilding, starting from scratch. But we couldn’t justify the expense. Look where that got us.”  

Mike heard the moaning creak again and clutched his own throat with his free hand.  

“What happens now? Are you going to get arrested?”  

“We’ll do right by his family, see if we can settle out of court. And the suits are getting replaced as soon as possible. We're getting on the project right away, Mike, so try not to worry. We’re going to sort it out. We’re still taking precautions, but... But we can’t afford to close up completely, understand? For now, I need you and your siblings to stay away from the suits if you come down to the restaurant. Further away than usual. Promise me, Mike.”  

“I promise,” Mike whispered. Henry started to speak once again, but he could no longer bear the atmosphere. In one single motion, he ducked out from under the table and replaced the handset, shuddering at the piercing click .  

Mike wiped his face. His sweat ran thick. Rounding the stairwell, he made to dash back to his room.   

Someone blocked the way.  

William lunged viper-like and caught Mike before he could react. The boy felt a hand clamp over his mouth, catching the scream before it could escape. For a second, he struggled violently as his instincts overtook all sense. William gave him a hard shake that knocked him back into the present.  

“I’m going to take my hand away, Michael. Not a sound.”  

Michael let out a shaking breath as his mouth was freed. The rest of him, however, was still held fast.  

“What were you thinking?”  

“Get off me!”  

“Shut up. Don’t you dare wake your siblings.”  

Michael tried in vain to twist out of the grip before giving in. He panted, arms hovering at odd angles due to the strength with which William had him clamped below the armpits.  

“Why didn’t you ask me? Why sneak off to Henry?” William said again. This time there was an edge to his terse tone. Something almost like pain.   

“I thought you’d be angry,” Michael said.  

“That’s ridiculous. I’m your father. Michael, you know you can come to me about anything.”  

The boy slipped out from the hold as his father leant back.  

“Since when do you ever care?” His whisper became a hiss as he faced the shadow-drenched figure on the stairs. “If it’s not about Evan or Liz, you don’t. You don’t .”  

William raised an arm. He was caught between the decision to strike Michael for his disrespect or take his shoulder reassuringly. Still, if anger had got him into this position to begin with, there really was only one logical choice.  

“I do care, son,” he said, arm still held like a defensive weapon. “You’re the reason I insisted on keeping the bloody restaurant open. There’ll be hell to pay. But I want the income, I want it for you . The family. I’m not going to stop providing for you just because some idiot teenager ignored all the training.”  

“You told Elizabeth it was a rumour!"  

“Be. Quiet .” He leaned in close, sharp features a smudge of grey in the dark. “Of course I did, she’s a child. What do you expect me to say?”  

The time of night had suddenly hit Michael like a brick, and he was tired. Tired of it all. Yet this only fed the irritation.  

“Henry said you were going to tell me. You know, because you’re so caring? ”  

“What else did Henry tell you?”  

“Does it matter? I know, okay? And I don’t want you to keep a death trap open just because you’re too greedy to close for a while! Don’t act like you’re doing this for us!”  

Michael had yelled the last words. There was a telltale clunk as a door upstairs opened. It didn’t change his mind, though. Elizabeth already had suspicions, and he felt no inclination to cover for his dad anymore. As for Evan, there would likely be no comforting him either way. Let them hear the truth.  

“Daddy? Mike!” The small, high-pitched voice called out like an alarm. “Daddy, what happened?”  

William shot a glance over his shoulder before whirling back round to his son. For a split second, Michael’s blood drained at the sight of his face. It wasn’t the usual mask that obscured the anger William felt within; Michael could see the rage, fully revealed for him to see. Even during the worst confrontations, he’d never seen that face. He braced himself, a well-learned instinct, only to be pulled into an embrace instead.  

“We’re here, Elizabeth,” William called.   

“Mike?” Her soft footsteps padded along the corridor, down one step. “Are you okay?”  

“Michael’s had a fall down the stairs,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair as he crushed his face against his chest. “Everything’s in hand, sweetie. Go back to bed.”  

Like a lingering ghost, Elizabeth watched them from above. Eventually, with a small nod, she drifted back away into her own room. Michael pushed against William’s torso weakly.   

“Oh, Michael.” William finally loosened his arms, letting his son take a gasp of air. He looked down at Mike’s face, their foreheads almost touching. All the terror left Mike’s heart as he saw his father’s awful expression replaced by a look so tender that he wondered why he’d think to seek Henry over him. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m sorry I can be so hard on you.”  

“I’m sorry about the call, too. Please, Dad, I just wanna go to bed,” he said,  

“I know, I know.” He sighed heavily into Michael’s fringe. The warmth breath triggered some half-formed memory in the boy, residue of infanthood cuddles and safety. “You must never think you can’t talk to me, Michael. I’m always here for you, whatever you need."  

“I won’t, I promise,” Michael said, eyes wide and wet in the dark.  

William hummed in thought. Michael ached to escape. Ached to stay in that hug forever. A tear trickled down, but he refused to sob. He kept his breathing slow and steady, holding his own arms around his dad’s waist.  

“How about I pick you up from school tomorrow and we spend the afternoon together, huh? Start the weekend off right.”  

“Y-You probably can’t stop working that early, what with everything, right?”  

“That doesn’t matter. Henry will understand. Right now, you need me more than the company. We’ll go out somewhere fun, your choice. What do you say?”  

Michael’s voice was a childish squeak.  

“You and me?”  

“Just us two, kiddo.”  

“I... Sure.”  

“Atta boy.”  

Chapter Text

The sauce was simmering away, and the water had been put on the stove to boil. Pepsi was in the fridge, there was cornershop chocolate for dessert, and he had a special tape he’d recorded off TV the night before. Devil Dog: The Hound of Hell . He couldn’t wait to see Evan’s reaction.   

All in all, it should have been a great Sunday night.  

With dinner well underway, Michael wandered back into the living room. Elizabeth was scribbling on her homework book, clearly doodling instead of answering the questions. Evan was sprawled on the floor with a mountain of crayons and a sketchpad in front of him.  

“Hey! You’re getting marks all over the carpet again,” Michael said, giving Evan a harmless nudge with his foot.  

“Nuh uh, Mikey, I’m being careful!” Evan said quickly, looking up with mortified innocence.   

“Yeah? Well you’re cleaning it up if you do!” He stuck his tongue out and collapsed onto the couch.  

There were plenty of good things about life without Mom and Dad around. For one, Michael could buy as many sugary snacks as he wanted. And without supervision, he was free to replace his siblings’ tapes of The Smurfs and Flintstones with horror movies whenever he needed a laugh. He could even invite his friends around without asking permission or worrying about how loud they’d be.  

It should have been amazing. Sometimes, it was. Except for the fact Liz and Evan weren’t just there to entertain him. He had to look after them, too.  

Mike was used to taking care of the twins to some extent. Even when his father hadn’t been working ridiculous hours every day, Mike would inevitably be the one who cooked and cleaned. But he at least knew William would come back at some point. Then he would take the reigns as man of the house, helping them all with homework and washing their hair and nursing them when they were sick.  

Now, it felt like he was never at home. William would appear at odd hours to sleep, or sometimes materialise in the day with bags of groceries. The visits were random, with no set time or pattern. And with Mom showing no signs of getting better, Mike had found himself slowly pushed into the role of guardian.  

Supervising them was draining in a way it hadn’t been before. School would offer a bit of a break – at least, the classes did. With the persistant ‘rumour’ still entertaining schoolyard bullies, Michael had to spend most of his breaktime establishing himself as an even scarier bully. Not that it was particularly hard; he’d built his reputation long before the springlock event ever happened. But it was still more time he spent consumed by the ever-nagging worry for Liz and Evan’s wellbeing. Between that and the neverending list of chores, it felt like there wasn’t enough room in his head for anything else, to the point where even his schoolwork suffered.  

Maybe that was why it felt so good to scare them when they got home. He hung his head back and stared at the ceiling as the notion entered his mind. Sure, he loved them both – hell, he’d throw himself in a volcano for them. But they were so damn taxing that he just had to rattle them sometimes, like a sick ritual to keep himself sane. He wondered idly if that was why his father targeted him; he felt sick at the thought.  

The sound of crunching gravel snapped him from the daze. Someone was coming up the garden path. It was only 6pm, so either it was a schoolfriend or the Emilys. Henry had been checking in on the kids every few days, naggingly aware that William hardly left the workshop anymore. Whenever Charlie came round to hang out, she came bearing gifts from her dad – toothpaste, soap, toilet paper, anything he believed a kid like Mike might neglect to stock up on.  

Before he could open the front door, it opened by itself. William stood on the other side, a little taken aback to find Mike staring at him. His shirt – for he still wore a well-ironed shirt during engineering work – was drenched in sweat. The usually neat lines of his slicked back hair were dishevelled, like he’d just woken up from a restless sleep.  

“You’re back early,” Michael said. He was smiling. He hated himself for smiling. His dad didn’t deserve it. He was so glad he was home. “I’m making dinner.”  

“Good, good,” William said as he brushed past him.   

Mike closed the door. From behind came the excited chattering of the twins as they leapt up to greet their dad. There was a squeal as William held Evan and spun him around, followed by an insistent “My turn!” from Elizabeth.  

Slapping his own face, Mike made to rejoin them. His emotions felt like a yo-yo bouncing between relief and annoyance. As he came in, William plopped Liz back on her feet and gave Evan a little pat on the back.  

“Go clean up for dinner, both of you, go on,” he said with a smile. Mike grimaced as they sped off upstairs. They never listened to him that readily. Especially not when it involved soap. His fists clenched at his sides as his father turned the smile on him.  

“How was school, Michael?”  

“It’s Sunday.”  

William’s eyes didn’t seem to focus on him. They were looking right at each other, yet the man seemed to stare past him.  

“Of course.” He chuckled. “How was your day?”  

“Fine. Me and Jeremy finished the science project, and then we all went out to play in the park.” Mike noticed a distinct lack of reaction. Not even a muscle twitched in William’s face. So he upped the ante. “Elizabeth twisted her ankle really bad, like, really.”  

“And she’s all sorted now?”  

Mike could have screamed. He looked so damn calm.  

“Yeah, it was fine.”  

“Good.”  

“What about you,” Mike said, trying a different tactic. “Are you working on the new animatronics?”  

A grim smile emerged on his face as William’s eyes finally snapped into focus. He should have known. There was only one thing that injected any life into the old man nowadays.  

“Excellent,” William said, his voice suddenly sharp and energetic. “Yes, it’s all coming together now. In fact, it’s almost ready for testing.”  

“So what are they? Another Fredbear and Bonnie?”  

“Of course. Can’t have the diner without the mascots, can we?”  

“I just figured, y’know, since it was a Bonnie that went wrong...”  

“Figured what?” William said, his smile stretching at the corners. Mike clammed up.  

“People might not, uh, ‘like’ them anymore?”  

“Oh no. No, why would anyone be that stupid? It’s a character , Michael. It’s not a character that k- that malfunctioned, it was a suit . We have new suits now. I’ve made some adjustments to the springlocks.” William held out one arm, then used the opposite hand to illustrate the movements of the new mechanisms. “Two-step release; it staggers the speed at which the internals move back into place. It was in my original blueprints.”  

“Uncle Henry said you were phasing out the springlocks,” Michael said.  

“He did?” William abruptly stopped his little demonstration and straightened up. “When was this, Michael?”  

“I can’t remember.”  

“Well, when did you see him?”   

The staring eyes, coupled with that painfully wide mouth, made his father seem unnervingly like one of his own animatronic creations.  

“He comes around sometimes to drop off Charlie. And he checks in with us.” He emphasised that last part. William ignored the subtext.  

“Henry’s wrong, dead wrong. And while he’s wasting time fiddling about on a whole system, my new animatronics are going to prove it. Springlocks are perfectly safe; you just need to respect the mechanisms. Any fool can do it.”  

‘One fool couldn’t,’ Mike thought. He might have even dared to say it had William not continued his rant.  

“He thinks it’s something we can just ‘phase out’, as if it’s not the foundation of our success. It’s not just about a machine clunking about on stage, it’s the interactivity. Hopping down after a performance like a real living creature... It’s the whole point and he can’t even see it. What else did he tell you?”  

“Can you quit the interrogation thing for five minutes?” Mike snapped. “It’s been ages since you even spoke to me!”  

William squinted, but didn’t seem to take offense. Perhaps it was fatigue from the day dulling him. Mike felt an unusual surge of confidence to see his father giving up so easily. It was suspicious, yes, but not something he wanted to question.   

“You’re quite right. Sorry, son. Stress, work stress, nothing more.” William cleared his throat and looked down at himself, as if only just realising what a state he was in. “Listen, Michael. I’m going to clean up. But I’m here now, and we can talk about anything you want. You set the table?”  

“We normally just eat in front of the television.”   

“I think it’s far more appropriate for a family to eat together at a proper table, without any distractions. Don’t you?”  

Mike merely nodded in return, watching as he headed upstairs. Although some part of him desperately clung on to the vision of what his dad could be, it was getting harder every day to fit William into that mold. Internally, he decided that he’d been trying for far too long. He told the young child in him to stop being such an idiot; he didn’t have to love his father, no matter how much that child wanted to keep trying.  

Kids were a weird mix of naive and perceptive. No sooner had the family sat down to eat than Evan completely shut down. Elizabeth still wore a smile, but she kept quiet. They could feel the electricity crackling between their brother and father. It was a forcefield keeping them at bay, and neither dared to poke at it.  

Outwardly, however, William seemed to be in one of his good moods. Without prompting, he typical kept quiet while eating, but today he was positively lively.  

“Everything is on course,” he said, after delivering what was essentially a financial report and five-year budget plan for Fredbear’s Family Diner to his baffled children.  

Mike watched carefully, feigning interest. William’s movements were becoming more agitated. It was masked by the occasional hand gestures, but Mike could still see the odd tremble and the erratic movement in his fingers.  

“Since I’m remodelling the suits anyway, I’ve added a few little tweaks. Just to make them really special. I’ve had this idea for an inbuilt helium tank, you see, so they can blow up balloons right on the spot and hand them out.”  

Even amidst the mindnumbing business jargon, the twins couldn’t fail to perk up at that.  

“They can make you balloons?” Evan said, beaming as he held tight onto his Fredbear toy. Since William had started coming home so rarely, the little boy and the teddy had been practically inseparable. As for William, seeing his son clinging on to a symbol of his trademarked brand was perhaps the greatest pride a father could feel.  

“As many as you like,” he said, with that horribly wide grin still plastered on his mouth.   

“So we can go close to them?” Elizabeth piped up. She had always felt an innate need to hug Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, a need she was continually disabused of by William. But now he nodded enthusiastically as he took a bite of overcooked pasta.  

“Spring Bonnie is very excited to see you again after so long,” he said with a hint of mischief. Then he put on his performance voice, the broad and bouncy accent he’d always used when wearing the costume himself. “’I can’t wait to give Lizzy and Evan a big old hug, huh-huh!’ That’s what he told me today as I was leaving the workshop!”  

The twins giggled, finally breaking free of the tense atmosphere. They were still in the perfect age range to both adore the mascots as if they were real, and think it was incredibly cool that their dad played one of them.  

“Nice that Bonnie wants to see them, at least,” Mike said, swirling pasta around his plate with a fork. He kept his eyes down, deliberately aloof, in a gesture he hoped would sour his father’s manic mood. It didn’t have quite the intended effect.  

“Hey. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much,” William said. His natural voice posed such a contrast to the cuddly rabbit persona. It was like comparing water to fizzy pop. “Deadlines are tight at the moment. It’ll all be back to normal soon.”  

“So what’s normal?” Michael asked. “Seven, eight, nine?”  

“I’ll be home at a normal time, Michael,” he said, his smile hardening. “And I do appreciate how well you’ve been looking after your siblings.”  

“And Mom. And the house. You do know it isn’t what kids usually do, right?”  

“Yes, well, things have been rough since your mother’s blip.”  

“It’s not a blip, Dad! What, you need another year to prove she’s not getting up again?”  

“I know everything about her condition. She is my wife. You’re not the only one struggling, alright, Michael?”  

Mike stared in stone-faced fury at his dad. This was normally the moment where the fear would set in. The growing anger coldly contained within Dad’s silky calm voice signalled him to retreat. But he didn’t want to, not again.  

“You wanna know what Henry said?” His heart thudded rapidly to see how William’s face blanched at that. “He said the springlocks are fucking dangerous and he wished you’d never used them. He has no idea you’re still using them in the new suits, and when you show him, he’s gonna be ticked off.”  

“You shouldn’t swear, Mikey,” Evan said. Mike finally noticed that his little brother had slipped off his chair, hiding the lower half of his face under the table. He felt a surge of guilt clench his chest.  

“Evan’s right,” William said knowingly. “Now you finish eating, and you, Michael, can apologise.”  

His father stroked Evan’s hair the same way you’d soothe a frightened dog. Michael felt like something inside him was about to explode.  

“It’s not gonna work this time. You can hit me until I’m bleeding, but I’m not stopping until you just admit it.”  

“And what should I admit, son?” William asked wearily.  

“That... That you’re shit at being a dad. And you’re so jealous of Henry that you’d rather build some dangerous piece of crap that he doesn’t even want, just to prove you can.”   

William was up at the first sentence. Michael was up by the second. Liz and Evan ducked lower as the two loomed over them, staring daggers at each other.  

“Listen to me, Michael. I don’t know why Henry would try to turn you against me like this, but I am doing everything I can for all of you.”  

“I think he cares for me more than you ever did.”  

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying? I’m your father , Michael, of course I bloody well love you more!”  

Mike shook with delirious laughter at his father’s ever-staunch face, the ice covering over a swift and furious river.   

“I wish you weren’t. Nothing is ever good enough for you. You’re never home when I need you, and when you are, you’re laying into me!”   

“You need to stop acting like a spoilt brat!”  

“Both of you, stop!” Elizabeth screamed.  

They looked down at her, holding the next volley of insults on their tongues. The young girl shoved her chair back and stood up, as if her small stature could somehow intimidate them.  

“Why can’t we just have a nice evening?! Why do you always scream at each other?!”  

Mike cast a numb glance to his dad. William’s eyes twitched as he calculated a response.  

“You’re quite right, sweetie. Why shouldn’t we have a nice evening?” He smiled thinly to his eldest son. “Go upstairs, Michael. You’re grounded.”  

The laughter was the worst. Every giggle stung like a stab in the back. Michael knew he shouldn't envy Elizabeth and Evan getting to spend time with their dad. Why be jealous over that jerk? And besides, it was good they were having fun. He should have been happy for his siblings. Instead, there was a sense of betrayal.  

Mike had been supervising them for weeks and weeks. Now, after a few hours of William, they’d forgotten all about him.  

He smothered his face into the pillow. The cover was slightly damp from the occasional teardrop. Mike despised crying. It was something Evan did, not him. People who cried were weak and childish, and he wasn’t any of those things. He was a man.  

He was man, like Dad.  

...No. He’d cried in front of Dad. Dad knew what he was.  

Sleep eventually snatched him away from the sludge of his thoughts. A fitful and light sleep peppered with the sounds of William putting the twins to bed. When Mike woke up and saw his father standing over him, he assumed it was a dream. Then he felt his hand on his face, that rough-textured skin and faint scent of oil, and he knew it was real.  

“Get up, Michael.”  

William stepped away to grab a shirt and trousers from the drawer. He chucked them onto the foot of the bed as Mike rubbed his eyes.  

“What is it, Dad?”  

“I’m going to prove something to you.” Mike saw a flash of white teeth in the dark. “Since you think Henry is so right about everything, I’m going to show you how wrong you are.”  

“Dad? You don’t have to...”  

“No, no. If I have to win my own son’s respect, so be it. We’re going to go to the workshop, and I’m going to show you how safe my suits are. My new Bonnie is so safe, a child could use it.”  

Chapter Text

The roads were empty at that time of night. Mike felt like everyone in the world had disappeared. There was just him and his dad left.  

The car pulled up in front of the warehouse. It swung horizontally over the four spaces painted onto the tiny patch of concrete they used as a carpark. There were no signs to identify the nature of the building, just a barrier of barbed wire and a thick lock on the door. As flashy as the Diner was, the beating heart behind it was nothing if not discreet.  

William got out. Mike followed, thinking for one moment that he should take off running while he could. The fence gate was still hanging open. But he knew it was pointless. Even if he could outrun his dad, where would he go? Home? Just to get dragged back out?  

Henry.  By the time he thought of it, William had already circled around the bonnet and taken his arm. Mike let him lead on. There wasn’t a way to wriggle out of this. He had to hope beyond hope that his father really was the genius inventor everyone always said he was. Maybe he  had  fixed the springlocks. Maybe the fatality really was the fault of the employee. Maybe the suit was perfectly safe, and he was panicking about nothing.  

The Afton family had visited the workshop a few times in the past, back when Laura was still on her feet. She would bring lunch to William sometimes. The kids tagged along, excited to see what their dad was working on. Mike could remember piling out the car with Evan and Liz and running into the warehouse with genuine excitement. Now, he dragged his heels as much as he could without pissing William off even further.  

The relative quiet of their journey was finally punctured as William opened up the steel rib door. It clattered and rattled its way up and over their heads, revealing the dark mouth of the interior building. With a snap and a buzz, he flicked on the lights.  

As they fluttered to life, Mike felt his heart drop further. This wasn’t the workshop he remembered.   

It had an extremely simple layout: on the west wall, a metal staircase ran up to a raised platform. Atop this was an enclosed office space where William took calls and stored paperwork. Below, the floorspace was given over to benches of varying sizes, allowing him ample room to work on each individual component of any given robot. Flanking the tables were rows of shelves that ran against the walls, packed to capacity with tools, parts, and canisters.  

And it had been  clean . An efficiency layout, with every item perfectly organised and every surface maintained. Mike had once run his fingers across the boxes, wondering what kind of mysterious things they contained, never even thinking about how he didn’t get a spot of dust on his hands. He had slid down the handrail, which William meticulously polished once a week. He had eaten his sandwiches off the tables and stared at the parts of a half-formed arm neatly arranged in front of him. And the lights never flickered, ever.  

Now, it was a laboratory straight out of one of his beloved horror movies. Under the flashing lights was a mess of cluttered benches, all overflowing with metal casings and tangled wires. William seemed to be working on multiple animatronics at once, given the amount of endoskeleton components and unfinished shells. His mind tricked him, turning endoskeletons into creeping ghosts and screaming skulls. The once clean surroundings were stained with oil and other unidentifiable liquids. It stank of terps and iron.   

Mike might have even found it cool had he been able to divorce the context. But everything he knew about his father told him this was wrong. William was clean, William was neat. He knew this because they had to be, as well - William demanded they were.   

“Come on,” William said, dragging him towards the far north wall.   

Mike’s eyes flickered over the tools left lying on the worktables and the exposed, sharp edges of metal. William had never left without putting everything back in its proper place. Never let them enter until all the dangerous parts had been safely covered up.   

“There,” William said with an air of self-satisfaction. He pointed to an animatronic that leaned back against the shelves, as if exhausted. Mike could make out the familiar silhouette of Spring Bonnie when the lights sparked. At least seven foot tall, grinning widely, its round eyes reflecting the occasional flash of illumination.   

“It’s not finished,” Mike said in a whisper.   

Although the animatronic’s head and arms were covered in a sheet of gold fur, the metal torso had not yet been fully treated. Some strips of fur had been glued into place around the neck, but each one petered out before reaching the bottom lip, forming a strange Tetris-esque pattern. The legs had not even been fully encased in a shell. All the inner workings, from the steel loops and struts to the springlocks holding back endo wiring, were fully exposed. William hauled the rabbit down onto the floor and began detaching the body parts from the torso.  

“It is finished,” he snapped. “He’s got everything he needs; just missing the decorations, that’s all.”  

He shoved the giant head into Mike’s arms. The boy immediately dropped it when the cold metal touched his skin. William gave a yell of annoyance and panic as he grabbed it up off the floor.  

“Put it on the table, you idiot!” he said. “I’ll do it myself. What is wrong with you?!”  

Mike could feel himself trembling at the unfamiliar sound of his father shouting. He’d been so sure that his quiet voice was the worst thing about him, but now he realised how wrong that assumption had been. It was like standing next to a guard dog that had just broken its leash.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his hands. “I’m sorry, Dad.”  

William gave him a harsh side eye, but did not respond. Soon the torso and pelvic parts were all that remained on the suppressed endoskeleton, which held them up like a clothing rack.   

“Get in, Michael. Feet first, then when your legs are comfortable, we’ll lower the upper half.”  

“Please, don’t make me do this,” Michael said, staring at the internal rivets and thick wiring that strained under the locks. His imaginary image of the fatal accident was given fresh fuel. It was too easy to see how those springlocks could snap or slip.  

“Would I ever tell you to do something if it wasn’t safe?” William said. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? I’ve been making these before you were born. Get  in.”  

Michael squeaked in pain as his father yanked him forward. His nails were digging hard into his skin. Unable to stop the tears, he began to sob as William grabbed his left ankle and forced it into the pelvis himself.  

“Please, Dad, please! I promise I won’t!” A sob wracked his chest as he felt the chill metal rivets push against his thigh. For all his bravado about not being a weak little kid anymore, there was nothing he could do to stop his screaming cries from escaping. “I won’t be bad ever again!”  

“There’s nothing scary, Michael!” William used one arm to hold his son’s grasping arms away, then reached down with the other for the next leg. “Damn it, hold still!”  

With a sharp clunk, William pushed the pelvic piece further up the spine of the endo, suspending Michael’s feet above the ground. The boy felt the floor fall away beneath him. His back was up against the strut, his lower half encased. Without waiting for him to calm down, William pulled the torso piece down over him.  

Mike hugged himself tightly as it dropped into place. Lowering it over his head gave him the unfortunate chance to see the claw-like straps that would be surrounding his ribcage. This sight struck him in a way the others hadn’t. He stopped screaming, eyes wide as he took it in.  

“Good boy,” said William, sounding genuinely relieved the wailing had ended. Michael hiccupped as his father brought over the limbs and fitted them on.   

“I’m really scared, Dad,” he said as his hand slipped into Bonnie’s metal glove. The jointed digits felt hard and stiff to his young muscles.  

“Henry has been telling you rubbish, Michael.  Malfunction .” He scoffed and secured the leg, not even noticing how his son’s legs were too short to bend at the animatronic’s knee. “It wasn’t even a malfunction, Michael. The bastard knew what he had to do, and he didn’t listen.”  

“W-What did he have to do?” Michael blurted out the question desperately. There was only the head left to go before he was sealed in for good.  

“You don’t have to worry about that.” William’s expression was paralysed fury, which made it that much worse when he pinched Mike’s cheek in what would normally seem an affectionate manner. “This suit is brand new; at the most, you could argue the ones at the Diner have some years on them. This has never been used, it’s the safest it will  ever  be.”   

“Just tell me! What sets it off?!”   

His father growled - an actual growl, deep in the back of his throat. Michael was so unnerved that he even ducked his head down a little into the neck of the costume.  

“Sudden or sharp movements. Exposure to liquids. High-force impacts,” he said, listing them off irritably. It was like Michael had inconvenienced him by making him wait a few more seconds. Even at thirteen years of age, Mike could tell from his choice of words that this was a rote from a training manual. Probably the same manual the dead employee had read before he was springlocked.  

“Please,” he said, one last time, as William retrieved the head. His tearful eyes stared into his father’s as he came closer. For the briefest moment, William’s brow furrowed deeper, and Michael believed he might stop.   

But then there was darkness.  

Michael’s shuddering breath grew shallow as he stared through the slightly transparent eyeballs of Spring Bonnie. He felt his father’s fingers brush his neck as he reached up into the mask and fumbled for something. There was a  shick,  and the eyes began to slide to the sides, leaving the hollow sockets for him to look through. As they did so, the jaw loosened, and Bonnie’s mouth hung open.  

“Okay, kiddo,” William said. His voice settled into the normal, soft volume, but the edge was unmistakable. Michael knew he was one wrong move from sending him back into unbridled anger. “Move your left foot - don’t step forward, just lift it up.”  

Mike tried to bend his leg up into his stomach. The knee joint of the suit bent as well, pushing the metal casing down into his ankle and shin. He yelled in pain as the weight of the animatronic leg threatened to snap his own, and quickly lowered the foot.  

“It’s too big!” he said.  

“Keep it straight, then. One small step forward, no bending. Swing it.”  

Michael obeyed as best he could and heaved one leg away. The large brick of exposed metal pede slammed into the warehouse floor, then balanced, keeping him upright. It didn’t stop him from feeling like he would fall at any second.  

“Good, great!” William said, face shattering into a grin. Michael’s heart leapt as William paced around in front of him, studying his work intently. “Keep going, you can do it.”  

Michael repeated the process and swung the right leg, and then the left again, hobbling along like a robot from an old sci-fi. Each step was met with a kind of praise that Michael couldn’t help but revel in despite the burning terror.  

“Yes, Michael! Arms now, come on! You can bend the arms, can’t you?”  

He could, just barely. He stretched his arms as much as he could, fingertips not quite meeting the ends of the gloves, and started to wave them slowly.  No sudden movements,  he repeated to himself,  no sharp movements.   

The suit was humid, even in its unfinished state. Michael knew that the springlock suits had internal fans. He’d seen his dad and Henry checking them before while doing renovation work. Apparently, they were added at a later stage. There was no airflow as Mike clomped around, straining his skinny limbs to manipulate the heavy costume. Fear combined with heat and exertion. He panted as the sweat dribbled over his brow.  

“You see that red button to the left of your face?” William asked.  

Michael squinted in the dim light and looked around the hollow head. Finally, he noticed a small button near his forehead.  

“Yeah?”  

“See if you can tap it with your head. Like this.”   

William tilted his head. Mike did the same, hitting the button and leaving a wet stain of sweat on it. A loud voice filled his ears from all sides.  

“Well hey there, superstars!”  

It was a recording of his father putting on his Bonnie voice. Michael blinked, looking for some kind of speaker in the head’s internal mechanisms. Nothing apart from the button and the wires looked like anything he’d ever seen.   

“Good,” William said, nodding. “See? Nothing to worry about, was there?”  

“Yeah,” Michael said. His voice was weak and croaky from his outburst, and he felt overwhelmingly exhausted. “Can I please take it off now, please? It’s so hot.”  

“Sure,” William said, eyes still alight with a kind of wonder. “Sweating in there, kiddo?”  

“Yes, lots.”  

“See?” he repeated. “All that liquid coming off you and nothing’s going wrong. Should have trusted me, huh?”  

Michael shifted uncomfortably inside his cage. He had noticed it too, but had been making a concerted effort not to dwell on it. The droplets were running down his bare calves.  

“Let me out, Dad! Please, I want to leave so badly!”  

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he said. He sounded like Henry when Charlie would call for him to hurry up or come quickly: good-natured.   

William stood on his toes and reached up to press a catch in the corner of the suit’s mouth. Mike clenched his jaw as he heard metallic parts beginning to shift around him. The bulbous eyes snapped back to their spot in the sockets, once again cutting him off from the outside world. With a thud, Bonnie’s mouth shut tight.  

“Michael, I need you to lean down to your right a bit,” William said. “There’s a switch behind the ear I can’t reach.”  

With a trembling breath, Mike bent at the hip. Kneeling with his mismatched leg height wasn’t an option. A wave of vertigo washed over him as the weighty costume sagged down against him. He could hear the muffled shuffling of his father reaching over, trying to find the catch. Eager to accommodate him and finally be released, Michael pulled his right arm tight against his stomach, hoping to give him a little extra room.  

There was a loud  clunk. The sounds of his father moving about stopped. He sniffed and swallowed, afraid of the pause.  

“Are you done? Did you get it?” Michael asked.  

“Nearly,” said William. He didn’t sound quite so cheerful anymore. Michael straightened up immediately as panic overtook him, and the suit let out another, far louder,  clunk .  

“What’s that?! Dad? Dad? What is it?!”  

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” his dad said, holding his palms against the animatronic’s chest. “Michael, calm down. Stop.”  

Mike shut up. He was breathing so quickly that he felt dizzy again.   

“I need you to listen, Michael. I need you to stay still. Don’t move an inch. I’ll take the arms off first.”  

“It’s breaking, isn’t it?”  

He moaned, a moan which turned into a scream. Mike knew. He always knew. Of course this would happen to him. There was no such thing as good luck for Michael Afton.   

“Why did I come here?! Why did you make me? I hate you!”  

“Shut up, I need to concentrate,” William said, feverishly undoing the seal around one elbow. His fingers were quick and efficient from years of experience, but he needed them quicker still. The suit couldn’t be malfunctioning again; he had spent too long, worked too hard, ironed out any possible flaw in his perfect springlock system. Of course this would happen to him. There was no such thing as good luck for William Afton.   

“Shit!” The lower arm crashed onto the floor as he hit the release. Michael’s arm, bright red and slick with sweat, was finally exposed. William felt bile rising in his throat. His son’s hand was tiny, so tiny. A fragile bird in the iron nest he’d built. Urgency rattled his muscles as he tried to maintain composure, knowing full well how panicked movements would only make things worse.  

He reached for the other arm, trying to block out Mike’s tirade against him.  

“I hate you so much,” the boy said, gasping heavily between words. The tears kept coming. “I told you this was bad, and you didn’t listen!”  

Every single day of resentment had come back to make itself known. If he hadn’t been pinned into a deathtrap, he would have been manic. He needed to kick, to punch, to flail, to let his body express the depth of the hatred he felt right there and then.   

“Michael, I’m sorry.” William spoke through gritted teeth as he tried to ease the forearm off the costume. It was stuck tight. He couldn’t stop his hands trembling. “I will get you out, I promise. I promise, just-”  

The catch released. William choked out a gasp as he felt the arm give, felt the stiff mechanism twist fast and freely in his hands. He had been leaning into it to give himself leverage. Now he stumbled forward as it turned freely. Without his permission, his instincts leapt in, and he grabbed the leg to steady himself.   

Michael screamed.  

Pain engulfed his nerves so fast and so hard that for one second, he felt a deep sense of euphoria as his mind cut off all connection. A second wave rolled in and rewired his body, crashing agony over him until he drowned in it. He was at once aware of every inch of his body, yet unable to differentiate each part.   

The locks slammed into his muscle and tore it from the bone. His arms and legs were cleaved on the first impact, condensed and crumpled to one side as the endoskeleton expanded to fill the costume. Michael’s body spasmed. William barely rolled out of the way before the heavy leg he leant against stomped hard into the floor, spurting a shower of blood out from the bottom.   

Michael felt froth bubbling up his throat as the springlocks dug further and further into his chest, facing more resistance here from his spine and ribs. The animatronic mechanisms were trying to fill what should have been an empty space, only to find it inhabited. They whirred and retracted, then shot out again, forcing themselves into place, crushing his organs. Michael tried desperately to claw the rabbit head off, but his arms could no longer respond. Something hot and flat pressed into the back of his head. He tried to duck, to angle out of its way, until he felt a plate at his neck sliding in the opposite direction.  

William had already jumped to his feet and was trying to grab hold of the chest piece so he could release its seal. He did not scream. His mind had forgotten how. He was operating on muscle memory, wrangling the suit and searching desperately for the catch.  

Mike’s screams, primal and raw, stopped. The involuntary seizure still shook his son’s body, grating it further against the foreign metal. And then he heard the gurgling. Blood began to pour from between the teeth of the costume. It splattered into William’s face and slicked his hands. All the while, his ears were assaulted by the worst sound he had ever heard.  

“Da-achk... Du-Dad, hugch-hu... Helck – help me!”  

For all his sins, for all his abuses, William loved his children. He could listen to Michael scream when he beat him, because he was in control. Now no-one was, and his son was drowning, and it was too late.  

The Spring Bonnie costume fell into William. He grunted as he struggled to hold it upright. His feet slid against the oil-slicked floor as it slowly, forcefully, irresistibly collapsed. Ichor was seeping from every seam in the costume. Then he was on his knees, hauling the suit onto its back, yells of exertion bleeding into wails. He grabbed the torso release and pressed down, not caring as the chest hatch sprang open and slammed into his face.  

Scrambling up, he reached into the suit. His arm was soaked red in seconds as it jarred up against the corpse. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t look. There it was. The catch to release the locks holding the head in place. He froze.  

Through the fogged lens of Bonnie’s big, plastic eyes, he saw another pair of spheres. Michael’s eyes. Two beautiful brown eyes, wrenched from their skull, staring up at him lifelessly.  

Chapter Text

Ever since he was a boy, he had wanted to create. Tinkering with tin toys grew into an obsession. When it came time to apply for a university overseas, he selected an engineering course without hesitation. He met his best friend, who had jumped headfirst into the emerging field of computer science. When they combined their skillsets to make their first robot, he finally felt the thrill he had been chasing all his life. 

The joy of creation. 

It was a drug. He needed it. Again and again, more ambitious, more complex. He pushed his best friend, and his best friend pushed him, and they ran together towards the final realisation of that joy. 

And he found it. He would never admit that he had found it; the truth was too humble for him to comprehend. Because the joy of creation was not a sacred secret gifted only to the deserving. It was not an elusive treasure that only the wise, the intelligent, and the brave could obtain. He renewed his engineering efforts, certain that he'd made a mistake. There had to be a zenith beyond even that. 

If there was, he still hadn't found it.

He discovered the true joy of creation on a rainy Tuesday in May 1970. The hospital windows were a canvas of grey misery. He stood because he was too tense to sit. And then, after thirteen hours, the doors at the end of the corridor were opened to him. 

The next minutes were a blur. Faceless staff led him into a white room. Laura emerged from the haze. She lay on sheets as pale as her skin, holding a new life close to her breast. A tiny newborn baby with wrinkly red skin. 

"Michael," she whispered. 

"Michael," he whispered. 

There had never been a more perfect human being. Nothing had ever stirred his heart like the sight of that child. His first kiss, his wedding day, none of it even compared. This was a new kind of love. 

He had discovered the joy of creation. 

"I did think it was that simple for a time, and it upset me greatly. That joy shouldn't be something that just anyone could find by having a child. Finally, though, I understand the nuance. The joy of creation does not simply come from bearing a child. It came to me because my children were different. They are perfect." - Excerpt from the diary of William Afton, 3rd March, 1976 

William pulled the animatronic head away slowly. He clamped a hand to his mouth as the strips of skin and tendons stretched further and further, hanging to the inside of the mask. Even though he'd set the mechanisms to retract and free Michael's head, the gore was still stuck tight. 

He had no idea what time it was anymore or how long they had been in the warehouse. Extracting Michael's body was a painstaking process, and more than once, he stopped to vomit violently. Gore had never disturbed him before, not like that. It sickened him because it wasn't just blood and bone. This was his son. 

The boy's corpse lay side by side with the Spring Bonnie suit. William bit into his clenched fist until the skin bled. It wasn't enough to block the sobs escaping his throat. Sometimes, he wailed out a shapeless roar, full of the agony that could not be put into words. It echoed off the metal walls and surrounded him until even he felt frightened by it. 

That wasn't Michael. It did not look like him. It did not look human. That eyeless smear of flesh on the floor was not his son. William fell over it and pressed his forehead against the crushed ribcage, howling. 

And Michael heard.

Michael looked down at himself. Was that him? He knew it was, somehow, but he couldn't be sure how he knew. If his body was over there, then how come he was over here?

And the man crying over him - there was something about that man. Dangerous, hateful, cruel, terrifying; he felt a great urge to stamp down on his skull while his guard was down. Another wave of emotional feedback stopped him from acting on the fear. No, no, he loved this man. He loved him as much as he hated him. He needed the man to comfort him and assure him he was good, no matter how painful the consequences. 

Michael didn't remember. Everything before the current moment was just a black void inhabited by grey shapes. Nothing around him felt recognisable except for the man and the corpse. The conflicting emotional reactions were only making things worse. Opposing signals paralysed him until he eventually broke through all of them and tried to speak. 

"Who are you?" 

He said the words, but what came out was not his voice. Instead, it was an adult's voice, broad and deep, distorted by a layer of static. 

"Are you-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou?" 

Michael saw the man flinch away and tried again, desperate to communicate. There weren't enough words. Something was limiting his vocabulary. He concentrated, willing the words to rearrange and change pitch. The phonetic information stored within his bizarre body broke down into simple components and pasted into new combinations. They mimicked sounds that had not been recorded, mixing together in a facsimile of the words he needed. 

"Who-oo-oo are you?" 

William stared at the costume. The jaw was moving, even though it was detached from the endo. His mind jumped to damaged wiring before the voice rang out again, followed by a distorted jumble. He moved away, gasping as the Spring Bonnie head twitched on the ground. 

"It's a malfunction," William said to himself. But he was rooted to the floor, unable to look away, reasoning mind completely subservent to terror. He hissed and slapped himself in the face as he tried to pull himself together. "It's a bloody glitch, you idiot. What are you doing?!" 

"Will-ill-ill. Will-ee-am-am?" 

William yelped and scrambled back further until his head hit a workbench. He pressed his back to the surface, chest heaving. 

"It's not real," he said to himself, hoping that voicing it might convince his dillusional mind to stop the hallucination. "Not real. Not real." 

"Pla-ease tell me-me-me." 

"Yes! William!" he screamed. He slammed his head back against the edge of the table again and again, desperate to wake up from the nightmare. "Damm it! Damn it!" 

Michael wanted to see him crack. Michael wanted to stop him from hurting himself. With a subconscious thought, one detached arm began to crawl towards the man. 

William, his eyes closed in agony, did not see the hand until it brushed against his leg. With a scream, he kicked out and sent it spinning across the warehouse floor. He stumbled over to the corpse again, hauling it up into his arms. 

"I'm sorry Michael! I didn't mean for any of it, I didn't think it could happen!" 

"My-cull-ul-ul is me." 

William felt like his eyes were about to bulge out his skull. Ragged breaths wrenched through his lungs as he stared at the rabbit head. 

"Oh my g- Michael? Michael, please..." 

"My-cull. I am My-cull-ul." 

William dropped the corpse and gripped the head with bloodied hands, staring wildly at the organic eyes still rolling within the plastic ones. They swivelled and turned up in unison to look at him, suddenly moving as a complete unit. 

"Michael, is it you?" William sobbed painfully as he cradled the head. "It's impossible." 

"My-cull-ll-ll! Who are-are you?" 

"Shit." William gritted his teeth and pressed his head into the metal until it hurt. "This isn't happening, this isn't real." 

"Who ar-" 

"Your dad, damn it! It's me, William... Your dad." 

Bonnie's hooded eyelids blinked down and stayed closed for a moment as Michael thought. Dad. William. It felt right. It made him sick. There was something important that he had forgotten. 

"I feel buh-had." 

"Bad," William whispered.

He carefully set the head down above the torso and sealed them back together. The limbs soon followed. Michael twitched his fingers and sat up abruptly. William crept back again as the clunky body pulled itself upright. The grinning face of Spring Bonnie, stained with blood, leered down at him before turning its attention to the corpse. It poked the body curiously. 

"Stop that!" William yelled. He shoved the metal hand away and scooped Michael's corpse into his arms again, shielding it from the machine. "Don't touch him!" 

Bonnie's head tilted. It pointed to its chest. 

"It's me." 

William breathed out hard, hugging the corpse tight. Bonnie tapped its torso hatch. 

"What, you... You want me to put him back?" 

It nodded. Inside, Michael had begun to scream. 

"Give me back my body! It's mine, please!" His spirit knew exactly what he needed to say. The voicebox blasted out a burst of static, scrambling phrases to give his words voice. 

"Give me! Back my buh-dee!" 

William cowered at the deafening roar of his own pre-recorded voice. 

"Okay! Okay!" He stood up and looked at all that remained of his son. Puncture wounds ran around his chin, which hung to the upper skull by a few rags of flesh. There were no eyes left to look lifelessly at him. 

He's ruined, William thought bitterly. Compared to Michael, all of his robotic creations had been dross. And now he had ruined him in pursuit of a lesser invention. There was nothing left of the perfection he had made. No evidence to show what had once been so beautiful. 

"Why am I doing this?" he said scathingly to himself, hanging the corpse back inside the suit. The voice wasn't his son. It was the byproduct of a mind blindsided by shock and trauma. Giving in to it would make things worse! 

The crushed limbs slipped back into the costume easily. William glanced down at his bloodsoaked suit. His eyes twitched as he stared at his son's own gore splattered over his hands. For the first time that night, thoughts of the outside world invaded his mind.

'What the hell am I going to do when people found out?'

Perhaps it made more sense if the body was still in the suit when people found it. They couldn't possibly know he had taken it out, right? Or was that worse? Would he look uncaring if he didn't remove it? Would it seem suspicious? His already taut muscles clenched further at the idea. 

'Of course. They're going to blame me.'

Meanwhile, Michael's own mind was whirling, not with questions, but with answers. As the two halves of his severed being were reunited, the past few hours snapped into clarity. The pleading, the begging, the denial. 

He straightened up, feeling the true height of his body for the first time as he loomed over William. 

His dad couldn't even look at him. Staring at his hands - at himself - same as ever. The voicebox rattled out an incomprehensible noise, looping the start of Bonnie's recorded "Great!" into a low gre-gre-gre-gre, like a car engine turning over. But this time, there was something else behind it. William's head shot up as he heard his son's voice growling beneath the electronic garble. 

"Michael!" 

The metal glove shot out and grabbed the front of William's shirt. The collar tightened around his windpipe, growing worse as Michael lifted him up with ease. His father held on to the suit's arm in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure building on his neck. 

"You kil-killed me! I t-t-told you to stop-op! You said you ca-cared!" Mike's voice rose above the echo of Spring Bonnie's lines.

“I do care, Michael. I’m sorry! I’ll make this better, I - ack - I swear.”  

Spring Bonnie's grip only tightened. William's face began to lose colour as he hung helplessly in the air.

“What happen-d-d-d? Why? I can n-n-not remember!” Bonnie’s voicebox blared out another ear-numbing cry as Mike dropped his dad onto the floor and clutched at his new head. Giving himself only a second to catch his breath, William was soon back up, holding his alien child’s wrists tightly. 

“I will fix this, son, I promise you.” 

“I’m scared." The metallic fingers pressed deep into the mask, creating little dents. “You always say you'll fix things and you never do. I do not be-be-believe you.” 

“It’s true, Michael. I’ll find a way. You think anything is crazy after this?” He stroked the stubbly gold fur of Bonnie’s cheek and wheezed out a frantic laugh. “This! This wasn’t possible either! But... But God’s given me a chance, Michael, don’t you see? If your mind is still inside there, then I can put you back together!” 

Michael stared at him, his organic eyes burning behind the lenses. They were already beginning to dry out, even as he felt like crying. Nothing made sense anymore. He could hardly remember dying, let alone everything that came before; there were lingering emotions, snatches of memories, half-understood gut feelings. But the context had been stripped. He did not trust this man, and he did not remember why. What else was there for him to do, though? 

“I wa-want to go h-h-home.” 

William hung his head and sighed. He pressed his head against Bonnie’s snout. 

“Sure, kiddo. Here, let me get into the torso piece; just need to hit a few switches to make sure you can move properly.” 

Michael rose and silently consented as William reached inside the bottom of the costume. It felt strange, as if something moved under his skin. Once he had hit a few catches, his father stepped back, cast him a mournful look, and headed towards the warehouse door. 

Michael went to follow him. As abnormal as his new form felt, it had not been hard to control. Everything came as naturally as it did in life – even if he could not remember that life very well. This time, his subconscious desire to move forward met an obstacle. He tried harder, willing his legs to shift, envisioning the motion in his mind. But nothing happened. Then he felt the strange absence within his body; the endo had detached. He wasn't in free-roam mode.

He was trapped. 

Panic sprung up quick as a gunshot. His spirit writhed against the metal cage. Even the audiobox no longer responded to his thoughts. He screamed, he slammed the walls, he clawed at the inanimate limbs. William, now at the door, stopped to look behind at the unmoving Spring Bonnie suit. 

He was surprised it had worked. A small mercy amidst it all.  

“Sorry, Michael,” he said. “I won’t be long.” 

Chapter Text

'It’s not your fault.' 

William drove slowly through the dark streets, keeping an eye out for any signs of movement. A cold sensation gripped his chest whenever another car passed by. He would stare into the rearview mirror as they disappeared into the darkness behind. No-one seemed to notice him – as far as he could tell, anyway. He knew the paranoia was unfounded. Who would remember driving by a car as plain as his at three in the morning?  

'No-one. No-one is looking at me. Good. I didn’t do anything.' 

The house looked wrong as he pulled into the drive. Or maybe it looked right, too right. It looked just like it always had; but nothing was ordinary anymore. Everything was different now. How could everything go on looking as it always had when nothing would ever be the same again? William felt a distinct seperation between himself and the world surrounding him, as if he were a traveller seeing things for the first time. 

Turning the key in the lock was agonising. He eased it open gradually, praying it wouldn’t make a sound. Inside, everything was silent. William crept up the stairs, cautious as a burglar in his own home.

He checked Michael’s bedroom for anything that might suspicious. An unmade bed. An opened clothes drawer. A closed window. Michael’s sketchbook and pens were strewn over the floor, but all the caps were on. In short, a messy teenager, but not one that had been swiped from his home without warning. Nothing unusual to see here. 

'He’s going to come back here once I fix him.' 

William glanced at his watch. Arranging his fractured thoughts felt like wrangling a wild horse, but he had to focus. He had to concentrate. Making his way back to the kitchen, he grabbed a pad of post-it notes and a marker. 

OUT WITH MIKE, WE’LL BE BACK IN A BIT! LOVE, DAD 

He began gnawing the top of the pen without even noticing it. For what felt like an eternity, he just stared down at the note, analysing each line of ink. Tearing it out, he scrunched it into his pocket and wrote a new one. 

GONE WITH MIKE TO GRAB SOME STUFF, BACK SOON; LOVE YOU! FROM DAD 

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. After leaning there against the counter for a moment, he snatched the note away and tried one last time. 

NEED CEREAL – GONE TO SHOP – BACK SOON – DAD  

William pressed the note against the fridge and riffled around the cupboards, grabbing any cereal boxes he found. He hadn’t expected to find a whole four boxes on the go. Apparently, his absence had given the kids free reign to stock up on sugary junk. Biting his lip, he emptied them into a black bin bag and chucked the packets in the trash.  

With the rubbish bag in hand, William returned to the car. He lit a cigarette and took a long draw. Smoke concealed the hideous house from sight, drowning him in a world of nothing but grey. Then he was on the move again.  

'Michael and I go out at six. Elizabeth and Evan wouldn’t be awake by then. Okay. And we’re going out for cereal. Maybe I see all the sweet stuff they bought and tell Michael we’re going to get something healthier. So, we drive out...' 

William made his way out of the country roads and into the town. Concrete bricks of local businesses began to replace the rows of corn. William stopped the car to dump the bag of cereal in a garbage can outside a burger joint. 

'When we reach the shops, I get out, and I hear Michael’s door open. I head into the shop, presuming he's right there, but when I turn around, Michael isn’t following me.' 

William drove further down the road before he parked up in a small backstreet. He was well-accustomed to working through fatigue. ‘Pulling an all-nighter' was more habit than exception. What he felt now was unlike any exhaustion he’d ever felt. It weighed him down, irresistable and all-consuming. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he mumbled to himself. 

“I run back outside. I’m calling out for him. I look everywhere, but he’s just gone.” His voice cracked. “I looked all over for him, but he wasn’t there anymore. He was just gone.” 

Charlie counted each inhale and exhale. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. She was trying so hard not to cry again. It had been okay to cry at home when her dad told the news. There was no-one she had to be strong for then. She had cried and cried into her dad’s chest, holding him tightly in case he disappeared, too. 

Now, she had to be the grown-up, the strong one, the shoulder that others could soak with tears. She sat in the back of Henry’s old jeep with Evan and Elizabeth on either side. The younger kids squished up against her as if she were their own sister. Evan had practically crawled onto her lap since they parked up. Ducklings seeking any kind of warmth. Charlie had her arms wrapped around them as they sniffled and fidgeted. It was only time that had quietened them; they were too exhausted to shed any more tears at that moment. 

“Why did he want to go away?” Evan asked. His voice, quiet at the best of times, was muffled further as he hid his face in Charlie’s shirt.  

“Maybe if you weren’t such a spoiled baby all the time, he wouldn’t have gone!” Elizabeth said. She pulled away sharply as Charlie opened her mouth, already sensing the oncoming reprimand. “It’s true, though!” 

“You know it’s not, Liz,” Charlie said softly, rubbing Evan’s arm. “We have no idea what’s happened, but it’s definitely not because of you guys.” 

“How do you even know that?” Elizabeth said, her flushed face growing redder as her emotions overspilt once again. 

“I know because Mike wouldn’t ever walk out on you. He’s a jerk sometimes, but not that kind of jerk.” 

“How much longer will Dad be?” Evan asked.  

Charlie craned her neck to look out the back window. She couldn’t see anything through the police station’s dingy glass doors.  

“I don’t know. We just have to be patient.” 

“I want to go home.” 

“Your dad has to make sure the police have everything they need to find Mikey,” she said. “Gotta be patient.” 

“Okay.” Evan finally revealed his wet face. Charlie felt her chest tighten at the sight of his red, blurry eyes. The boy was a champion when it came to keeping up the waterworks, but he would usually ease back into a normal mood once he was distracted from whatever upset him. Nothing was going to take his mind off Mike, though. She grabbed a bag of week-old sherbet from the driver seat's back pocket. 

“Here, take a few,” she said. Neither of the kids reached out to take any. She sighed and stuck a sherbet in her mouth before popping the bag on the floor. “Just grab ‘em if you change your mind.” 

“Charlie, I do think Mikey ran away because of us,” Evan said after a moment of silence.

"Come on, Evan, you know he loves you really."

"Yeah, but he gets in trouble and stuff, and he - he had a fight with Dad yesterday."

Charlie stopped chewing abruptly. Her brow knotted as memories of the last year floated into mind. She remembered Mike’s scarf, remembered the red skin below. A 'towel burn'. Then there were the visits to the Afton house, a house always devoid of parental supervision. She'd been so shocked the first time she saw Mike making them a fairly complex dinner on the stove; he'd laughed at her reaction, as if it was completely normal for a thirteen year old to be doing the family cooking.

“Did something happen?”  

“Dad grounded Mikey last night,” Elizabeth said. “He said ‘fuck’ and yelled at Dad and stuff.” 

Charlie might have laughed if she hadn’t felt so unnerved. 

“But Mike went shopping with your dad this morning, right? Did he seem okay then?” 

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. The little girl had a face of steely determination, like an investigator turning over vital clues. “Daddy says he was fine, but maybe he was pretending so he could run away.” 

“I wish he took me with him,” Evan said quietly. He’d gone back to holding his Fredbear toy’s paws, gently moving them up and down in a halfhearted dance.  

“Was it a bad argument?” Charlie asked, turning to Liz. She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“No! That’s what’s weird! Daddy wasn’t half as cross as usual when Mikey’s bad. Maybe it wasn't that.” 

Charlie knew that the Afton family had a pretty different atmosphere than the one in her own home. For one thing, the idea of having a mom that never left the bedroom freaked her out; her dad had explained Aunt Laura was very sick and had to stay in bed, but that didn’t explain why the siblings or Uncle Will never talked about her. Charlie once had a nightmare about going up there and finding Aunt Laura’s ghost, trapped and screaming in a tiny bird cage.

And while Uncle Will wasn’t scary, she knew that Mike wasn’t his dad’s biggest fan. In contrast to the silence surrounding Laura, Mike talked about his dad too much. It was always full of contradictions. One minute, William was an angry, mean, uncaring old man who Mike never wanted to see again; the next, William was so much better and smarter and cooler than anyone else, and Mike was trying so desperately to earn the smallest slither of his approval. 

If she was being honest, she wasn't sure what to think. Her only points of reference for parenting were from TV and books, and the way Henry treated her. Even with such a limited pool of life experience to draw on, her gut was telling her something about the family set-up wasn't right. Uncle Will had always been so kind and lovely to her. It felt bizarre to imagine him shouting or even hitting Mike. But why would he lie to her? Why would Evan and Liz lie? 

“What’s your dad usually like when he’s really mad?” Charlie asked.

This seemed to make Elizabeth clam up. Her mystery-solving scowl faded. She looked frightened, as if caught in the middle of doing something naughty, and she slumped against Charlie’s side again. 

“Just shouts, normal dad stuff,” she said. Her little fingers traced a sequin butterfly on Charlie’s skirt. “He wasn’t shouting lots last night. He just grounded Mike.” 

Charlie bit her lip. 

“You remember that book I read when we did our last sleepover? Uh, Jack and the Big Black Cat?” 

“Yeah,” said Liz. Evan nodded in agreement and leant down to get a sherbet. 

“Yeah?” Charlie tried to smile, hoping to get the girl’s guard down. “So, you know in that story how Jack wanted to go away because his evil step-mother used to smack him when he was bad?” 

Elizabeth caught on immediately. She sat up and glared at Charlie, her mouth set in a firm line. 

“Daddy does not hit Mikey."

Charlie felt Evan shift against her side. She just caught a glimpse of his big brown eyes and trembling lip before he ducked away once more, busying himself with Fredbear’s crooked bowtie.  

“I’m sorry, Liz, I didn’t mean it like that,” Charlie said, knowing full well that she did. “I just meant that maybe someone was bullying Mike.” 

She didn’t want to lie. She never did, not about anything. It was no surprise, then, that she was awful at it. Elizabeth knew all about lies. She knew how to spot them too, especially the bad ones. 

“Mikey’s the toughest boy in Hurricane. No-one picks on him,” she said, with a hint of pride creeping into her voice. But the statement had made her dwell on her brother for too long. Her mind was suddenly swimming with memories of how Mike would swoop in and rain hell down on the girls at school who dared pick on her. However much teachers said that you shouldn’t fight bullies, they could never convince her. They were wrong, and her brother was the strongest guy around, and she loved it when he protected her. 

And he was gone. 

By the time William and Henry returned to the car, the twins had started crying again. William heard the wails first. He stopped a few steps away and sighed, rubbing his dishevelled hair. Henry paused and turned back to him. 

“I’ll take care of them, okay?” Henry said. “You do whatever you have to do, Will. Leave them to me.” 

“It’s... Thanks, Henry.” 

“I’m serious. I can take them back to my place if you and Laura need a moment. It’s no trouble.” 

William felt his stomach lurch. He hadn’t even thought about telling his wife. She hadn’t so much as entered his mind for the last few days. Hearing her name was like a sledgehammer to the face. 

“Fuck, what am I... I can’t tell her, she’ll-” 

“You have to, Will, she needs to know.” 

“She’s practically in a fucking coma,” William said, keeping his voice low even as the tension in it grew. “You think I can just tell her Michael’s missing? I’ve got no bloody idea how she’s going to take it.” 

Henry took a quick glance at his car to make sure the kids hadn’t noticed them yet. When he saw they were still clear for a moment longer, he walked over to his partner and placed his hands on his shoulders. 

“You’re right, it’s not my place to tell you what you should do,” he said. He sighed and looked at William’s hollow face. “Sorry. Maybe just think about it. And you tell me if I can help in any way.” 

William’s eyes widened as Henry suddenly pulled him into a tight embrace. Henry had always had a disarming penchant for openly showing affection regardless of the setting. There was a charming sort of obliviousness to the way he would unabashedly hug his friends or throw his arm over them fondly, with no hint of masculine shame. William was self-aware enough to know he was the polar opposite. It was mortifying for him, and yet, he could never quite bring himself to push Henry away. 

The embarrassment was worse than ever now. His children were a few feet away and there was an entire building of cops at their backs. There was contempt in William's soul, too. He wouldn’t even have been there if it wasn’t for Henry. Henry and his better-than-thou attitude, his constant badgering about the springlocks, his secret whispers to Michael. 

Michael wouldn’t be dead if Henry had just kept his mouth shut.  

Gradually, William raised his arms up to return the embrace. He squeezed Henry like a constrictor and arched his fingers deep into his back. If he’d had the strength to crush the life out of him then and there, he would have done so without hesitation. 

Of course, Henry didn’t say anything in complaint. The uncomfortable grip was, in his mind, another symptom of his best friend’s bottomless despair. He took it in silence, only letting go once William had done so first. A small smile broke through Henry’s bushy ginger beard. 

“We’re all here for you, Will. We're going to find him.” 

“Thanks, Henry. Look, about the new suit...” 

“Don’t even think about it,” he said quickly. “You pretend like the business doesn’t exist; it’s ticking along just fine as it is.” 

William squinted down at the ground, feeling the mounting tension in his jaw as he bit back any stray thoughts. 

“I know. Before all this, though, things weren’t going exactly to plan. It’s just not coming together the way I planned. I think I need to start over.” 

“Nothing’s going to seem positive in this light, Will,” Henry said with a shake of his head. “You know you’ve been nothing but confident about the project up until now. Shelve the whole thing and wait until you’re in the right headspace.” 

“This isn’t stress.” William could have strangled the man; Henry believed he was experiencing the worst trauma of his life, and he still couldn’t help but reject all Will's ideas and substitute them with his own. “I'm scrapping the current suit. I'll convert it into a full animatronic; at least that saves the shell from being wasted. Then I’m starting fresh, working on the remodelling project from scratch. I’ll pay for the added time and expense if it helps, but I can't keep going as it is.” 

Henry scratched his stubbly sideburns and sighed. 

“If that’s what you have to do, that’s fine with me. I really don’t think you should be worrying about work now, of all times, though.” 

“I am not worried, I am expressing intent. That’s all.” His voice was just a little too clipped. 

“You sure you don’t want me to send you over some of my notes? Heaven knows you’ve got me beat on engineering, but still, it helps to share ideas. Fredbear’s looking pretty good – it's slow going, but he’s getting there.” 

“If you really want to, yes,” William said, fulling intending to shove any notes in a deep drawer and never think about them again. He couldn't care less how Henry's Fredbear suit was going. As a matter of fact, he'd have quite liked to take a crowbar to it.

"You're keeping it together amazingly," Henry said, looking almost wistful. "Better than I ever could. I really don't want the business to be an added burden on you, Will. I swear I'll tell you if there are any problems, if that puts you at ease. But for now, it's all under control."

William swallowed hard as Henry gave him a final squeeze before gesturing him over towards the car. There was something terribly cold about losing his touch. Something festered beneath the irritation and embarrassment when Henry held him. While the touch lasted, his anger would drown it; when the touch ended, it would suddenly be left in plain view. 

He hated that most of all. 

Keeping up appearances was everything, he knew. Still, he barely had the willpower left to say anything as he sat in the passenger’s seat and looked back at his screaming kids. His chest twisted at their bawling, a blend of empathy and irritation.  

“Hey. Hey, enough,” he said. It was not an impatient tone, but it was stern. Elizabeth whimpered as she tried to obey. Evan went unnaturally silent, as if his father had just hit an off switch. Charlie pulled their seatbelts into place before wrapping them both in her arms again.

“They can’t help it,” Charlie said, a little indignantly. 

“Charlie,” Henry said, casting her a warning glance in the rearview mirror.  

Charlie huffed but said no more. She nuzzled the quaking Elizabeth’s blonde curls with her nose, then looked back up, ready to give William’s back a disapproving stare. It startled her when she found that he still hadn’t turned around. Their eyes met again. A small chill spiked her bare arms. William was looking at her like... She didn’t know what it was like. There was such spite, such hatred, and at the same time, such a genuine smile. The closest thing she could liken it to was when one of the mean girls at school, one who she’d told on and gotten into trouble before, saw her fall painfully during PE. She’d caught that girl staring at her, silently delighting in Charlie’s pain and humiliation. But even that wasn’t enough to describe the look William gave her now.  

“Sorry, Uncle Will,” she said. 

“It’s okay, Charlotte,” he said. His smile widened. “Listen, all of you. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.” 

Chapter Text

When they were six years old, Michael and Charlie had gone to play in the creek. It was a warm summer day. There had been three straight weeks of sun, and the water ran shallow enough for the local kids to go wading. 

Michael, clad only in his swimming trunks, scampered down to the cool waters. He stopped once to glance back at his parents. His father was sitting under a parasol and reading a book. His mother stopped slathering sunscreen over her arms and waved at him. Underneath the wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, her ruby red lips broke into a smile. Michael grinned and waved back. 

The bank of the creek sloped down to the inviting water. He jumped in and squealed as the chill raced through his nerves. Charlie was already there. As soon as she caught sight of him, she cupped up a handful of water and threw it over him. Michael felt his breath catch for a second. Then his lungs were released, and he laughed wildly as he chased after his friend, kicking up great arching splashes as he went. 

Smooth stones made up the bed of the stream. Every now and then, Michael or Charlie would slip as their bare feet slid off the stones. Neither of them cared. It was blissfully fun. 

Michael strayed towards a deeper part of the creek. The water rose up to his hips. Holding his hands over his eyes to block the glaring sun, he surveyed the bank, looking for Charlie. Something heavy thudded into his back. The strips of green and blue turned to murky brown as he fell forwards, pressed down by the unseen weight. 

It had happened so quickly that his mind didn’t quite register he was now under the water. His chest hit the wall of cold at full force and, once again, his chest muscles clenched. He took a deep breath in as his instincts assumed control, desperate for a gulp of air to ease the shock.  

Water rushed in through his mouth and nose. The cold turned to fire in his body. It burned inside, making him gasp, filling his throat with another swell of water. He flailed his arms through the sludge surrounding him, completely pinned to the spot, unable to move. 

Later on, he would find out that he’d only been under for about ten seconds. A huge mastiff, eager to play and oblivious of its own strength, had leapt on top of him. Seconds later, the owner had run over and hauled the dog off before dragging him onto the bank. He couldn’t believe it had been such a short time. In his mind, the memory spanned minutes.  

Now, Michael experienced the sensation of drowning for a day. There was no water, just cold metal. In place of a dog’s heavy paws, a second skin weighed him down and held him fast. No matter how he struggled, he couldn’t break free. He was alive, he was gasping, but it wasn’t air filling his lungs. Even as the motions of breathing seared his chest, he kept trying, straining for the release of a single deep inhalation. 

Michael was fighting to live. But he truly wished he was dead. 

And then a voice broke through his silent screams. After hours of torture, someone had finally come. The last person he would have ever chosen.

“Hey, Michael. I’m sorry about the wait.” 

The spirit thrashed against the metal cage with renewed vigour as William approached. Mike longed to throttle him, and he cursed himself for letting his father go before. But he was completely immobile. Anger rose like leaping flames, fanned all the more by his utter inability to act upon it. William was smiling at him. Smiling. The emotion was suffocating Mike as much as the suit. 

William was only a few steps away from Spring Bonnie. His smile had been a nervous one as he entered the warehouse; he wasn’t convinced that Michael’s ghostly voice hadn’t just been a hallucination. If he’d been losing his grip the other night, and there was nothing left of his boy to save, he could never dilute the guilt. Doubts about the paranormal events were clouding his mind when he saw it. 

At first, he thought the shadows were tricking his eyes. Spring Bonnie appeared to move sharply to the left, then back again. William squinted a little. He stopped and stared, wondering if a light had blinked off without him noticing. But then it happened again. The suit twitched and shifted from side to side, leaving shadowy imprints in the air as it teleported. The head shook and twitched violently. 

Surprise came as fast as fear. Confronting something so unexpected left him unable to respond. That is, until the suit snapped into a position mere inches away from his face. He screamed and stumbled backwards as his very vision distorted. Rippling after-images spread through the air as he fell; only Spring Bonnie’s head was constant, burned into the very centre of his sight even as he lay staring up at the ceiling. And the sound. A screeching cry of metal on metal, whirring and grating as if every machine in the workshop had joined in a shrill chorus.  

William held his arms over his head, trying to block out sight and sound as the very earth seemed to quake. There was inherent vulnerability to lying on the ground, but overwhelming terror had frozen him in place, rendering him utterly unable to stand. All he could do was hide and pray to a god he had never believed in. 

Something electrifying burned the air around him. Michael didn’t understand it, yet he controlled it as easily as thought. And damn, it felt good. It felt so good. William was squirming on the floor, as pathetic as the kids he would bully at school. Small and powerless and wretched like worms. How easy would it be to propel this body forward once more, to send it crashing it his father, to break his bones like William had broken his. 

He regretted not killing him before. He wanted to put it right now. He needed to end William. He knew he was going to repeat the mistake. 

Mike screamed. This time, it was not a scream of fear or desperation, not a cry of pain or frustration. It was the sound of his very will being torn in two. The all-consuming desire to kill rammed against the naive, childish love he still felt deep down. They collided and collapsed until it felt like his very soul was crumbling.  

William flinched as the lights overhead burned unnaturally bright. He could hear Michael’s voice rising above the metallic clamour. At the height of the scream, the bulbs exploded, showering glass down onto him.  

Then all was darkness and silence. 

Slowly, carefully, William stood back up. Without a word, he crept over to the suit, which once again stood still on the warehouse floor. He reached into the torso piece and clicked the endo back into place.

All he could do was hold his breath as Bonnie’s ears drooped. No more visions assaulted his senses, only sound.

“You tricked m-me,” said Spring Bonnie.

Mike’s voice had disappeared once more. 

“Michael?” William asked. "Was that you?"

“You do not c-care. Do yu-yu-you? You tra-tra-trapped me!” 

“I’m sorry, Michael, I only wanted you to calm down," he said quickly. "You know I couldn’t have taken you home, and you were in such a state that I... It seemed best to shut you down for a moment while I sorted things out.” 

"It hurts! It hurts so bad-lee-lee!"

William steeled himself as his flight-or-fight response told him to run.

"I'm sorry, son, I'm so, so sorry." He pressed his hands into what little fur decorated the chest piece. Michael shoved him back, taking no care to control the amount of force he exerted. With a sharp cry, William stumbled and clutched his chest, barely managing to stay upright. He'd broken his ribs before, and while the impact hadn't been hard enough to break them again, it felt dangerously close. He wheezed weakly as Bonnie spoke again.

“Next time, tell-ell me! No more tricks or I-I-I will hurt you.” 

“Damn it, Michael, you know I want to fix this! I don’t know how much control you had over that - that thing just now, but remember that I am the only way you’re getting out of this bloody disaster.” 

“I am only he-he-here because of you!” 

“I know!” William shouted. “I fucking know, Michael! It’s done now, I can’t change that. Think about the future! I understand you’re angry but hurting me is the stupidest possible thing you could do right now!” 

William reached into a pocket on the long grey jacket he wore. He retrieved a folded flyer and held it out, his mouth twisted into a scowl. 

“I was buying us time.” 

Michael reached out gingerly with Bonnie’s oversized hands and attempted to unfold the paper. It tore slightly, despite how much effort he now put into controlling his new body’s strength. The flyer had his face on it – his old face. 

MISSING

MICHAEL AFTON - AGE 13 - MALE - HEIGHT 5'2''

LAST SEEN ON 24TH JULY 1981, ON WESTFIELD ROAD, HURRICANE

DO NOT HESITATE! CALL UTAH COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE WITH ANY INFORMATION

“I am m-m-missing,” he said simply. 

William scratched his head. His hair was still sticking out at odd angles; Michael almost found some semblance of enjoyment in how scruffy his father looked, knowing how much he would be hating the fact. 

“You’ll be found, too. As soon as I figure this out." He sighed, rubbing his bruised torso. "Of course, I don’t know how long it will take. We're the first to find physical evidence that ghosts exist, after all.” 

Michael’s ears twitched. His father was trying to be light-hearted now. Probably an attempt to reassure him.  

“You can n-n-not put me at e-ease. Not after you trapped me for ow-ow-hours in here. I do not trust you.” 

“Was it really that bad?” William asked. Then, he added quietly, “I’m genuinely asking. I didn't mean to sound sarcastic.” 

“Y-Yes,” Mike said, staring at his own face on the flyer. “It feels like drowning.” 

William’s shoulders sagged. He looked down at the half-formed rabbit legs, still stained a glistening red. 

“Sorry, Michael. I didn’t know. I won’t turn the endoskeleton off again.” 

After a moment of hesitation, Mike nodded the oversized head awkwardly. 

“Good.” 

“Obviously, I can’t take you home like this,” William said. He’d always been strict with himself about smoking in the warehouse, but at that moment, he desperately needed something to help keep him sane. Fumbling for a cigarette, he perched on a nearby workbench. “I’ve told Carl and Jennifer not to come in this week. It’s not a permanent solution, but it lets you stay out of sight for a while longer.” 

“I can’t stay another night,” Michael said, his true voice echoing the Bonnie recording as panic clutched at him again. “Please, I hate it so much.” 

William waved a hand to slow him down. After lighting up, he allowed himself a moment to formulate a response. 

“This is what we’ll do. You’ll need to be cleaned up. I can take care of that. I’ll take some samples of the metal and...” He swallowed, unable to say the next part. “Uh, some blood samples. And then I’ll finish the suit. I told Henry I was turning it into a full animatronic. That's where I'll take you. You can stay for as long as it takes.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Michael said, taking a thudding step back as he realised where this was going. “Y-You can’t just hide me in the fricking diner!” 

“I can, and I will,” William said. Some of his strangled sternness was returning as he glared at the haunted Bonnie. “I’m sealing the suit up while I work on the samples. It's a perfect solution to our problem. Who in their right mind is going to look in a bloody children’s animatronic for a missing kid?” 

“Henry, for one, if he remembers the springlocks,” Michael said ruefully. 

“Please. Henry’s going to be so busy running the place without me that he won’t remember left from right.” William chewed the end of the cigarette subconsciously. Only the filter disintegrating onto his tongue made him realise. He spat the fibres out and scowled. “There’s no reason for him to think you got in a bloody suit. Especially not one I’m sending into the Diner. Bloody hell, Michael. Last place anyone will look!” 

“So what, I’m meant to just sing and dance in this dumb thing until you figure it out?!” 

“Would you rather I shut you off again and leave you here?” he snapped back. 

Even after glimpsing the power his spirit could wield, Michael was still a child. A child who recoiled under the threat. He hung his head. The floor was soaked in his blood. 

“Fuck you, dad.” 

William grunted and snuffed out the cigarette. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

There was little for Mike to do other than watch as his father began to clean the gore. He knelt down as William wiped away at the stained floor with an oil-blackened sponge. 

“How did Ee-list-a-beth-eth and Ee-ve-an take it?” Mike’s voice had lost its potency again, leaving William’s pre-recorded lines as his only means of speaking. The pitch and mixing struggled to form the names of his siblings. For some reason, that seemed to bring his grave situation closer to home than before; he felt like they were slipping away from him. His fractured memory held them close, but their faces were already faded negatives. 

“They’re upset,” William said. He scooped up a disturbingly large flap of muscle tissue that had landed on the floor and slopped it into a bucket. Internally, he forced himself to see the ichor as mere mud in a desperate attempt to keep himself from vomiting at the sight. 

“Okay,” Mike said. “Anything else? Did they say anything-thing-thing?” 

William shrugged. “They miss you. They’re worried.” 

“You did not leave them all-own-own-alone?” 

“They’re at Henry’s place.” William scraped up the last of the blood and wiped his forehead, leaving a faint streak of pale, watery red on his face. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.” 

“I have to do things for them,” Mike said urgently. He couldn’t remember what exactly, but he knew it was important. “They need me.” 

“I’ll make sure they’re alright, Michael. The place doesn’t fall apart when you’re not around, alright?” 

Mike wasn’t sure if his father spoke from a place of irritation or attempted reassurance. The man’s expression was so blank that he couldn’t read anything. Anyway, the truth was that he couldn’t do anything about his siblings, no matter how much he wanted to; the only thing he’d be good for now was singing ‘Happy Birthday’ and strumming a fake banjo.  

“Did Ch-are-lee-ee say any-anything?” 

“Why don’t you ask them when you see them?” William muttered, carrying the bucket of bloody water and soap over to the costume.  

“I do not know when I will-ill leave.” 

William sighed bitterly but relented. 

“Exactly the same as Elizabeth and Evan,” he said, scrubbing the seams where the blood had dried. "Charlotte's sad and worried and absolutely fine.” 

“Why are you up-up-set at me?” 

“I’m not 'upset'. I don’t like the way you’re talking like you’ll never see them again; it’s like you don’t have any faith in me at all.” 

Mike’s voice crackled up. “Why should I? You fucking killed me!” 

“Stop swearing.” 

“Are you for real?!” He pushed his dad back with one swing, again, just hard enough to hurt. William edged back, watching him intently as he continued to shout. “Don’t swear?! I’m dead! I’m dead because of you! You’re still treating me like this?!” 

“I don’t know what else to do, okay?” William said, his own volume rising as he slammed the sponge back into the bucket with a splash. “I - I – Damn it, Mike, I have no idea what I’m doing! I admit it! Are you happy now? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I fucked everything up!” 

The twinned eyes of Spring Bonnie and Michael stared in cold shock as William sat down and hid his face in his hands. His father was trembling – actually trembling, like a person with emotions. Bonnie’s voicebox made a blunt crackling noise as Mike snorted. 

“Shit, you really are a human,” he said.  

William’s fingers parted, letting his silver eyes meet Michael’s gaze. 

“What did you think I was?” 

“I dunno. Vampire or something.” 

A rough chuckle forced itself from William’s throat. 

“Well. Maybe they’re real, too. Anything could be, now.” 

“You do get how stupid you sound, right? I mean, we just found out ghosts are real, and you immediately act like you can bring them back to life. Like it's just another engineering problem. I’m not going to believe you just because you keep saying you can fix me.” 

“Fine,” William said. He groaned and massaged his temples. “I know it’s optimistic. I don’t know what else I can do, though, other than try.” 

“Can’t you just tell someone the truth? Maybe there would be scientists that would help! Or doctors, or the government, anyone!” 

“This is real life, Michael, okay, this isn’t a film. If I say I killed my son and now his ghost is haunting me, I’d be sectioned.” 

“Yeah...” He didn’t say what he was really thinking: ‘Maybe you should be.’ 

Mike flexed his heavy metallic arms, looking at the dried flakes of blood and skin on the faux fur. His lack of reaction to the sight of his own gore surprised him. It felt disconnected somehow, like an old shirt he hadn’t worn in years hanging in a wardrobe. Something that once covered him over, a long time ago.

Bonnie’s fingers clenched. He didn’t want to forget, didn’t want to stay calm. Above all, he didn’t want those fading photographs of Evan, Liz, and Charlie to disappear. There were so many others, too. Uncle Henry, with his goofy grin and simple kindness. His mom, who depended on him so much. His gang, Jeremy and Ben and Kyle – they had all sworn they’d stick together, especially if aliens or robots took over the world someday. Even Fumbling Phil, the manager at the diner, who had spent many a day hopelessly failing to supervise him while Dad and Henry worked. He didn’t even want to forget weird old Phil. 

“I’ll do what you say for now,” Mike said. The fingers flexed, holding on to the threads. “I guess I don’t have any options.” 

William’s eyes closed. He slid his fingers back over his face. 

“You crying, Dad?” 

Nothing.

For a moment, the fire rose. But it was only the flicker of a candle. Mike felt the spark and allowed it to die; after all, what he said was true. There were no options, and he needed his dad's help - perhaps more than he ever had before. William pulled himself onto his knees and resumed his work on the bloodied shell. After several minutes without words, he spoke in a half-whisper.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Moving the suit without the endoskeleton."

Spring Bonnie's big eyes blinked. 

"Make me angry-ry again and maybe you-you-you'll find out."

The grimace on William's face twisted into a small smile.

"Atta boy, Michael."

Chapter Text

Charlie’s steely expression looked out of place on her young face. Her rosy cheeks deserved a joyful smile or a sulky, stubborn frown. The intensity of her eyes and tension about the mouth spoke to an emotion too strong for such a little girl to bear. Those who stopped to take one of her flyers lingered, unable to move on without offering words of comfort. 

“We’ll keep an eye out, dear.” 

“I’m sure your friend will turn up soon.” 

“I’ll show his photo to all my friends.” 

“Someone is bound to find him eventually.” 

“Don’t give up hope now, okay?” 

Charlie couldn’t muster a smile in response to the baseless optimism. She merely nodded in thanks and continued down the street, her stack of posters clenched tightly in her hands. 

With her father juggling the work of two men, Charlie had been left to her own devices at home. As much as Henry was loving and kind, there was always a detachment from the real world there. Charlie knew that he would never even imagine she would sneak out behind his back and visit the very street where Mike disappeared. Henry had simply trusted her not to venture into the dangerous outside world. 

There was an inkling of guilt for breaking that trust, but she refused to let it stop her. She had printed out at least forty copies of Mike’s missing poster at the local library. When asked where her dad was by the librarian, she had rocked on her toes and said he was in the car outside. No-one doubted that innocent face of hers. 

Unfortunately, she was attracting a little more scrutiny now as she handed out the missing person flyers. Fifteen minutes into her work, she met an adult who did not settle for simply taking a poster and offering a kind word. 

“And where are your parents?” 

Charlie looked up at the older woman who had asked the question. She was in her sixties, a real grandmother type with greying hair and an oversized coat completely unsuitable for the hot weather.  

“Dad’s in the car down the street,” she said, waving vaguely behind her. 

“Your little friend went missing on this street and he’s letting you wander around unsupervised?” she said, shaking her head. “Could be any number of creeps around. Come on, I want to have a word with him.” 

Charlie bit her lip and nodded. She made it about five steps down the road before doubling back sharply and making a break for it, ducking and diving through a forest of legs. Behind her, she could hear the woman calling out. 

Refusing to glance back, Charlie ran until she came to a thin gap between two of the supermarkets lining the street. She squeezed in, cringing at the litter and mysterious splatters of liquid on the floor. Emerging out the other side onto a less pedestrianised road, she dropped down and waited to catch her breath. 

It was the middle of the day, meaning that there was a mercifully small amount of traffic. No-one seemed to pay her attention as they drove past, but she stayed in the shadows just in case. She crouched down and laid the stack of paper in front of her, looking down at it forlornly. Michael’s face stared back out in blurry black and white. 

“I don’t get it,” she said to his photograph. “There’s no way you wouldn’t have fought back if some weirdo tried to snatch you. Uncle William would have heard... And you wouldn’t run away, right?” 

There was no reply from the poster. Charlie sighed. 

“And if movies taught me anything, it’s that cops never crack the case. Not unless they have a super detective or something. I haven’t seen one.” 

Leaning against the wall, she curled her knees under her chin and let a few tears escape. Hardly an hour would pass by anymore without her thinking about the bruised skin on Mike’s neck. He was a rough kid, and usually sported an assortment of bruises. There was always a backstory for each one. Sometimes they made sense; sometimes they stunk of a lie. Towel burn was the worst one yet. Why would he even have tried to cover something like that up? 

“I swear, Michael Afton, if you just ran away instead of asking me for help, I’m never gonna speak to you again.” 

Guilt stirred again, this time from another source. She had asked her dad to speak with Mike that day and find out if something was wrong. When nothing came of the conversation, she’d just carried on as normal. Even though she felt something strange was going on with him, she had chosen to drop it. She had made the decision to accept Mike and Henry’s vague reassurances. And now her best friend was gone.  

“Yeah, well, I’ll be the one to find you, okay?” she said, glaring down at the poster as if challenging the very word ‘missing’.  

Charlie made her way back home, taking a little more care to look around her surroundings on the return trip. The older lady had meant well, and she knew that her concerns were valid; maybe there was a child kidnapper lurking about. Once she was safely indoors, she locked the front door and stayed put until her father came back. 

Unlike his business partner, Henry made a point of keeping reasonable working hours. It was five o’clock when he came in, bringing the lingering smell of overcooked pizza with him. Charlie peered around the corner, trying to gauge whether his expression seemed positive or negative. 

Great. Forced-positive. That meant bad news.

“Hey Charlie,” Henry said. “How’s your day been?” 

“Oh, fine,” she said without enthusiasm. He nodded with unspoken understanding. 

“Good. Look, uh, I passed by your Uncle Will’s place on my way back, and he’s not in. Ev and Liz are on their own. I figured we should go 'round and make sure they're all sorted for this evening. Is that alright with you?” 

“Of course!” she said. Her hands balled into fists. “Why on earth would he just leave them alone?” 

“Laura’s in,” he offered weakly, fully aware that it didn’t count for much. “People do strange things when bad stuff happens, sometimes. Anyway, let's not leave them waiting, I said I'd only be five minutes. We’ll order a takeout when we get there. Get your shoes on.” 

The Emilys arrival at the Afton household was greeted with a heartbreaking level of happiness. Evan latched onto Henry as soon as he entered, silently shedding tears. Henry hoisted the boy up into his arms and carried him into the living room. Elizabeth stood in bubbly contrast, speaking at a mile a minute as she buzzed around Charlie’s side. 

“I made us sandwiches all by myself!” she announced. “Evan was hungry and so I got all the stuff out; I even cut the crusts off. And I put ham in it and everything.” 

“Didn’t your dad leave you lunch before he went out?” Henry asked, brow furrowing. Elizabeth was practically skipping with energy. 

“Nope, and I did breakfast myself, too, but only yoghurts, because he got rid of all the cereal.” 

"He left this morning? Why?"

"Daddy's got a lot of stuff to sort out! That's what he said."

“Kids, you... You could have called me,” Henry said, perching on the sofa and shifting Evan onto one knee. “He should have called me. You must phone up if something like that happens again, got it? It’s not safe in the kitchen.” 

“I’m okay!” Elizabeth said. “Mikey showed me how to use the knife and the bread cutter and how to check expiry dates and sniff stuff for mould!” 

Charlie’s stomach churned at the thought of Mike teaching his little sister all the lessons parents were meant to handle; it almost seemed like he’d been preparing her to cope in case he wasn’t around one day. Her father seemed to be sharing some similar sentiment. Henry nibbled his lower lip, as he always did when unsure how to word something controversial. 

“You did a good job, Lizzy, but you really shouldn’t be making food by yourself. I’m going to take care of that from now on, so you won’t have to do it anymore.” 

A small frown appeared on her cherubic face. 

“I liked making sandwiches,” she grumbled under her breath.  

“Dad?” Charlie began. “Um, you can’t... I could stay with them, maybe?” 

“You’re not old enough, Charlie,” Henry said, though he smiled at her thoughtfulness. “I know you can look after yourself, but looking after other kids as well is a bit too much. I’ll hire a babysitter.” 

“No,” Evan squeaked out, immediately on high alert. 

“Evan’s scared of babysitters,” Elizabeth said. “We had one once and she was super mean.” 

“Well, I’ll just have to find a super nice one,” Henry said, giving Evan a playful jostle on his knee as the boy continued to protest. 

“And I could stay too,” Charlie added quickly. “I mean, stay to make sure the babysitter is a good one. Please, Dad, could I?” 

“I don’t see why not. It would make me feel better knowing there’s someone watching all of you in one place. You sure you’d be okay with that?” 

“She would, she would!” Elizabeth answered for Charlie before she could speak, to which the older girl simply grinned and nodded along. 

“I can call you up if the babysitter does anything mean. Right, Evan? I’ll protect you!” Charlie said. 

Evan rubbed his face and considered before nodding. 

“Yes, that’s good,” he said. 

Henry gave a little sigh of relief. There was still the biggest hurdle to overcome – that being an unpleasant confrontation with William – but at least the kids were supporting each other. He had expected Liz to start crying again when she mentioned her brother. There was nothing he wanted more than to magic all the problems better, and his inability to work miracles made him feel compliant in their misery. 

After he’d ordered dinner and topped it off with a generous amount of ice cream dessert, the cracks began to show. Evan fidgeted as soon as Henry asked what time they usually went to bed. 

“Eight,” he said. “But I don’t wanna go. I don’t like Mike’s bedroom.” 

"Me neither," Liz said. She'd been sitting squidged up to Charlie on the recliner chair, only to start shrinking away at the mention of the bedroom.

“Aw, come on, Evan, I’ll take you up,” Charlie offered. Evan just looked down at the floor. 

"It's too scary now."

Henry leaned over to rub his back.

"He'll be back soon," Henry said. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say, but he preferred to side with optimism, even when it wasn't so realistic. "You know he'll be so proud of you being brave."

Elizabeth looked forlornly at Evan's hunched little figure. Hopping off the chair, she marched over to him with a determined stride.

“Will you brush my hair, Charlie, please?” Elizabeth asked, grabbing her twin brother’s hand. “Mikey did it sometimes.” 

“Yeah, totally,” she said, smiling.  

"And I'll hold your hand all the way to bed, Evan. So you won't be scared."

Evan glanced at Liz and sighed.

"Okay."

"You want me to brush your hair too, Ev?" Charlie asked. His floppy mop of hair was certainly getting long enough to merit it, but she offered merely in the hope it could provide him some sense of comfort. It seemed to do the trick, as Evan finally held his head up high and nodded.

“Thanks, Charlie,” Henry said, giving his daughter a thumbs-up. “I’ll come up too, okay? Make sure you’re all tucked up safe. And we won't go anywhere until your dad gets back.” 

Elizabeth gave Evan a little tug, and he reluctantly let her lead him upstairs. The kids were only a few steps up when they heard the noise of the front door opening. 

“Daddy! Dad’s home!” Elizabeth cried, immediately letting go of Evan and barrelling past everyone to get down the stairs. Henry adjusted his spectacles as she charged by. Evan simply sat on the step now that he was left alone. 

They could practically hear the impact of Liz making first contact with William. The man himself appeared from the hall a moment later, trying not to trip on the six-year-old leaping around his legs like a puppy. He looked a mess; there were deep creases under his eyes, and his usually swept-back hair fell loosely about his face. His eyes widened in shock as he saw Henry and Charlie hovering in the living room. 

“What are you-” William cut himself off and started again. “Henry, how are you?” 

“Hey Will,” Henry said, putting his hands in his pockets and grinning awkwardly. “Just dropped by to check up on everyone.” 

William had frozen in place, his eyes darting between the four faces staring at him. His mouth twitched a little before sinking into a look of despair. 

“I can explain,” he said, placing a hand on Liz’s hair to stop her bouncing about.  

“It’s okay, really,” Henry said gently. “The kids were just getting ready for bed. Everyone's fed and watered. You okay to talk once they’re settled in?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” William said. He still had the appearance of some wary creature cornered by poachers. 

“Great!” Henry waved Elizabeth over. “Okay, gang, up we go.” 

William trailed after them, mostly observing as Charlie and Henry helped the twins go through their nighttime routine. He only got involved when it came to seeing them into their bedroom; he practically pushed Henry away from the door with a simple, “I’ve got this.” 

Charlie pouted as she and her father were left in the corridor. Henry bent over to whisper to her. 

“Can you stay up here while I talk to Uncle Will?” 

“Sure,” she said, emphasising the word in almost theatrical manner. “Promise me you’ll really lay into him, Dad?” 

Henry wheezed out a strange kind of laugh. It didn’t sound like he had found the suggestion amusing at all, though. 

“Come on, Charlie-Bear,” he said, squeezing her affectionately to his side. “Everyone’s having a really hard time. We’ve got to be patient, okay?” 

“He knows what he’s doing, Dad! He looked so guilty when he walked in!” 

“I’m sure there’s a reason.” 

Charlie was glad they stood side-by-side so he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. 

William walked down a low, wide corridor. He didn’t know where he was going, but still he pressed forward. Dim light emanated from some unseen source. It was just enough to illuminate the black and white chequered tiling. The floor was filthy. 

A grey wall came into view at the end of the hall. He could make out a purple post-it note stuck on the wall. Something had been scrawled on it in thick black ink. 

As he reached the dead end, he heard something behind him. A dull, heavy thumping. Rhythmic, steady, echoing. He held his breath, because he knew what it meant. This thing, this presence behind him, was coming to kill him. 

With no means of defence, William turned and tried to run, hoping to dodge past the monster. It was his only chance. No sooner had he turned, than a cold claw snapped closed around his neck. Two luminous eyes shone out through the darkness. They followed his face as he was lifted off his feet. A row of oversized white teeth grinned at him. Behind these, a second pair, gun-metal grey, glinted hungrily. 

William scraped furiously at the monster’s hand. There was no strength in his arms whatsoever. No hope of escape. His chest burned as the last air in his lungs leaked out in a muted cry. 

The monster’s long ears twisted back. The pupils, small as pinpricks, were almost lost in the glow. The smile became a grimace. Slowly, slowly, it brought William closer to its snout. He could hear something like breathing coming from the beast. A grating, painful gasp. Its mouth opened wide to receive his head. 

And then it bit down. 

William shuddered back into consciousness with a gasp. Cold sweat coated his body, sickly cool against the humid air. His jumbled senses were further confused by the unfamiliar bedroom he’d woken up in. It took a moment for him to feel Evan shuffling at his side, to remember where he was.  

“Dad?” 

“Oh g- Evan... Evan.” William hugged the small boy, whose wide, fearful eyes reminded him painfully of the monster. 

Evan had lasted all of two hours alone when William put him to bed, after which he’d gone pawing at his parent’s bedroom door, begging to sleep in with them. William had opted to go into the twins' room instead; sharing a space with Laura had felt uniquely uncomfortable that night, and he was glad for the excuse to leave her territory. 

“Are you okay?” Evan asked. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He stroked back Evan’s mop of brown hair, feeling his own sweaty palm sticking to the strands. “Bad dream. Silly, I know. I’m meant to be keeping you from having nightmares.” 

“That’s okay,” Evan said, already settling back down. William sighed and tried to do the same, leaving one arm draped under his son’s head. 

Evan pinched his eyes shut. He had thought that sleeping with his dad would help him calm down. If anything, though, it just hammered home that Mike really was gone. Dad had said all sorts of nice, comforting things to him; he was big and cuddly and even hummed him a song. Mike would have teased him – maybe throwing one or two nice things in the mix, sure, but giving them a good coating of sarcasm. And he sure wasn’t big and cuddly. He was bony thin and only ever hugged for a minute before rolling onto his side of the bed.  

All in all, Dad should have been better. But the person Evan really wanted was his brother. 

William found himself just as uncomfortable as Evan. It had been years since he’d had to go on ‘nighttime snuggling’ duty. Not since Mike was a kid, in fact. The realisation suddenly struck him that Evan and Elizabeth had just innately known to go to their brother when the nightmares came. He couldn’t remember if they’d ever asked him. Maybe they hadn’t, maybe they had. Maybe he had said no.  

He hoped he hadn’t said no. 

But he knew which one was more likely. Henry's confrontation had been so typical of the man; he couldn't bear to speak too harshly, and prefaced every criticism with 'I know you're trying so hard'. The words had bitten enough to make up for the tone. While full of understanding for Will's plight, Henry made it clear that he'd be taking a more active role for now. There wasn't any argument about whether a babysitter was necessary; it was happening, no matter how much he claimed he could handle the kids.

William knew it was sensible. He completely understood where Henry was coming from. He knew he deserved much worse than he'd been given. And he hated him for it all. Hated the audacity of the implication he couldn't care for his own family. Without any negotiations, Henry just presumed the right to invite himself into William's home and tell him what changes to make.

Evan’s body felt so small and fragile against his own. William ran his fingers over the boy’s shoulder gently. That was something he remembered, at least: holding Michael’s little body as he slept in his arms. William swallowed with a dry throat as his eyes stung at the memory. 

“I love you, Evan,” he said quietly. 

“Love you too, Dad,” Evan murmured. 

William gave him a little squeeze and withdrew his arm. As much as he wanted to cling on to Evan and never let go, it just hurt too much. Every touch felt like a knife in his chest. 

Time crept by slowly in the dark, and while Evan soon fell asleep, William was still wide awake. The thoughts had started to churn again. They would keep him up until exhaustion ran his body into the ground and forced sleep on him. That was always the way it had been. What made it so agonising was that the thoughts weren’t abstract plans or engineering ideas or marketing slogans anymore. 

He eased himself out of his son’s bed and made his way out to the car. For a moment, he simply stood and looked up at the stars glinting overhead. He lit a cigarette and followed the patterns in the sky as if they were a map holding some secret. 

No grand celestial plan revealed itself. There were no signs in the stars to guide him out of this chaos. Idly, he took the cigar and pushed the burning tip into the back of his hand. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to do it. It felt right, though. 

Spring Bonnie’s ears twitched at the sound of the scraping up-and-over door. Michael’s dry, aching eyes watched as his father entered, wearing an odd outfit that had clearly been thrown together in a haphazard manner that was very unlike him. 

“Why back-ack-ack so so-oo-oon?” he asked.  

“I need a few things,” William said, barely glancing in his direction. He bolted up to the overhead office without another word. 

Michael lumbered the animatronic body to the foot of the stairs. Another flicker of memory was drawn from his scattered soul. A mundane yet infuriating one – running around the house trying to get his dad’s attention and being completely ignored. 

“I should get to-to know-ow what you’re plann-in-ing!” he called up, stubbornly folding his arms. 

In the office, William yanked open the file drawers, riffling through a myriad of documents and schematics. Finally, he fished out a lone VHS tape wedged between the stacks of paper. The original tape that this one was copied from had the date neatly written on its label. His copy was simply labelled, ‘ACCIDENT’. 

William had already ejected the tape out of his own surveillance video recorder earlier that day while working on Michael’s shell. It had only captured the first few seconds of the springlock failure, much to his frustration. More footage meant more clues, not to mention the reassurance of video evidence that Mike’s ghost was real and that he was not, in fact, going mad. In the throws of despair, he had unspooled the tape and burned it. 

Now he slotted in the Accident tape and played it back. He had watched it countless times, reliving the moment when he secured the Spring Bonnie head down over the hapless employee. The snap of the springlocks was so quiet on the footage; in the moment, it had sounded like a gunshot. 

William had paused, rewound, played, and paused again as he attempted to locate the flaw in his suit. He’d spent sleepless nights numbly watching the tape, trying vainly to find what the employee had done wrong. Now, he no longer cared about cause. It was the death itself that interested him. 

The kid – Frankie, that was his name – had just turned nineteen. He hadn’t left much of an impression on William. Another gangly teen working their first job, happy to finally have a wage. William listened to his dying screams with a clinical calmness. Why didn’t Frankie come back? 

Grabbing a paper bill and flipping it blank side up, he started to rapidly jot down every difference that came into his head, no matter how contrived or small.  

Different height/weight. Age difference. Model of animatronic – SB v.3 primarily aluminium while new SB v.8 primarily steel. Circumstances (forced vs voluntary). Setting (unfamiliar?) Duration of death – Frankie incident: shorter period until death. Relationship to me? Risk awareness. Desire for revenge? 

The pencil lingered on that last one. His lip twitched. Horror movies had always been Mike’s thing, and William had been forced to endure a few that his son wished to share with him. Even though he hadn’t been paying much attention, anyone with a passing knowledge of pop culture would know the timeworn trope: ghosts haunted people who killed them, usually in pursuit of revenge. 

If ghosts were real, perhaps the old tales of long ago had some truth in them. Those supernatural stories had evolved into the movies Mike loved. A grain of the truth would naturally travel with them; fiction often held a thread of history, however small. Cliches rooted in real experiences. 

Not to mention that Mike had tried to injure him multiple times now. 

“Hey, Michael?” William called. He stood up shakily and stuffed the note into his pocket as his son’s body clunked downstairs. 

“Yes-es-es?” 

“I’m sorry, kiddo, I just... I just need to get those samples I mentioned. I think I might be onto something.” 

Ironically, while William’s mind was swimming with thoughts of his son’s murderous motives, Michael seemed calmer than before. When William told him he needed to cut away a portion of both the organic and mechanical bodies, Mike was eager to appease him; he sat still as the angle grinder portioned off a few of the internal springlocks, now rendered surplus thanks to the suit’s new use. And he didn’t flinch as the chest cavity was opened, revealing the crushed child within. William sliced out a chunk of flesh and bone from what had once been the ribcage, focusing his vision on the tool rather than the corpse. 

“What did you fi-fi-find?” 

William looked up from the briefcase he’d been securing the samples in.  

“What?” 

“You sa-said you were on-on-to-to something.” 

“Right, right.” Each sample was in its own container. All safe and sound. He bit his lip as he looked at the grim contents, then clicked the case shut. “The metal. I used a different metal for this suit, you see. I’m going to see if I can find any unique qualities in the piece I took out just now.” 

Michael had never shared Elizabeth’s gift of seeing through his lies. He nodded, his ears bobbing with the motion. 

“And you will-ill-ill come back soo-soon?” 

William smiled and brushed the cheek of the rabbit head, now scrubbed clean and soft.  

“You bet, kiddo. Remember to stay still if anyone comes in, okay?” 

“G-Got it, Dad.” 

“Atta boy. Just need one more thing...” 

Leaving the briefcase, he moved over to the shelving units and pulled out a huge cardboard box labelled ‘v.8 test’. The tape, clearly still fresh, ripped with one sweep of a boxcutter. Michael walked over to investigate. 

“What do you-ou n-need that for?” 

William stashed the boxcutter in a trouser pocket. 

“Just a point of reference, that’s all.” 

Driving alone on American roads was an existential experience. The endless stretches of straight road invited introspection. Back in his home county of Oxfordshire, there was always something to stop and distract you. All roundabouts and busy junctions, with narrow country lanes outside the city and cluttered one-way streets within. Utah was a massive grid of lines stretching out into a rolling horizon. You were never so alone with your thoughts as when you took a solo drive through that arid wilderness. Out there, you could think.

And William needed to think. 

The springlocks inside the prototype Spring Bonnie v.8 jangled as the torso piece rolled around the boot of the car. It was his only companion that evening. The malformed plan that had crept into his mind seemed to grow with each metallic chime. He tried to beat it back, to wrestle it down, to make sense of it all. Ding, ding, ding. 

An older man in hiking gear appeared at the side of the road. William watched him trudge along and slowed his speed. His heart thudded hard as he hovered a foot over the brakes. The elderly man didn’t spare a glance at his car, keeping up his steadfast march. After a brief moment, William pushed down on the accelerator again and zoomed past.  

“You bloody idiot,” he hissed to himself. He spared a glance at the retreating figure in the wingmirror. “Bloody hell is wrong with you? Idiot...” 

In England, you could easily get lost in the winding roads. But you were never far from civilisation, either. A few more minutes and you’d find a house, if not a whole town. In Utah, you could drive for miles and never see a sign of habitation. To William, that was the real essence of being lost. 

Knowing that no-one was nearby to help you. 

His car passed a gleaming Mustang that had pulled up in a layby. Inside, a young couple were kissing each other intensely, almost violently. They were locked away in their bubble, so unaware of the outside world. His knuckles felt ready to cut through the skin. It would be so easy. 

After all. No-one was nearby to help them. 

The guy in the Mustang looked up suddenly and caught sight of William. He mouthed something obscene, flipping him off as he did. Without a hint of a reaction, William simply accelerated onwards once more.

The sun set over the stark scenery. Sheets of pink and gold melted over each other in the sky above, slowly giving way to the dark of night. A flock of birds pierced the low haze with their black silhouettes. He could follow them out to another city. Someplace where his face wouldn’t be recognised. The country was full of darkened streets haunted by the lost and forgotten. The plan could be a success if he just let it grow wings. 

It was a step too far. It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t neat, it wasn’t trimmed to perfection. No sense in it, either intellectually or morally. Malformed. Nothing like his immaculate creations. But every second he spent imagining it set an electric excitement pulsing through his veins. He knew the sensation well; he was standing on the threshold of the Joy. 

In truth, he simply couldn’t wait to iron out the details of how he would do it. The passion was on him now. It was going to bring him one step closer to Michael. To the way things used to be, the way they should be. Morality be damned. Some dim memory of a vicar on Sunday came to him, teaching the congregation that a man must provide for his household. 

“Well, that’s all I’m doing, isn’t it?” he said out loud. “‘He who does not provide for his family is worse than a man without faith’, or however it goes.” 

He laughed at the hypocrisy in his own words and drummed the steering wheel. Believing in ghosts and believing in god were completely different. He’d seen one of them. It was absurd that he felt a shred of genuine fear of the latter. He laughed harder, the sound deep and hoarse, forcing the fear out from his chest. 

“Can’t get any worse, anyway! Huh, Bonnie? Can’t get worse than it is.” 

How strange, then, that fate should reward him at that moment. Walking along the side of the dusty road was exactly what he’d been looking for. Not too old; not a couple; a lone young man. A man who raised his thumb up in the air when he saw the oncoming car. William pulled over and leaned across the passenger seat to throw open the door. 

“Where are you looking to go?” he said. 

The stranger on the road smiled. He was likely in his early twenties, skinny and short, with wavy ginger hair and a beard to match. His eyes were magnified behind thick aviator glasses. A battered leather jacket covered over a simple shirt that reeked of sweat and tobacco. There were patches sewn onto his army surplus bag, displaying the logos of bands William didn’t know. In one hand, he held a large rectangular satchel. 

“Hi, thanks for stopping!” the man said with a grin. “Heading to Provo. Pretty far, I know! Any distance would help, though.” 

William’s lips stretched into a thin smile. 

“Well, wouldn’t you know? Exactly where I’m heading. Get in.” 

“You’re a real lifesaver, mister,” said the man, swinging his satchel in without a second thought. He held out a grubby hand. “Tommy Porter at your service.” 

“Dave Miller,” said William, shaking his hand. He slipped back out onto the road, glancing occasionally at his new passenger. “So, what’s out in Provo for you?” 

“Sights and museums for me.” Tommy chuckled and rubbed his nose self-consciously. He gestured to the satchel leaning against his knees. “I’m an artist. Self-styled artist, of course. Never sold anything. On the road for inspiration. Have been this past year.” 

“A whole year on the road?” 

“Yessir, and loving every minute. What about you?” 

“Ah, nothing so exciting. Got family over there; my niece is getting christened.” 

“Ah, nice,” Tommy said. His airy tone seemed to indicate an uncertainty over how to respond to small talk. “Congratulations, then.” 

William flicked on the radio. He noticed Tommy perk up a little as some popular rock song filtered out. 

“How about you, Tommy? Any family? Heh, I know I’d be worried sick if one of my kids was out hitchhiking on their own.” 

Tommy shrugged and wringed his fingers, although he kept one foot tapping along with the lively beat.  

“Ah, me and my folks had a disagreement. I was never on the straight and narrow, y’know? Never did anything really bad, mind,” he added quickly. “Just, uh, just alternative lifestyle shit. They didn’t like my crowd, and I guess they stopped liking me.” 

Tommy cleared his throat and hummed quietly, clearly embarrassed at sharing so much with a man he’d just met. William kept his eyes fixed ahead and smiled widely. 

“You’ve got to walk your own path. I get that. I guess they weren’t too keen on a career in art, huh?” 

“You’ve got that right. Said there was no money in it. Me, well, I don’t much care about that anyway.” 

“My mom was the same. When I was a little kid, I wanted to be in theatre. You can guess how long that dream lasted.” Tommy chuckled a little, and William continued, sensing his apprehensions easing. “So what sort of alternative lifestyle are we talking? Velvet Underground, or?” 

“Hell no!” He laughed. “Punk. I’m not an anarchist or anything, I just really believe in what the movement’s about, you know? Like, I don’t wanna burn down the government, but I want to challenge it. Direct action, all that stuff. That’s why I’m touring the museums and galleries – can't build the future if you don’t understand the past or present.” 

William remembered Tommy’s type from his own university days. A bright and blinding optimism that would waste away a teenager’s youth.  

‘If anything, I’m just saving him from disappointment.’ 

The car thumped over a pothole, jostling them in their seats. Behind, there was a metallic ringing as the animatronic torso smacked the backseats. 

“Whoa, you got some heavy kit back there,” Tommy said, twisting in his seat to try and see what had made the noise.  

William exhaled slowly, letting his eyes rise from the road to the sky above. The sun had disappeared. Night was finally settling in. And all around them, the terracotta wilderness had waned into streaks of grey and black. 

“I’m an inventor,” William said casually. “Engineering. Part of a robotic exoskeleton.” 

“Get out,” Tommy said, smirking with a doubtful crook in his brow. 

“Dead serious. You want to see it?” 

“Hell, I’m in no rush. Provo ain’t going anywhere.” 

After scanning the landscape for a secluded spot, William eventually found an ideal nook. A group of rugged mesas stood not far from the roadside. They cast long shadows in the rising moon’s light, darkening the already dimmed land below. He swung the car off the road without a care for the vehicle’s offroad capabilities. 

Pulling up in the shadow of the hills, he swung his door open and grabbed his packet of cigarettes.  

“Go open the boot,” William said, balancing a cigarette on his lips. He made a show of snapping the lighter, deliberately letting it spark out as he stalled for time. Tommy obliged after a moment and headed around the back. 

Once he heard the boot snap open, William got out and joined him, still smiling amiably. The young man looked down with a wrinkled nose at the piece. 

“Exoskeleton?” he said dubiously. 

“Yeah, for muscle reinforcement. We’re designing it to support people with spinal weakness.” William spun the lies on the spot, trusting in the punk’s inexperience to pick up the slack. “It’s going to be a game-changer. Lots of opportunities for disabled people to get back into work. Let me show you.” 

"I’m good,” Tommy said, looking at the interlocking metal inside the shell. “It’s like a brutalist art piece in there.” 

He went to pull away when he felt something sharp at his neck. William held the boxcutter close enough to just barely slit the skin. 

“I insist,” he said. “Hands behind your back.” 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” 

“Shut up.” 

Tommy groaned and held his arms back. Holding the knife in his teeth, William grabbed a bungee cord out the back and tied them fast. The boy’s hands began to turn pale with each tightening tug of the cord. 

“I don’t even have anything,” Tommy said. His knees were beginning to visibly shake. “I got my pictures and like, a pack of trail mix, man! Shit, take them if you want!” 

William, now holding the boxcutter again, sidled around to grab the torso piece while keeping the knife close to his neck.  

“You just need to hold still while I put this on. That’s all, okay?” 

“What’re you doing this for?” 

“I’m saving someone, Tommy. I’m saving a little boy.” He leant in close to the hitchhiker’s ear. “I’m going to hurt you. Hurt like you can’t imagine. You can hate me with all your soul, but just remember, there’s a kid out there who needs me. Got it? If anything happens to me, that kid is dead. So just think about that while you’re screaming.”  

"You're kidding me. Oh fuck... C-Come on, Dave, I didn't do anything!"

In response, William traced a deeper line over Tommy’s throat. A small trickle of blood laced down onto his shirt. His body jerked as he went to pull away, only to stop himself lest he anger his assailant.

"Quiet, now. Your voice irrates me."

William couldn’t resist a smirk as he saw a wet patch bloom across the crotch of Tommy’s jeans. He lifted the springlock suit over the man's head and settled it into position. Then he took a step back to check his work.  

“Okay, Tommy, all set.” The same words he’d told Frankie. William fidgeted, briefly wrestling yet again with his intentions. He didn’t even have a shovel to bury the body with. But he’d gone too far to stop now. Even the nick on Tommy’s neck would be cause enough to get police on his case.  

“Okay, man, look, I don’t get this, but we’re cool, alright?” Tommy said in a frantic voice, feeling the tension of the pregnant pause. “I won't say anything, man. I won’t tell anyone about the knife you got there, yeah?” 

William picked a heavy rock off the ground and nodded. 

“You won’t.” 

Tommy yelped in shock as the rock was sent whistling into the suit piece. The cry hiked in pitch as the first springlocks began to open. William watched as Tommy’s contorted face twisted further in confusion and agony. He writhed and bent double in an attempt to shake the torso off, but the metal had already dug firmly into his flesh.  

William had the self-awareness to be aware his feelings at that moment were not quite right. His analytical mind held sway, studying the sight before him with cool passivity. Underneath lay a sense, not just of apathy towards Tommy’s pain, but of genuine excitement. The shock of the torturous springlocking had dimmed now that he witnessed it for the third time, helped further by the lack of any relationship with the victim. And perhaps, somewhere, he understood the baser level of enjoyment it brought. It felt powerful, having so much control over another human life. Frankie and Mike had been mistakes; William had hand-chosen Tommy for this fate.  

He leant down as Tommy collapsed and looked over the suit, mentally noting each detail. The boy’s mouth frothed over with red foam. His eyes flickered aimlessly, as if blinded by pain.  

“I did this to you, Tommy, remember. I loved every second of it.” William spoke slowly and directly, as if trying to convince a toddler of some basic point. Maybe it was excessive to try and foster his hatred further, but William needed to stoke the fire as much as possible. “I wanted you to feel a kind of pain that most people could never dream of. Remember the kid, Tom; you can hate me all you want now, but I need to be alive for that kid.” 

Tommy whined weakly, his throat gurgling from the expulsion of air. William sat himself down on a patch of scrubland nearby. He blew a cloud of smoke out into the chilly night and waited, patiently, to see if Tommy would pay him another visit. 

Chapter Text

Blood dripped from William’s knuckles.  

“Come on!” He slammed the rock into Tommy’s skull again. The hitchhiker’s face was beyond recognition now. All that remained was a misshapen cavity. William ground his teeth together and hit him again, and again, and again. “Come on!” 

No sound, no movement. William let the slick rock slip from his hands as he stood up, panting heavily.

His eyes glazed over as he surveyed corpse. Tommy’s organs were sprawled over the sand, some still connected to the dissected body. Others he had removed entirely, crushed underfoot, cut in two. The Spring Bonnie suit lay half-open, with Tommy's body contained like a bivalve inside its shell; William had released the catches to desecrate the body.

Patches of sweat and blood caused his shirt to stick against his skin. It felt like clinging hands grabbing his body. He tore his shirt off and threw it to one side. A low groan wheezed out of his chest. It steadily grew into an enraged roar that echoed off the mesas. The howl of a wild animal frenzied beyond all sense. 

As the merciless desert sun rose the next morning, the streaks of blue and silver solidified once more into identifiable objects. Stone, shrub, keys, bone. William had dragged the corpse into a gap between two of the hills. The trail of blood had been dutifully covered over with more sand.  

He dug his hands through loose sand. After hours of work throughout the night, he had managed to create a pit that was wide enough to fit Tommy’s corpse. But it still lacked depth. William shovelled out handful after handful, growling out a cry of frustration every time the edge of the hole collapsed back in and erased his progress. 

“Last warning, you little shit!” William said, hauling out another pile of earth. He glared at the bloodied corpse he’d extracted from the prototype Bonnie chest. The remains of Tommy’s jaw were stretched unnaturally wide.  

William continued to murmur quietly as he returned to the task of digging. After another gruelling stint, the pit was finally deep enough to accommodate the body. William lifted himself out and crawled over to Tommy. Despite his dry throat, he continued to mutter vague threats; nothing intelligible. Sometimes he would simply make a noise to give vent to the agony inside him. 

“Last. Chance.” William started dragging the corpse towards the hole. “You've had plenty of time to come kill me. Do it now or I'm gone forever.” 

Tommy said nothing. William growled and shook the body. 

“Do something!” 

His shouts were consumed by the surrounding silence. In the distance, a car whooshed by on the road. If Tommy’s spirit had been watching, William had given it every reason to haunt him. But there was no sign of any ghost.  

Tommy’s death had been useless. 

William severed one of the dead man's fingers before letting the body tumble to the earth below. Then, in silence, he loaded the metal casing into the boot, gave the bumper a basic wipe-down to remove the blood, put the finger in the same pocket as his boxcutter, and got inside the car.  

For a moment, he sat watching the sky while the open door let a hint of breeze filter in. He lit a cigarette but didn’t lift it to his mouth. Again, he found himself compelled to hold the tip to the skin of his palm. A small hiss came from the dry skin. William’s eyes flickered as the burn blossomed underneath. Then he threw the cigarette out the window and lit up the lighter again. Slowly, he held his left hand above it, gradually bringing it closer to the small flame. 

“One out of three. What made you different, Michael?” 

His voice, a soft whisper in the wasteland. 

“Our relationship? It can’t be that. I won’t test that.” 

The lighter was burning his palm now. His mind told him to pull away, but he forced his hand to keep still. 

“The metal... Or the age. Frankie was much older, too.” 

The skin was turning a deep, unhealthy pink. Even as he flinched in pain, he didn’t stop. 

“I just need to understand it.” 

He fell sideways out of the car and vomited onto the sand. 

“Is she nice?” 

“Oh yes, very nice.” 

Henry smiled as Evan’s face scrunched in deep consideration.  

He was sitting on a stool opposite the couch where William and his children sat. Charlie perched on the floor by his feet, running her fingers through the carpet fibres. The Afton’s living room felt distinctly bigger without Mike and Laura there to fill the gaps. Putting that hollow feeling to one side had been difficult for Henry; it felt callous to carry on as if they had never existed. Still, the future didn’t wait for anyone. 

It had been three days since William’s disappearance from the household. Henry had dedicated as much spare time as he could to interviewing potential sitters during that interval. Although it seemed like William had taken his words to heart and stayed with the kids since then, Henry didn’t want to take chances when his friend was so clearly struggling. 

“So, that’s Annika for you.” Henry waited for William to give some feedback, and when none came, he simply glanced at his notebook. “There's also a younger woman in her twenties named Rebecca. Again, a very pleasant lady. She’s got experience working as a teaching assistant.” 

“I don’t want another teacher,” Elizabeth said, wrinkling her nose as she pictured being bossed around by a mirror image of her schoolteacher. She tugged at her father’s shirt; like Henry, she was getting bothered by how quiet he was being. “Daddy, I think Anika is better!” 

William’s eyes stared out at nothing from their dark hollows. His business partner was used to seeing him sleep-deprived, although even then, he was usually still focused and engaged. Now he seemed more of a husk than a human. 

“Are you okay, Will?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Anika.” His face was a death mask.

Henry nibbled his lip, then pocketed the notebook.

“Okay, then. Anika is the one. Kids, you want to watch something while your dad and I go give her a call?” 

Liz agreed enthusiastically and hopped down to switch on the TV. Evan didn’t move a muscle, though his wide eyes watched closely as Henry led William out into the hall and shut the door. For Charlie’s part, she waited until it had clicked shut before sneaking over and pushing her ear against the frame. 

“How are you sleeping?” Henry asked. 

For the first time that day, William’s blank slate cracked. He gave a rough chuckle and slid his hands into his pockets. 

“Sleep? Never heard of it.” 

“Sheesh. Can’t say I blame you.” Henry felt ill just wondering how he would cope if their roles were reversed. “Maybe you should see a doctor. Get some pills to help you relax, just to tide you over until... You know.” 

“Until we find Michael.” William finished his thought in a sing-song tone. “Just sedate myself like a useless junkie while the cops do all the work.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Will. You look exhausted. It can’t be doing you any good.” 

“I’m fine. Forgive me if I’m not enraptured by reviewing job applicants.” 

Henry hesitated, unable to tell what spirit the sarcasm was meant in. 

“You still working on the new Bonnie, Will?” 

“A little, here and there,” he said. The sudden change of topic had knocked the confidence out of his bearing. He folded his arms, as if to block Henry out of his mind. “Two more days and I can move it into the Diner.” 

Henry gave a stiff sigh. William felt his hair stand on end as Henry insisted on patting his shoulder.

“Will, I get the need for a distraction. I do. But I really think you’d find things more manageable if you just put work to one side for a while. Spend some time with Liz and Ev. They’re hurting too, they need you.” 

William smiled thinly. 

“Stop telling me what to do, Henry.” 

“I’m not telling you to do anything, I’m just trying to give some advice.” 

“Yeah? Why are you so confident you know what to do?” William was still smiling as he took a step towards him. It was a simple action that should have meant nothing at all, yet Henry found himself edging back. “Why do I need your advice all of a sudden?” 

“Because I’m your friend, and I want to support you,” Henry said, trying to sound calm yet stuttering over his words a little. 

“‘Support’ implies you’re fortifying me, Henry. No, no. You’re tearing down everything I do. You’re walking into my house, uninvited, talking to my children without my permission, inviting in strangers to watch them, undermining me at every chance you get.” 

Henry felt the doormat underfoot. Without breaking eye contact, he nodded slowly. 

“Okay, Will. I’m sorry you feel that way. It wasn’t my intention at all to undermine you.” 

“You fucking liar.” 

“That’s enough, Will.” Henry’s own voice finally hardened in tone. “I’m going to give you some space, alright. We can talk later.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you, now or later or ever. I want you out of my fucking life, Henry, get it?” 

Henry pushed up his spectacles.

“Charlie!” 

Charlie jumped back as her dad called out her name. The twins both turned to stare at her, wondering if she’d been caught eavesdropping. 

“Y-Yeah, Dad?” she shouted back, slinking away from the door. 

“Grab your coat, Charlie-Bear, we’re heading out.” 

“But you just got here!” Elizabeth whined as Charlie went over to give her a quick squeeze.

“Hey, I’m sure we’ll be back soon, okay?” she said, smiling as well as she could given her thumping heart.

After grabbing her raincoat and giving Evan a goodbye hug as well, Charlie stepped cautiously into the hall. She hurried over to Henry, squishing up against the wall to avoid William as much as possible. As she reached her dad’s side, Henry placed an arm around her shoulder and held her a little closer than normal. 

“I suppose I’m paying this sitter extra for watching your brat too, right?” William said, eying Charlie as she peered up at him. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Henry said, emphasising the word as he fumbled behind him for the door handle. He turned and guided Charlotte out in front of him, keeping himself as a barricade between her and William. Even with his eyes fixed ahead, he heard William’s footsteps following them out onto the drive. 

“You think I can’t handle anything by myself! One thing goes wrong, and it all falls apart? I need the almighty Henry to save the day?” he said, voice rising in a quavering faux jollity. He threw his arms open wide. “Come on, Henry, tell me what you really think!”  

“Get in the car, Charlie,” Henry whispered to his daughter, slipping the keys from his trouser pocket into her hands. She nodded and quickened her pace, heading for the car at the end of the track. 

“You never thought I could do anything right! Not like you, oh, not like Henry! Perfect father, perfect husband, Henry’s got it all under control!” 

Henry ignored him and continued to walk at a contained pace away from the house. William faltered as he realised he wouldn't stop. It felt like a switch in his brain had just been turned on, and the conequences of his impulsivity came crashing into clear view. A sensation not unlike hearing the snap of a failing springlock. 

“H-Henry?” The man’s voice broke. Henry stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder as William came after him, though now without such a determined stride, and certainly without a smile. “Henry, I...”  

He froze in front of his partner, mind racing. An idea came to light, an idea that absolutely mortified him. But it was the price he’d have to pay for acting in such a rash and thoughtless manner. William threw his arms around Henry in a tight embrace and buried his face into the larger man’s shoulder. 

Henry’s eyes widened behind his thick glasses as the unmistakable sound of sobbing came from his friend. He sounded broken, even more broken than the day he'd told him Mike had gone missing. Henry wrapped his arms over William's quivering body as the man practically fell into him.

“Hey, Will, it's okay, hey,” he said, repeating the words as he rubbed William’s back soothingly. Charlie, who had just unlocked the car door, stared back at them in disbelief as she heard the strangled weeping. 

William had learned how to cry on command years ago, back when he was still a child. It was simply a matter of envisaging a distressing memory, probing every nuance until you were fully immersed in despair of the past. Once, his favoured memory involved his mother and a dark place. Now, he did not have to travel back so far. As he endured the sensation of Henry’s warm body pressed against his own, he thought of Michael as a toddler. Ironically, that memory was of a happy day. A time when he’d cradled his son in his arms as they sat on fresh green grass, and watched as Laura danced for them.  

“I’m sorry,” William said. He choked on his own phlegm, eyes clenched shut, watching Laura taking Michael from his arms and into her own. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

“It’ll all be okay, buddy,” Henry whispered. “I understand.” 

“You don’t. I’m a monster.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re not, Will.” 

“I didn’t mean to be.” 

“I know, I know.” 

William tilted his head and dared to open his eyes up to the world again. And the first thing he saw was Charlie, a few feet away, staring back at him.  

And he didn’t like her face. 

Michael could no longer trust his instincts. Memories came to him so suddenly that they hardly seemed his own. The thoughts and feelings he had about his father, about his siblings, his friends – all of them felt like TV channels broadcast into his brain from some foreign source.  

One signal rose above the others time and again. It was him, a Michael from another time, another place. He’s trapped you. He’s torturing you. You can’t escape until he’s gone. You have to fight him. 

If he could have taken a deep breath to calm himself, he would have. Instead, all he could muster was a strained wheeze. He saw William turn suddenly at the noise and flip up his face shield. 

“Was that you?” he asked. 

“Y-Yes.” 

William rubbed a hand over his chest and looked away. 

“Don’t do that again.” 

With a small nod of his oversized head, Mike trudged away. His father had been working on the metal samples for over an hour now. An odd feeling had swept over him when he saw the first set of metal shards; they were the ones William had cut from his suit, and he had recognised them intrinsically before he even got a good look at them. It was more than recognition, in fact. They still felt like they were a part of him, connected by some unseen tether. He almost felt the angle grinder that stripped them, the chemicals William applied to them. Not that it hurt necessarily; it was a nervous sensation, like standing by a mannequin and thinking a real person was nearby.  

He hadn’t asked about the other pieces of steel his father was experimenting on. There was no link there. Although he expected they were from the prototype suit, they seemed too grubby; the torso piece had been in a good, clean condition when he saw it. 

For William’s part, he was glad to be rid of Michael’s hovering presence. Although the spirit had been calm and unquestioning, William couldn’t help but feel a certain weight of expectation coming from him. It was like having your judge, jury, and executioner looming over you as you desperately tried to prove your innocence. 

He had researched the chemical compositions using information from their steel supplier. He had isolated samples of each suit in heated sulphuric acid to monitor. He had performed ultrasonic testing, seeking out irregularities in the metal. He had slipped in the finger with the samples of Mike's flesh, ensuring he left just enough distance to stop any cross-contamination. 

And he wondered why he thought such routine processes could possibly relate to the supernatural. 

William removed his protective equipment and slumped against the table. The full extent of the research ahead buried him in an avalanche of dread. He was completely and utterly alone, with no scientific standard to work with. Briefly, he entertained the idea of looking into the paranormal investigators and pseudoscientists he had always considered frauds. The idea died away quickly; if they weren’t frauds, they’d have proven the existence of the supernatural long ago. It would have been simple. Hell, he could prove it right here and now. 

“Michael?” 

Mike barely heard his muffled voice. He looked back over to his father, surrounded by all the various gadgets and machinery that were such a mystery to him. William spoke again, lifting his face off the table. 

“I don’t expect you have a good answer to this. But if you were to characterise how you...” He trailed off, thinking how to phrase it. “How you feel now, what would you say? Not emotionally. How does your body feel?” 

“I f-feel like I am trapped insi-si-side another skin-in-in.” 

“What else?” 

"It hur-hur-hurts a lot, but at the same ti-time I can-not-not feel anything.” 

William got up and pressed his hands against Bonnie’s chest, exerting just the slightest pressure. 

“I need you to think more mechanically than that, Michael,” he said. “Does it feel hot, cold, neutral? Do you feel your real body inside the suit? Are your limbs heavy? Anything like that?” 

The signal drilled through Mike’s mind as his father watched him. He gave vent to the words, hoping to relieve the pressure he felt to act on them. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just going to keep me here and hope to find some solution, but you can’t,” he said, hearing his true voice bleed through the recording. “It’s like you’re torturing me, Dad, I – I need to get out, please.” 

“You need to be rational,” William said, his expression unmoved. “Getting frustrated doesn’t solve problems. Now think.” 

There’s only one way out. You know the solution. Kill him. Spring Bonnie’s voice box produced a high-pitched screech as Michael clutched his head in his hands.  

“I don’t know what else! It just hurts! I can’t breathe anymore!” 

“Do you feel my hands?” William asked, pushing harder. “Can you feel it on the exoskeleton?” 

“I... I know you’re touching the suit? I don’t feel it – I just know it.” 

“You know because you can see it?” His insistence on an answer was only making Mike’s intrusive thoughts stronger. Spring Bonnie’s jaw chattered as the boy shoved the murderous inclination back. 

“It’s like I have a forcefield all around me, and I can feel it rippling, like a pressure in the air.” 

“Field.” William stepped back. It looked like he was about to speak again, but he said nothing more. Instead, he turned and headed back for the desk. Mike stared as he simply left the conversation.

“Talk to me,” Mike whispered. The robotic arms hung loosely at his sides as William began rummaging around for something. “You could at least talk to me properly. Now you... You killed...” 

“I didn’t kill you,” William snapped, slamming his palms against the table. “It was an accident. I did not kill you. I love you, Michael, don’t you get that? I can’t stand around making pleasantries because I am trying to save you. What, don’t you want to go home? You want to stay in that thing forever and play happy families in a warehouse?” 

The towering giant of steel slunk back, lowering his ears like a submissive dog.  

“I do want to go home!” I can never go home. “I just want to talk like dads and kids are supposed to, for once.” You are so small and pathetic. “I thought you'd like me better since you realised what it’d be like if I really had died.” I can only die if you do. “Stop pushing me around.” 

“I’ve always loved you. The accident didn’t change anything,” said William. The evidence of the past years being denied in such an out-of-hand fashion sparked a wave of anger in Mike, anger that was poisoned by the prospect of his father’s affections. “Once I’ve fixed you, we’ll spend all the time you want together, I swear. I’ll give you anything you want, Michael. Anything.” 

“You’ll stop going away all the time. You'll look after me,” Mike said. He wasn’t making a request. It was more of a demand, a stipulation in a contract.  

“I promise.”  

To Mike’s surprise, William started smiling in a practically euphoric manner.  

“W-What is-is-is it?” 

“It’s you, Michael. You gave me the lead I needed. Fields.” The spirit watched on silently as William continued to search the workshop for something. “I know it’s here somewhere.” 

Eventually, he pulled a dusty metal case free and opened it up, even angling it so Mike could look inside. It was just as unfamiliar as any other gadget his father owned. Pressed into a Styrofoam bed were three cylindrical devices with curved stands underneath. 

“I d-do not know-ow-ow what it is.” 

“This is an isotropic electric field probe. Similar to the EMF meters you’d find idiots waving around in a haunted house.” He returned to the work desk with the probe and began to prepare. He retrieved a piece of Mike's flesh and Tommy's finger, before selecting a few metal samples from both animatronic suits.

“Ghost hun-hun-ting-ing?” 

“In a way.” He slipped his sterilised gloves back on and held up one of the shards. “Steel is a good electrical conductor, as is the body, in its way. Common knowledge. That’s why it didn’t even occur to me. But what if you experienced a unique interaction between electromagnetic fields that, by all accounts, has never been recorded before?” 

Mike didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t understand what his father was implying. Instead, he just sat down on the hard floor while William readied the probe, lost in his own excitement. Even though he had lost the capacity to feel tired as such, Mike felt a certain fatigue coming over him. The painful sensations and the clamouring thoughts, not to mention interactions with William, took all his willpower to endure.  

Spring Bonnie’s eyelids slipped closed over the plastic eyes. Sleep was a remnant of the past, yes, but he’d started to find some comfort in the dark. Cutting off the world and floating within his cage was the closest thing to resting. He wondered if that was how real death was meant to feel. No stimulus, no tethering surfaces, just a weightless drift into an eternal void. 

He thought about Elizabeth and Evan, about Charlie, about Jeremy and his other friends. People who he knew without knowing, echoes on the edge of hearing. If William was going to move him to the restaurant, maybe he would see them there. Of course, his father would have no patience for any funny business Mike might try to pull. But perhaps there were other subtle ways of communicating. 

He just needed to behave himself until the opportunity arose. 

The shapeless meditation was broken when William let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a retch. Michael opened his eyes and saw him crouched down on the floor, leaning over with his arms wrapped tight around his head. 

“D-D-Dad?” 

His father was shaking as he looked up. The wide grin remained on his tear-stained cheeks. Mike felt a chill of fear as his distant memories told him William shouldn't look like that.  

“The conductivity of your suit is incredible,” he said in a hushed tone. A hint of a quavering chuckle. “And your muscles, too. Far beyond anything the raw materials are capable of - it's like they lost all resistivity. The electrons were already charged before I did anything. They've been charged this entire time. Even the different thicknesses of the samples didn't change the resistance. The prototype has the faintest whisper of improvement too, but you, your body is alive with currents.” 

“Why wo-would the prototy-ty-pe improve?” 

His father’s lips hung open, ready to speak a word that never came. In the end, he simply shook his head. 

“It’s from the employee. The one from the accident.” 

“Why would he b-b-be in some prototype suit-suit-suit?” 

“That's not important, Michael, it's what this means that's important. There are real terms I can use to quantify what you are now. I can begin to understand it. Bloody hell, I need to get to a foundry.” 

“Is there so-someone in the other suit?” 

William rocked a little on his heels and massaged the burn on his palm. 

“Of course not, kiddo. They would have said something by now, right?” 

“I guess-ess.” 

"Come on, Mikey, this is brilliant! It's like a piece of your nervous system implanted into the steel. Do you understand? The entire field of physics is being rewritten right in front of us, the entire nature of biology!"

William buried his face into his knees and let out a thin hiss through his teeth as all the energy and excitement begged to be let loose. If he’d been alone, he could have screamed from sheer exhilaration. Finally, a step forward, a hint of real progress. Something had infused the metal with impossible properties the moment his son died. A bizarre reaction between electric fields that hadn't happened with the older boys. 

There would have to be more now, he knew that much. Tommy had narrowed down the mystery, but not far enough. He needed to experiment with further subjects to test his theories. It was a thrilling prospect. The notion of commiting murder did not seem so daunting anymore. He had feared the risk of getting caught. The danger should his victim fight back. The uncertainty of the venture. The evil inherent in to act. William was not so presumptuous as to assume he had really gotten away with it after only two days, and at the same time, he felt deliriously sure that everything had gone right.

Besides, he had proven the most important thing to himself.

He could do it. 

And if he did it once, he could do it again.  

Did it even count as murder when he was hoping his victim would live on after death? A world of possibilities lay ahead. Life after death. He was dealing with life after death.  

People had committed worse crimes for weaker motives. And it wasn’t as if he wanted to kill out of some sick pleasure. 

Not that it had been unpleasant. To feel such unrivalled control over a human being... 

It must have been how god felt. 

He didn’t kill in the name of destruction. He killed for the Joy of creation. 

Chapter Text

Charlie read the equation. Then she reread it. And again. Nothing was sinking in. Her pencil hovered above the paper as she tried to focus on the work. She read the equation one more time.  

She gave up. 

A part of Charlie wanted to scream. After a lifetime of good behaviour, she suddenly wanted to hurl her stationery across the classroom and upturn the tables. She wanted to shake everyone out of the maddening normality. Everything about school was marching along the same as it ever had. Her best friend was gone, and yet nothing else had changed. He could have been dead, or trapped with some psycopathic torturer, and no-one seemed distracted by that except for her.

At morning assembly, the headteacher had stressed how important it was to come forward with anything that might help the police investigation into Mike’s disappearance. This was followed up by a repeat of the ‘stranger danger’ mantras that had been drilled into them so many times before. After that, it was business as usual. 

Henry hadn’t pushed Charlie to return to school, but she knew there wasn’t a good reason not to go – it wasn’t like Mike was her brother, after all. Even Elizabeth and Evan had gone back; something about keeping a familiar routine to give them consistency. She had wanted to scoff at that. It felt more likely to her that William needed some excuse to keep them occupied so he could continue leaving the house alone.

When the bell rang for lunch, Charlie squirreled away into a quiet corner of the cafeteria. She unwrapped her sandwich and laid it out on the table. With her appetite non-existent, she contented herself to sit and study the untouched food. 

“Hey, Charlotte.”

It was Jeremy. The young boy chucked his bag on the table and sat down opposite her, brushing his shaggy hair out his eyes as he did. She forced a small smile. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey. Uh, how’s it going?” 

“Not great.” 

“Yeah, totally,” he said, nodding and averting his eyes. “Stupid question.” 

“It’s fine. Thanks for asking anyway.” 

Jeremy took an apple out his bag and fiddled with it. Like Charlie, he didn't seem too interested in actually eating. 

“My head’s still all over the place. Did you hand out the flyers?” 

“Yeah, still nothing.” She rubbed the bread crust between her fingers, letting it disintegrate into crumbs. “I feel like I should go looking for him or something, but I don’t even know where.” 

"I went all around the industrial park," Jeremy said. "Plus I went in all the old barns in the fields outside of town."

"You know that's private property, right?"

He snorted, smiling proudly.

"Yep. We do it all the time, no sweat." The smile dropped as soon as it had come. "Me and Mike hid out there all the time."

"Oh. Sorry."

He shrugged and chipped away at the peel with his nails.

“You don’t think it was anything to do with what happened at the diner?”  

“What do you mean?” 

Jeremy leant his chin down into his chest, a look of complete dejection on his face. 

“What do you mean, Jeremy?” 

“I just mean, you know, the way everyone was treating you and Mike after the guy died in the animatronic. Saying stupid rumours that it was deliberate and whatever. Bullying Liz and Ev. Saying your dads killed him. That stuff.” 

“That was just people being stupid,” Charlie said quietly. 

“Of course, yeah. I just worried he ran away because everyone was being an asshole about it.” 

“I don’t think so. Mike’s not like that.” 

“Yeah. Hell. Mike wouldn’t run away from anything.” Jeremy’s eyelids lowered a little as he thought about all the times Mike had faced down kids who were bigger or stronger than him. “Even if it meant losing and getting his lights punched out, he never ran from a fight.” 

“Did he ever have any injuries from fights you didn’t see?” 

“Sure, loads. He told us he fights with some neighbour kids as practise and stuff. Best I ever saw was this big black eye he got last year. Said some jackass threw a brick at him, so he kicked him so hard in the balls that he threw up.”  

Another smile of pride grew on his face. Charlie just rolled her eyes. She was going to drop it when one last idea came into her head. 

“Mike never talks to me about fighting,” she said. “I don’t like hearing about things like that.” 

“Oh, right, sorry Charlotte,” Jeremy said, smiling and doing the 'lips sealed' gesture awkwardly.  

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind hearing it now. I know he was really good at fighting. Did his dad teach him or something?” 

“I think some of it, yeah. And we got ideas for moves from films and TV.” 

“So Mr. Afton did show him how to fight?” 

“That’s what he said once,” Jeremy said, looking a little unsure at her insistence.  

“What exactly did he say?” 

“Well, there was this one time he got a really big bruise on his arm, and he said it was ‘cause he went too hard while his dad was showing him how to box or something. And when he lost that tooth, it was when they were wrestling, I think.” 

Charlie felt her thumbnail suddenly jab into her finger; she had been grinding up the crust with such force that she’d accidentally gone through it. 

“Doesn’t that worry you, Jeremy?” 

“Nah, it’s a man thing. Guys just wrestle with each other for fun.” 

That afternoon, the bus ride home lasted a small eternity. Going without a distraction forced everything up to the fore. Charlie stared out the window and hugged her backpack closer to her chest. Tonight had to be the night she told Henry.  

Usually, her father would ask her how school had been. He’d done so ever since her very first day. But today, he decided to give her some room. They got ready for dinner in silence. Every time their eyes met, Henry gave her a small smile, and she would force one back, wondering how long his expression would last once she started talking about the Aftons.

As they sat at the dining table, Charlie felt the nerves bubbling up stronger still. She watched as her dad spooned chilli into their bowls, feeling her stomach turn at the sight of the sticky red goop. Henry was an amazing cook, despite the fact his restaurants sold cheap pizzas with all the consistency of cardboard. It wasn’t the food itself that put her off. It was the image of Mike’s teeth getting knocked out, and the stream of sticky red goop that would have followed. 

“How’re you holding up, sweetheart?” 

Charlie was pulled back into the present moment. She smiled up at Henry and shook her head. 

“I’m okay.” 

“It’s fine to say if you aren’t, Charlie,” he said gently, taking his seat opposite her. Feeling unable to broach the topic right away, she focused on her other source of pain. 

“I still can’t believe Mike’s gone. I feel like I’m stuck in a nightmare.” 

“I know how you feel. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I’d just be repeating the same stuff.” 

“I’m happy to listen if you need to say it over again. Sometimes it helps to get your thoughts out in the open.” 

Charlie put a spoonful of chilli in her mouth and chewed slowly. It was practically an invitation to finally speak up, but she couldn’t bring herself to raise the subject of Mike’s injuries. Balancing on that precipice was almost as nerve-wracking as the conversation topic itself. Henry had never shut down her concerns before. But those concerns had never involved his best friend, either. 

“Dad, I need to talk about something, but I’m scared you won’t like it.” 

Henry laid his fork down and reached over to rub her arm. 

“You can talk to me about anything, Charlie. I won’t get upset, I promise.” 

Charlie tensed. It dawned on her how lucky she was. The simple words made her wonder how many other kids could truthfully say they had a parent who would really listen to them. 

“It’s about Uncle Will.” She’d called him that all her life. It suddenly felt like dirt in her mouth. “Starting with why he got really mad at you.” 

Her father sighed. 

“Ah. I wish you hadn’t heard that. I know it’s not easy to brush off."

"Why would you brush it off?"

"Hm. How do I explain this?” He rubbed his tired eyes and sat back in his chair, thinking his next words through carefully. “Do you remember that first weekend after Mom moved out, when I said I was going to take you to the waterpark?” 

Charlie shook her head. She had only faint memories of her mother, brief snapshots of their life together; playing in a pink plastic castle, eating ice cream in a dazzlingly bright garden, blowing out candles on a cake. Fortunately, the divorce and its aftermath had faded until it no longer held any emotion for her. 

“Well, I was feeling very guilty. You were so upset, of course. I was wracking my brain to think how I could cheer you up.” There was a strange lilt to his voice as he reflected on that time, a melancholy mix of love and sadness. “So I said, 'let’s go down to the waterpark; we’ll get cream sodas, and you can spend the whole day playing'. And you looked up at me with those big green eyes of yours and said, ‘I hate you’ .” 

Henry smiled softly at the look of shock on her face. He took her little hand in his own, stroking it tenderly. 

“Why would I say that?” she asked. 

“Because you felt horrible. You felt like you’d lost your mother forever, someone you loved so much. When I tried to be all happy and positive, it was like I had just ignored your feelings. Sure, I didn’t mean to, but it wasn’t what you needed. You were just hurting too much to do anything but push back against it.” 

A heavy lump formed in her throat. 

“This isn’t the same,” she said in a mumble, eyes cast down at their hands. Her father’s rough skin, the fingertips run coarse from years of hard work, which still felt so comforting on her skin. 

“I think it might be, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I can’t explain how it feels to have a kid of your own. You love them more than anything, more than your parents or the person you married, it’s completely overpowering. You’d do anything for them. But Will can’t do anything to help Mike right now, no matter how much he wants to. I know I’d be going crazy if it was you missing, Charlie-Bear.” 

“He’s...” Charlie faltered. There was something so earnest and true about her father’s words. She couldn’t begin to refute them. That only left one thing. She would have to dive off the precipice. “Dad, I think..." 

The shrill ring of the telephone made her jump. Her head whipped around as she almost expected to see Afton glaring down at her.  

“Sorry, Charlie – hold that thought, I want to hear it. Okay?” 

He gave her hand a squeeze. All she could muster was a heavy nod. Henry left to answer the call, leaving her alone to stare into her bowl. She stirred the food aimlessly and listened. It didn’t take long to figure out who was on the other end. 

After a few minutes, Henry returned to his seat. 

“What was it?” Charlie asked.

'As if I don’t already know.'

"It was Will. He wanted to apologise for the other day. Especially because he upset you too, Charlie." 

She sank low in her seat as her dad started to eat. There had been some hint of tension in his bearing, she realised, that had been so subtle as to not register. It only revealed itself in light of how relaxed he looked now. 

“And he's made arrangements with the new sitter. Said you're more than welcome to stay over any time you'd like." He smiled at her. "Think we can call this one water under the bridge?"

"Sure," she said. The relief was written all over his face.

"Good girl. He'll really appreciate it, Charlie. He cares about you a lot, you know. Sounded like he was going to cry again on the phone when he was apologising." 

It was sometimes hard to imagine how adults felt; at Charlie's age, they still seemed to exist in some separate world. It was particularly strange to think about adults having friends, since all they ever seemed to do with said friends was talk about boring things – not exactly a child’s idea of an amazing friendship. But it wasn’t that way with Henry. Charlie knew exactly how much William meant to him. In some ways, her father still seemed in touch with that younger version of himself. Especially when he was around William. The worry etched over his face these days was not just for Mike, it was for his friend, too.

"Anyway, I’m sorry for the interruption. What did you want to say?” 

There wasn’t anything else to say. And for all her frustration, she understood why. She didn’t know exactly what she would have done if someone told her Mike was a monster. One thing was sure, though: she wouldn’t believe them. Not without proof.

"I'll tell you later."

Mike’s memories fractured along with his body.  

First it was the legs. His sense of location began to fog as he stared up at the ceiling. Still, he knew what was happening. William finished detaching them and looked up at Spring Bonnie’s frozen grin. 

“Still okay, kiddo?” 

“Yes.” At least there wasn’t any pain. His eyes roved around the warehouse, struggling to recall how he’d got there in the first place. “It will be okay-kay-kay.” 

Next came the arms. Large boxes stuffed to the brim with packing material stood by, ready to receive the limbs. As William paused to put the body parts away, Michael looked down at the open sockets where they’d previously been. The remains of his organic limbs hung out limply. Splintered chips of bone stood out like splinters in the torn muscle tissue. 

“Why ar-rrrrr-re you doing this-is-is?”  

His father stopped abruptly in the middle of lowering an arm into the box. Slowly, he inclined his head to look at the ghost's shell. 

“We’re moving you to the diner, Michael, remember? I’ll put you back together once we’re there. Don’t panic.” 

A breathless gasp escaped Bonnie’s flexing jaw. Fear and trust. He nodded. 

“Atta boy,” said William, approaching him cautiously. “I’m going to tuck your arms and legs in now. If you want me to stop, tell me. Don’t do anything physical. Just tell me.” 

The thick rubber gloves he wore felt strange against Mike’s mangled body. A faint squelching noise followed every movement as William carefully folded his son’s limbs back into the main torso piece, like a tortoise in its shell. The bone was so thoroughly destroyed that the flesh could practically be rolled up without resistance. 

“I need to solder around it now,” William said. He prodded the tissue further into the arm sockets, checking it was as contained as possible. “Make sure no-one sniffs you out, hmm?” 

“Y-Y-Yes. And then we move-oo-g-g-go home.” 

“Exactly.” He smiled and backed away to grab the metal sheets he’d cut down earlier. The plan was to construct a secondary shell for the organic body within the torso piece. Hopefully, a seamlessly soldered pod of steel would be enough to contain the smell of decay.  

“Give me ba-back my legs.” Spring Bonnie’s voice was not as demanding as William might have expected, given the request. Not that things couldn't change. Mike was starting to regress into the same state he'd been in after his first awakening, when corpse and suit had been seperated.

“I need to remove them so I can move you, Michael,” he said softly, returning to the suit with the metal and soldering kit in hand. “Strange. Cutting those shards off didn’t seem to affect anything.” 

“I do-do-don't unders-sta-stand.” 

“They must have been too small to have an impact,” William said, ignoring the confused moans as he continued muttering to himself. “The mind - soul - it must be imprinted across the whole shell. Take away an arm, take away a part of the soul. Take away memories...” 

“Will-ee-am, I d-don't und-” 

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” he said, cutting Mike off. “You can remember what I said a minute ago, can’t you? I’ll put you back soon, just be patient.” 

Mike shoved down his innermost inclinations to headbutt the strange man fusing metal against his skin. Something told him he needed to behave, but the effort was intensely draining; every other voice in his head was screaming at him to fight back. He knew this man, somehow. This William. He'd done something unforgivable.

“I can’t just kill him,” said Michael’s voice. 

William’s face dropped as he heard his son’s word, mimed along perfectly by Spring Bonnie’s mouth. He cleared his throat and quickened his pace. 

“That’s right, Michael. Good boy. Just relax.” 

“I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to stop all the pain.” 

The corpse’s metal coffin was almost complete. William had opened up the chest to work on it, leaning over in an awkward position to reach. The stance had already put a painful amount of tension on his legs and back, making him sweat a little; it only grew worse as the ghost continued to talk to himself. 

“He needs to die,” said Mike. “But... Killing is wrong.” 

The mottled lumps of pink and red that had once been Michael Afton disappeared behind a grey screen. It was painfully obvious that the bulbous, misshapen pod didn’t belong in the animatronic’s inner workings. Still, no-one needed to look inside. William just had to make sure his name was the only one down for maintenance inspections.  

“Okay, kiddo, I’m going to put you in the truck now,” William said as he closed the chest hatch. “You’ll need to stop talking now, understand? If you talk, I’ll have to turn you off again. Remember, you didn’t like that. Shh.” 

Shrrrk. The voicebox let out a harsh wave of static in response, a hideous mimicry.  

William didn’t settle once the individual pieces of Spring Bonnie were packed and loaded up. He got into the tatty rental truck and drummed his fingers on the frayed steering wheel, staring at the chain-link fence.  

Taking Michael apart had helped him learn more about how the possession worked on a mechanical front, yes, but that knowledge brought new difficulties. Creating an android to harbour Mike's soul had seemed the most practical route. Only now, he knew it would have to incorporate all the same metal that comprised Spring Bonnie. Even taking something as basic as an arm off the suit had degraded Mike’s memories and personality. William could only imagine how he’d react to being melted down completely. Would molten metal retain a soul through the process long enough to be reforged? 

He gritted his teeth and sighed. When there were impossible questions, only one method could provide answers: experimentation.  

Shifting the car into gear, William drove out onto the roads of Hurricane. Thoughts of Michael turned to thoughts of potential test subjects. Younger, he thought, they had to be younger. Closer to thirteen. Accurate data could only be reaped when the conditions were as close to the real scenario as possible. From the back of the van, the muffled chattering of Bonnie’s voicebox sounded. 

“I told you to be quiet, Michael,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the engine.  

The noise stopped, then resumed, quieter than before. William clicked his tongue in annoyance and tilted his head a little to face the back. 

“It’s not me they’re going to ship off to the CIA for dissection, kiddo. Stop talking.” 

Something flickered into view out the corner of his eyes. He snapped his attention back to the road just in time to see a figure standing directly in the path of his vehicle. William slammed on the breaks, cursing as his mind raced to register the snap second visual. 

It was a boy, standing and staring forward with impossibly wide eyes that bulged from their sockets. His entire body was soaked in blood that poured from a missing jaw. As the breaks shunted William forward painfully against the seatbelt, the dots connected.  

It was Michael. 

“Fuck, fuck.” William scrambled to get out the truck, practically falling outside onto the pavement. The cars behind were blaring their horns at the startling halt. Ignoring them, he rounded the bonnet. 

And saw nothing but empty road. 

“You okay, buddy?” 

William wheeled around as the driver of the car directly behind got out and approached him. The rest of the traffic was still making their annoyance audible, but this man had a look of concern written across his face. 

“You didn’t see m- The kid!” William said, gesturing wildly to the tarmac. 

“What kid?” 

“The kid on the road!” 

“I didn’t see anything,” said the stranger. His brow furrowed at the sight of William’s pale face. “You feeling alright?” 

“Are you?! Fucking idiot.” 

William pushed him aside and got back into the truck. He took a few laboured breaths and drove on, still seething at the queue behind. He turned off at the first small sideroad just to shake them. 

“I swear to god, Mike, if you’re fucking with me...” 

After the longest five-minute drive of his life, the familiar front of Fredbear's Family Diner came into view. A mixture of relief and dread twisted William’s stomach as he pulled up. Two employees were already lingering outside, awaiting the new arrival. They were the typical college grads that made up the bulk of the staff. Both greeted him with a distinct awkwardness. 

“Morning, Mr. Afton. Mr. Emily said we should help with the animatronic.” 

“Hey, uh, we’re real sorry to hear about the, y’know, the thing.” 

William smiled thinly. 

“Thanks. Just take the boxes into the backroom and I’ll take it from there.” 

“Yes, sir. We left the rabbit we got at the moment on stage, by the way. You want to replace it with this one?” 

“Not right now. We’ll keep our new friend stored for the moment. Make sure he’s behaving himself before we put him up there.” William gave the box containing the head a few heavy pats. “And remember. It's Spring Bonnie, not 'the rabbit'. Bonnie. Don't want to ruin the magic for the kids.” 

The employees exchanged glances, then nodded and began wheeling the boxes in on sack trucks. It didn’t take long, and after a few minutes, William was once again afforded some privacy within the darkened backroom of the Diner. After ensuring the door was firmly locked, he set about cracking the boxes open and fitting the animatronic back together. 

“You’re a piece of work,” he hissed as he snapped the endo back into place. “I love you, Michael, but you’re a bloody piece of work.” 

Bonnie's warped lines merged with Michael’s voice as William slotted the last parts into place. 

“I’m sorry, alright?! I couldn’t stop myself!”

“Shut up.” 

Bonnie blinked, ears lowering. 

“What? We’re alone.” 

William squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“Fine. I’m locking the door when I leave, but Henry has a key, too. Chances are he’ll want to come and have a look at some point. Please, just try to be careful.” 

“I will, dad,” Mike said, voice dropping. “I promise.” 

“Okay then.” He adjusted Bonnie's bow slightly and fiddled around the sockets, making sure nothing stood out as unusual. “Those hallucinations you make. How in control are you?” 

“No, no, no,” Mike said quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s when I forget. I know I got angry when you shut me off, but all the other times were just... I forget who you are when I’m not all together. I don’t want to hurt you, dad, I swear it.” 

“I can’t say I believe that. Still. Can’t say I blame you, either.”  

Mike felt his soul tremble as William smiled. There was something easy about the smile. Something like pride. He’d only glimpsed that look a few precious times before in his life, and seeing it again now brought on an unexpected swell of joy. 

“You’re a fighter. That's good,” William said. “I just need you to get it into your head that I’m not your enemy. Save it for once everything is back to normal.” 

“Sure, dad,” Mike said, subconsciously moving closer to William. It was as if the child part wished to incite a pat on the head or a slap on the back from his father. The body language should have been lost when presented through a towering robot. But oddly enough, William seemed to understand. He reached up to put a hand on his son’s shoulder and give it a playful shake. 

“There’ll be time,” he said. The tone was distant now, reflective, as if he half spoke to himself. “You're a good kid, Michael. You don’t take shit from anyone else. Just like your old man.” 

Evan liked Anika. Their last babysitter had responded to everything by either ignoring him or snapping at him. Anika was different. She was in her fifties, a mother herself, with a soft and welcoming presence that put him at ease. 

Charlie had come home from school with them that day, just like she’d said she would. She had held his hand and sworn to protect him if the babysitter turned out to be mean. But as the evening wore on, Evan had drifted towards Anika on his own. The presence of an adult who smiled and listened to him outside of school was a novelty he wanted to revel in. 

Seven o’clock rolled around, and the youngest Afton found himself contentedly leaning against Anika on the sofa. She’d put on a tape for him to watch, but his attention wasn’t on the screen. It was on her hand. Gently, he reached out and wrapped his small fingers around hers, feeling the soft, slightly wrinkled skin. Her nails were painted blue, and she smelt of rose perfume. 

Evan closed his eyes. He concentrated as hard as he could. In his mind, Anika melted away. It wasn’t her hand, her presence. It was his mom.

It was just him and his mom. 

For a few moments, Evan felt happier than he could ever remember. The way things used to be, the way they were meant to be, had returned. Sure, Dad wasn’t home yet, but Mom was here to take care of him. Everything was okay. They could sit together and watch TV, and she would hold his hand, and nothing would ever tear them apart. 

It was over a year since his mom had stopped coming out the bedroom. From a six-year-old boy's perspective, a year might as well have been a decade. When Laura had first fallen ill, he would visit her bedroom and hold her hand as she lay there. She whispered his name sometimes, but more often, she stayed completely silent. Soon the atmosphere would grow too unnerving, and he would rush out again. In time, he stopped going altogether.  

At times, he would still snatch a glimpse of his mom when she went to use the toilet. On the weekends, he would sit at the top of the stairs and stare at the bathroom door, waiting for her. If she ever turned to face him, though, he would scamper back downstairs. 

Evan shivered as he lingered on thoughts of his mother. The gnawing hole in his heart that she once filled had only grown. Like a sinkhole, the walls of the gaping maw had collapsed further and further, engulfing his brother too. The two people he had relied on so much had disappeared from his life. 

Without his intention, his mind shoved another memory to the fore. It was one he remembered with sharp clarity, so firmly etched that even the smells and sounds felt as fresh as the present.  

It had happened around two months after his mom completely withdrew – after his dad had made it a routine to stay out for hours at a time. Evan remembered that he had walked into the kitchen and found Mike trying to peel garlic. His brother was sporting a shiny black eye; William had found out Mike was boosting cash from his wallet to pay for takeout dinners since he never cooked for them anymore, and the revelation had not gone down well. Now, armed with a grubby old Home Economics book he’d got from the library, Mike endeavoured to turn their dad’s eclectic grocery shopping into a real meal. 

“Mike, can I ask mom to make dinner?”  

“No, dummy. She’s too ill.”  

“What kind of ill is she?”  

“She’s ill in her head.”  

“Did she hit her head?”  

“No. Idiot. Stop asking so many questions.”  

“No-one tells me anything!”  

“I just did!”  

“Stop yelling at me!”  

“Then stop asking me stupid questions! I don’t tell you stuff because I don’t want to hear you crying when the answer’s bad.”  

“I’m not going to cry! I want to know when she’ll get better!”  

“I don’t know.”  

“When do you think she’ll-”  

“I don't know! Maybe she won’t! Maybe she’s going to die, Evan, is that what you want to hear?”  

“No!”  

“So stop asking me questions!”  

Evan’s eyes had been so full of tears that he hadn't noticed Michael had been crying, too. And as he sat there next to his new babysitter, he felt the familiar sting bite his eyes once more. 

“What’s wrong, Evan?” Anika asked, hearing the gentle sobs escaping the boy. She put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to look at him. He turned away. 

“I miss them,” he said. 

Above them, in Michael’s bedroom, Charlie paused. The sound of Evan’s growing distress had just met her ears. 

“Hey, Liz?” she said. 

Elizabeth was rummaging through a cardboard box of old toys Mike kept under his bed. She paused and smiled over at Charlie. 

“Yep?” 

“I think Evan’s crying. We should go down.” 

“Evan always cries,” Elizabeth said, turning her attention back to the box. A pile of lint-covered erasers, broken action figures, and snapped pencils littered her lap. “We still haven’t found any clues yet!” 

Liz had insisted on helping when Charlie said she wanted to search Mike’s bedroom for any leads as to where he might have gone. Of course, Charlie didn’t admit that she was also seeking some evidence of abuse. Still, even with an extra pair of eyes, she hadn’t found clues for either of her two missions. 

“We can carry on looking another time. Come on.” She grabbed the stack of notebooks she’d been pouring over and put them back on a shelf. Her hopes of finding a diary, or maybe even just a few notes, had all failed. The only thing Mike seemed to write were stories or his own homemade quizzes. Mostly, though, there were drawings. 

Her hand lingered on the spine of the topmost notebook. It was the last one he’d used, judging by how many blank pages were left. Now that she was leaving it behind, she realised just how strong her emotions had been while looking at it. 

Picking it back up again, she leafed through the pages. A colourful crayon drawing of the band at the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. A jungle scene with snarling leopards and snakes hidden amongst the trees. A lonely spaceship flying through a blue-pencil sky. A silly doodle of the six o’clock newsreader with an over-the-top moustache. A sketch of herself in black pen, drawn with such detail that it took Charlie’s breath away. 

“Liz, I’m really sorry, but could I take this home with me?” 

“Why?” she asked, looking at the book with curiosity. Charlie sniffed as she realised she was on the verge of tears. 

“Because it reminds me of him.” 

The younger girl lowered her face and began chewing her nails. Her first instinct was to say no; it was Mike’s book. Mike’s stuff belonged in Mike’s bedroom! Even though it was only one item, the thought of it leaving spurred on visions of the whole room completely emptied of all traces he'd once lived there. But then she blinked, and she saw Charlie staring at the notepad with the same longing that she felt.  

“Okay, Charlie, you should keep it.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. He liked doing drawings with you.” 

“I liked it too,” she whispered, closing the book and holding it tight to her side. She brushed a hand over her eyes. “Thanks, Liz.” 

Taking Elizabeth’s hand, Charlie headed down to the living room. Anika was giving Evan one of those awkward side-hugs that were so characteristic of adults comforting children who weren’t their own. After dashing over to slip the notepad in her backpack, Charlie flopped down on the other side to sandwich Evan with a hug of her own. 

“It’ll be okay.” Charlie pressed her cheek to his brown locks. Anika relinquished him into Charlie’s clearly capable arms, giving him a little pat on the back. 

“Your dad will be home soon, okay, Evan? You’ve been really brave today,” Anika said. 

“Will Mike come home?” Evan whispered to Charlie.  

“I...” She swallowed and glanced over at Elizabeth, who had crawled onto the lounger. Although she appeared to have engrossed herself in one of her colouring books, Charlie could tell she was keeping half an eye on them. “I hope he will.” 

Chapter Text

“You sure you’re up for this, Will?” 

“I’m sure. If the kids are getting back into a routine, there’s no reason I shouldn’t.” 

“Well, just take a break if you need one.” 

“Of course.” 

It was almost 11 AM. Soon, Fredbear’s Family Diner would be opening its doors to welcome in the first guests of the day. Weekends were always hectic, and that Saturday was no different, with three different parties booked in for the morning alone. Henry and William had been in since eight o’clock, running over maintenance checks and positioning the new Spring Bonnie onstage. 

William had been surprised at how emotional the whole thing had made him. Both men had brought their kids with them to the restaurant so they could keep themselves entertained with arcade machines while they worked. Every now and then he would check in with them; it made William realise how long it had been since he had stopped and simply watched Evan and Elizabeth play. It made him happy. A happiness offset by the cutting absence of Michael. 

Well, absence wasn’t quite accurate. He was right there in the room with them.  

Setting up Spring Bonnie while the kids looked on was hell. Elizabeth would call out, “A little to the left!”, and they would haul Michael’s frozen remains into position. William had steeled his face, determined not to let any emotion slip, when he’d caught Charlie’s eyes watching him carefully. 

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. But when he looked at her, one thing was sure: she was going to find out. He could dismiss the notion as ridiculous, scoff at the possibility of a little girl discovering the truth. Only he knew Charlie better than that. She had shown a dogged determination many times before when the stakes were as measly as finding out what her Christmas present would be. There was no way she’d let Michael slip away. 

He’d just have to keep an eye on her. That was all. 

Now, standing half-clad in a fabric Spring Bonnie costume, he smiled without feeling at the girl’s father. 

“You know, Henry, those nights when I left the kids alone... I was looking for Michael.” 

“I had suspected that was it,” Henry said. He sighed heavily and gave a curt nod. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. But I want you to know I’m on top of it now. There’s nothing I can do that the police won’t try themselves.” 

“Are they keeping you involved?” 

“A phone call here and there when something crops up. Point is, they know how to do this kind of thing. I’m not playing detective anymore. Just going to try and get on with life as best as I can.” 

“Don’t give up hope, Will.” Henry placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s early days still, they’ll find him.” 

“I hope so.” 

William grabbed the headpiece, only to hesitate before putting it on. 

“Did Charlotte say anything about me? After the call?” 

“Don’t you worry about her,” Henry said. “She’ll get over it. She’s got a big heart.” 

“I noticed how down she seems – about Michael, I mean. See, it’s easier with Evan and Elizabeth. They’re younger, you can distract them a little. Not all the time, of course. But enough for them to get some rest and stop worrying a moment. It feels like Charlotte’s still putting on a brave face every time I see her.” 

“It’s been tough on her, yeah. I think she’s trying to hold her own feelings back for everyone else’s sake.” 

“Right, right. I don’t know, maybe I should... Maybe she should take a break from coming to the house. Just for own sake, I mean, of course she’s always welcome. But if it’s so hard on her, it might be better that way.” 

“Maybe. I’ll have a word with her tonight. I know she wants to be there for Ev and Liz, though, so I don’t imagine she’ll be all that keen.” A small, proud smile lit up Henry’s eyes as he double-checked the clasps on the suit. “She's a real mother hen; wants to keep the chicks safe under her wings.” 

William lowered the Bonnie mask over his head, hiding the grimace on his face. 

“She sure is.” 

It was a miracle that he had managed to hold back. As soon as Mike saw their faces, the memories swelled back into his mind. Seeing Henry had already set the gears turning; seeing his siblings and best friend sent them into overdrive. 

With his father’s threats still echoing in his ears, Mike fought the urge to leap off the stage right there and then. He did allow his eyes to linger on them, though, shifting them occasionally in what he hoped to be a facsimile of how the plastic eyes usually rolled about in their casings.  

Elizabeth was near the front, waving her arms and shouting directions. Evan was perched on top of a table, tentatively sipping orange squash from a paper party cup. Mike remembered how he’d poured mustard into Evan’s drink once. It felt like it had happened in another world now. Mike thought himself helpless and weak, and he dominated his siblings to savour some modicum of control. Yet now that he felt more vulnerable than ever, he couldn’t imagine ever hurting them. 

Then there was Charlotte. She twisted strands of her dark hair together, a nervous habit he had witnessed so many times yet only now recalled. Michael’s soul pushed against its boundaries, too scared to move the body, too desperate to stay still.  

‘It’s me. It’s me, Charlie, please.’ Mike felt the words deep within himself. They pulsed along the incorporeal circuitry of his outer shell, rippling through the electric field that tethered his ghost to the physical world. With all his willpower, he urged the words towards her, hoping beyond hope that whatever strange powers he now possessed would be enough to bridge the gap. 

Charlie shivered. A cold breeze had touched her skin, setting her on edge. As she looked around, however, she couldn’t tell where it might have come from. Both the doors and the windows remained firmly closed. 

“Are you okay, Charlie?” Evan asked, noticing how she fidgeted about. 

‘Charlie, please. It’s me, it’s Michael!’ 

Raising her gaze up to the stage, she looked for some source of cold air – a vent, a fan. But there wasn’t anything. The chill grew worse, though. She saw William watching her and flicked her eyes towards the motionless Spring Bonnie animatronic. It was as if she’d been electrocuted. Every hair on her body bristled as the cold stabbed straight through into her soul. 

“Charlie?” Evan repeated. 

“Yeah, sorry," Charlie said quickly. “Just a bit cold.” 

William had explained to Mike how the animatronics' dances worked. Every move was controlled by Henry’s program; all Mike had to do was allow it to be activated and let the suit go to work.  

As with most aspects of his new form, Mike didn’t like it one bit. 

He had imagined it would feel like someone holding his arms and moving them around. In practise, though, the sensation felt utterly unlike anything he’d experienced before.  

When you deliberately go limp and let someone else puppet your limbs about, there’s still a sense of control there. You know you can pull away whenever you want. You can feel the weight of their hand, sense the next motion coming by the subtle motions in their grip. Giving himself up to the program came with none of that.  

The unseen lines of code stored within the floppy disk yanked him about without warning. It was so alarming that he did try and regain control over the body, even if it was for just a moment. But as it had been with the power switch, the suit mechanisms ultimately overrode his own spirit. He couldn’t even voice his discomfort; Henry was standing right next to him the first time William tested the mechanism.  

Finally, the dance cycle came to its end, and Mike went still. His ghost watched on as his father and surrogate uncle discussed the minutia of the engineering. He didn’t understand what they were saying; he didn’t care. Finally, Henry left, leaving him and William alone on the dimly lit stage behind closed curtains. 

“You see? Not so bad after all, was it?” William said with a slightly smug smile. 

“I hate it,” said Mike’s voice, low and rasping. His father held a finger to his son’s snout. 

“No talking.” 

“I don’t want to do this!” he hissed back. He held up the oversized banjo in Bonnie’s hands, ready to snap it over his knee. “It feels so weird!” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Well, no, but-” 

“So what’s the problem?” 

Mike groaned and let his arms drop. 

“Can’t I just stay in a warehouse or something? Please?” 

“We’ve been through this, Michael.” 

“You could take me back, still! Say I got a fault or something!” 

“Enough.” 

“Or what, you still scared of looking like a failure in front of Henry?” 

William went from merely touching Bonnie’s muzzle to fully gripping his hand around it, pinning the mouth shut. He spluttered in quiet fury for a brief moment before catching himself and taking a deep breath. 

“Cut. The. Attitude.” He let go of Mike’s mouth and ran a hand through his hair forcefully. “This is the best way to keep you safe. It’s for the best. Anyway, a bit of company is worth the mild inconvenience of dancing now and then, surely.” 

“Fine,” Mike said quietly. He couldn’t really deny the last statement. Seeing the people he loved again, feeling the past coming back to mind, knowing that everyone was still okay - it was worth it. “I just wish I didn’t have to pay some price for just one nice thing.” 

William’s eyes lingered on Michael for a moment, until he did something that caught the boy completely by surprise. His father hugged him. A strange half-hug, careful to avoid the unstable joints of the suit, but a hug nonetheless. Spring Bonnie’s ears both straightened up on end in shock. 

“We’re going to get through this, kiddo, do you hear me?” It sounded almost threatening, but the sentiment beneath the surface gave Michael a sickly sense of sudden hope. “I’m so close. Just give me a bit more time and you’ll be with Evan and Elizabeth properly again.” 

“Okay, whatever.” 

Mike lifted a heavy metal hand and let it hover towards his father’s back, trying to return the embrace. He stopped short as he felt a surge of force behind the limb; it was the barely restrained desire to snap his spine. William pulled away before the instinct could win. 

“It’s been fucking torture, having them watch while you’re in that thing. No clue that it’s you in there. Once, I told myself I’d never be the kind of dad who lied to his kids.” William’s forehead creased as he allowed himself to voice some small level of perceived weakness. “You’re holding yourself together better than I am.” 

The boy didn’t know how to reply. He stood mutely as William turned abruptly and left without another word. Just like that, he was gone. 

Mike was left to his own thoughts behind the heavy stage curtain. The strange vulnerability – was that even the word for it? - that had emanated from his meticulous father had left him feeling more isolated than before. A last pillar of strength, toppled. He tilted his head towards the unblinking Fredbear next to him. 

“H-Hey, partner,” he said, forcing a lighter tone into his voice. “Guess you’re stuck with me now. Wonder if it sucks for you too. Jeez, I hope you didn’t have anyone die in you... Not like I’m scared of ghosts now, anyway.” 

He couldn’t entirely convince himself of that statement, so he choked out a laughed and carried on. 

“Yeah, actually, it would be rad if I met another ghost. There’s gotta be more, right? I can make a gang and we’ll all go scare the stupid little kids who spill milkshakes. You know my dad used to bring me here sometimes just to help clean up stuff like that? And it was meant to be a treat, like, ‘yeah, go play adult for a bit, Mike, not that I’ll pay you or anything!’ That’s gotta be breaking a child labour law, right?” 

Fredbear, empty and hollow, said nothing. Michael wriggled his back a little, trying not to move his feet from the spot he’d been carefully positioned in. His fingers twanged the fake banjo strings. The instrument didn’t actually work, letting out a dull dunk instead. 

“I wish I at least had a guitar or something. Like the Bonnie rabbit at the Fazbear place. Sheesh. Why couldn’t I have gotten one of the cool guys like Foxy? Instead, I get my Dad’s stupid character. Stupid purple bowtie... So lame.” 

Feeling uncomfortable at the hint of melancholy bubbling up inside, he forced his own one-sided conversation on. He did a small dance while pretending to shred chords on his banjo. 

“Hee hee!” He pulled his best Michael Jackson impression as he spun on the spot. “Watch, Fred, I’m gonna move off my spot. Dad will be so pissed off, but he won’t be able to tell anyone why! He'll be-” 

Mike’s spin came to an abrupt stop as he caught a pale shape peeking out from the dark corner of the stage. The banjo clattered onto the stage. 

“Charlie?” 

He didn’t dislike children by any means. It simply wouldn’t be worth it otherwise. The diner could be raking in dollars by the millions, but if you didn’t get on with kids, the job would be too unbearable to endure. No, he liked them well enough. They weren’t his kids - they weren’t perfect - but he knew how to handle them. 

It had to be said that William had a certain way with children. An intrinsic knack for keeping them entertained, at least when they were young enough. It was this trait that had bonded his own kids to him so firmly at the start, back in the good old days before they got old enough to become picky, and stubborn, and self-willed, and rebellious.  

That beautiful age before they questioned you. 

He couldn’t stand thinking about those long-lost days when he had played with Michael, lifting him up in his arms and delighting in the child’s clear laughter. Instead, he thought about how the screaming kids tearing around the Diner would help him return to that blissful place. 

And so, William entertained the children. When the curtains closed around the animatronics on the stage, he stepped into the fray with Henry at his side. The kids who had danced and sang along with Fredbear and Spring Bonnie squealed in delight as the mascots appeared to join in their fun. Then, just before the curtains drew away to signal the start of another performance, they would return to the backroom and pause to wipe the sweat off their skin. 

The muffled music was drawing to an end once again. William swigged back a glass of water. With his old springlock Bonnie suit still restricted to animatronic-only mode due to the accident, he’d been saddled with one of the outdated fabric costumes instead. No in-built fan units for these suits, just layers upon layers of plastic and thick felt. 

Bonnie’s banjo let out a final twang, the strum mimed by his son’s metal fingers. Fredbear sang out the line Henry had recorded many years ago: “That sure was fun! Now don’t go anywhere, folks, ‘cause me and Spring Bonnie want to come down and say hi to ya’ll!” That was their cue. William breathed out slowly and clipped the headpiece into place. 

William's teeth gritted in a grim reflection of Spring Bonnie's toothy grin. None of the kids were right. He didn’t have a strict guideline on what he was looking for, but he knew what he didn’t need. So far, all the party guests had been extremely boisterous and loud, even by the usual standards. They'd be squealers for sure. William knew from past experience that he would eventually find someone quiet or shy, or even a bit intimidated by the mascot suit. It was just a matter of patience. Unfortunately, his own eagerness made such patience fraught. 

A new group had come into the restaurant since their last break, however. A small party of what looked to be four kids accompanied by a single woman. Most adults at Fredbear’s Family Diner wore that fatigued look that came from wrangling an unruly mob of children, but William immediately noticed a difference with her. She wasn’t just stressed, she was upset; the sadness hid behind a forced smile, yes, but she couldn’t disguise the concerned glances she kept casting towards one child in particular – a girl with curly blonde hair. 

William approached. 

“Hiya, superstars!” 

Three of the kids jumped up as they saw Spring Bonnie wandering their way, abandoning plates of half-eaten food to crowd around his legs. William spared a few moments to ask their names and give out high-fives, before looking up at the fourth girl. She had stayed close to the woman, hunching up her shoulders and looking away. 

“What’s your name?” he asked cheerfully. 

The woman smiled and tried to coax the girl to answer, but she wouldn’t budge. She simply buried her head further into her guardian’s shoulder. Eventually, the woman gave William a somewhat apologetic look and said, “She’s Susie.” 

“Don’t you wanna come dance with us, Susie?” he asked.  

“She’s too sad!” piped up one of the other kids. “Her dog died.” 

The woman shook her head a little at the child in a gentle reprimand, and they put their hands over their mouth in response. Susie shuffled so her whole body faced away from the group.  

“I thought having a fun trip out would help, but I think we just need some more time, don’t we?” said the woman, presumably Susie’s mother. She stroked her daughter’s back soothingly and forced a smile at him, hoping to connect to the man behind the mascot. If she trying to make him give Susie some space, she was out of luck. He had other ideas. 

“Gee whiz, that’s just terrible, now.” William leant down, as if he wanted to get on a level with the children. Meanwhile, his eyes stayed fixed on little Susie in her frilly pink dress. “Do you wanna tell me about your dog, Susie?” 

“His name is Buddy and he’s a golden retriever." Susie peeked her head out, looking at the yellow rabbit with a single blue eye. 

“Well, I’m mighty sorry, Susie, that’s just plum awful.” He rose up again and held his arms aloft. “Come on, everybody! We gotta help cheer her up! I’ll be right back, ya hear?” 

At the other end of the restaurant, Henry had just finished belting out Fredbear's stirring rendition of the Happy Birthday song to a little boy. As the youngster blew out the candles on his cake, the man took a moment to see how his partner was doing. Peering through the suit’s eye holes, Henry watched with bemusement as Spring Bonnie skipped over to a table with an overflowing assortment of toys and candies in his arms. 

“When you feel sad and when you feel down, we’ll make a big smile out of your frown! I know it seems hard but give it a try, sing from your heart and jump ‘til you fly!” 

Susie’s mother raised her eyebrows as the gifts clattered onto the table. Despite her reservations, the kids had no such qualms. They talked excitedly amongst themselves as they picked through the treats and plied their friend with offerings. 

“Look, Susie, lemon-flavoured fizzy sticks, your favourite!” cried one. 

“Yeah, and the Spring Bonnie teddy you wanted!” said another, holding up a stuffed rabbit with golden fur. 

William’s mouth twitched as Susie gradually came out of her shell. She rubbed her eyes with a balled-up fist and nodded as her friends showed her all the presents. Then she looked at him. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Bonnie’s white teeth grinned back down at her. 

“Any time, superstar.” 

Susie crawled out of her mother’s embrace and hugged his leg tightly, almost needfully.  

“You’re my favourite,” she said to him. 

“Aww, shucks! And you're all my favourite li’l superstars, too!” 

When the stage performance began and William and Henry returned to the backroom, Henry gave his partner a soft nudge. 

“Hey, Will, that was sweet of you.” He gave his friend a genuine smile, before adding, “Just, uh, try and keep on budget, you know?” 

“Right, right, sorry. Guess I’m just feeling a bit more sentimental than usual.” 

“Are you coping?” 

William took off the rabbit head and looked down at it. 

“No,” he said eventually, his voice low. “Sorry, Henry. I don’t think I can handle another crying kid. I thought I could do this, but I don’t think I can keep it up today.” 

“I understand.” 

“I know it sounds ridiculous.” 

“No, really, I understand. Here, I’ll tell the guys to put the stage show on loop, give you a moment to get out of that thing.” 

“I owe you one. Owe you a lot, actually,” said William, clenching his eyes shut. “Hey, can you... Can you take the kids back to your place after closing? I need to take a drive or something, clear the dust out my head.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Henry said, though he sounded a little less eager now. “Just a drive, right?” 

“Right. I’m not going AWOL again, I promise. I’ll be back for them in a few hours.” 

Henry nodded sagely. 

“Okay, Will. I’m not trying to get on your case. I’m just thinking about you and the kids, you know.” 

“I know. You don’t need to walk on eggshells; I won’t explode on you again. That was just... I don’t know what that was.” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, buddy. Just remember, if it seems like I’m prying, it’s only because I’m worried about you.” 

“Thanks, Henry.” William gave him a weary smile and shuffled off, humming softly to himself. Without his friend’s presence, he had plenty of time to carefully sneak the fabric Spring Bonnie suit out the isolated backdoor, hidden under sheets of black bin lining. 

To William’s relief, Susie’s group hadn’t left by the time he returned to the main party room. None of the children recognised the smartly dressed man as he walked out. He paused as he spotted the little girl playing an arcade machine, then continued on to the front entrance. He smiled; she had been crying. 

A few minutes later he was sat in his car, idly lighting a cigarette as his smoke-grey eyes watched the restaurant. He had pulled up on the opposite side of the street to ensure a clear view of the building. The car blended in with the line of vehicles parked up while people went about their business in town. So long as he left before Henry’s leaving time came around, no-one would notice anything unusual about his presence. 

Sure enough, Susie’s mother didn’t spare a glance his way when she finally emerged, kids in tow, from the Diner’s dim interior. Holding her daughter’s hand, she shepherded the children to an old hatchback a few yards down the road. William waited patiently as they piled in; as the vehicle pulled out, he discreetly slipped behind them. 

Tailing them wasn’t tricky. Susie’s mom didn’t have time to grow suspicious, too distracted by the hyperactive kids playing in the back to ever notice how the same car was always one step behind her. One by one, Susie’s friends were dropped off, leaving only their own home as their destination. 

It was a lovely little cul-de-sac. Chestnut trees and well-mown lawns, garden gnomes and white picket fences. The only blot on the neighbourhood was a patch of something dark on the tarmac road. Whatever had made the stain was long gone, but the residue hadn’t quite washed away.  

William stopped near the opening of the the dead-end street and leaned back, idly watching from a safe distance as the young mother helped her daughter carry all the toys and leftover sweets into the house. His eyes monitored the windows, carefully noting every silhouette that passed by, every twitch of the curtain, every small detail that could help build a picture of the interior. Fortunately, Susie’s room wasn’t hard to identify. She opened a window on the second story and set the Spring Bonnie toy he’d given her on the windowsill. 

The blue sky gradually shifted to a dark purple as the warm summer day wound down into twilight. Still he waited, alternating between smoking and burning his hands with the lighter. Although he still couldn’t articulate the impulse to self-mutilate, he had realised it produced a deeply stimulating effect. Whenever he felt a shred of doubt or anxiety about what was to come, a quick flash of pain would drag his mind back on track. 

The downstairs windows glowed faintly yellow as the family ate dinner. He clocked another figure in the house – too small and slight to be a man. Perhaps an older sister. The father was absent or away, much to his relief.  

Deciding the best plan was to wait until dark and break in, William turned the engine back on and scouted the surrounding streets. Susie's cul-de-sac was backed by an area of woodland, which bordered the entire neighbourhood. A nature tunnel all his own. He left the car three streets over in a public parking area facing a small children's playground. After retreiving his suit and slipping a knife into the thin lining of the left cuff, he trudged into the cool, dark treeline.

“Ate too much candy, huh?” Samantha said, giving Susie a mischievous smile.  

Susie only hummed in response as she pushed potatoes around her plate with her fork.  

Samantha didn’t press her. She’d cried when Buddy died, of course, but as a teenager, she’d found it easier to handle her sadness. Susie’s emotions were still just as raw as on the day of the accident. 

“Don’t worry if you don’t want to eat,” said their mother, placing her hand over Susie’s own. “You can go and play for a bit before your bath, if you'd like.” 

An invitation to leave dinner early was rare, and Susie was grateful to receive it. Sitting still in the quiet kitchen made it hard to stop thinking about her dog. With a nod, she hopped off her chair and went outside to grab her bicycle from the yard.  

“Is Susie going to be okay, Mom?” Samantha asked, feeling her own appetite fading away as she heard her sister leave the house. 

“She’ll be fine, Sammy. She just needs time. I’m thinking we could get another dog once she’s feeling a bit more normal.” 

“That’d be good.” Samantha looked out the window at the tiny figure of Susie cycling away from view. 

Susie gripped the handlebars tight and pumped the pedals as hard as she could, racing behind the corner of the house. Looking out at the road scared her. That unassuming streak of grey had become something disturbing, sending her skin shivering as if bugs were crawling up her back. The woodlands, once intimidating, now made a preferable play area. 

After wobbling around on the knotted undergrowth for a bit, she abandoned the bike against an old tree and wandered about, reaching up to brush the low-hanging leaves with her palms. 

“When you feel sad and when you feel down,” she sang quietly, “we’ll make a big smile out of your frown...”  

Susie tripped over a twisted root and fell painfully onto her hands and knees. She hissed as nettles in the undergrowth stung her skin. Slowly, she got back onto her feet. 

“I know it seems hard but give it a try.” She sniffled and wiped her tired eyes as they filled with tears. “Sing from your heart and jump and... And...” 

Falling back down, she folded her arms around her knees and sobbed into them. 

“Susie?” 

Susie sniffed hard as the familiar voice reached her. 

“H-Hello?” she called out. A large shape was weaving through the dark trees towards her. It was toweringly tall, drenched in purple shadows cast by the heavy canopy overhead. For a moment, she scrambled back in terror. But the sense of fear melted as she saw who it was. “Spring Bonnie?” 

“I heard you singing, Susie.” The yellow rabbit approached slowly. He knelt on one knee in front of her. “I couldn’t leave my superstar all alone when you’re so sad.” 

The girl stumbled up and practically jumped into his arms. Behind the mask, William smiled. He loved kids at this age. He hadn’t expected her to accept his presence so easily. He came ready with tall tales of magic to convince her the mascot was a real creature, not just a man in a costume. None of it was needed. She just sank into the fluffy arms of her favourite cartoon bunny. 

“It’s not fair, Bonnie!” Susie said between sobs. “H-He was just p-playing! I w-want him back!” 

The yellow rabbit cuddled the crying child gently, patting her curly blonde hair as the sound of her weeping was swallowed up by the trees. 

“It’s okay, superstar. I know a special secret that will cheer you right up.” 

“W-What is it?” she asked doubtfully. 

Taking her by the shoulders, the yellow rabbit leant back to look her in the face. The round, cherubic cheeks were lined with tears.  

“He’s not really dead.” 

“I saw when he got hit by the car."

“I know, Susie, but you’re forgetting a very important thing. I’m not just any bunny, I’m a magic bunny.” 

Susie’s blue eyes shifted a little, moving from the smiling animal to the darkening woods. 

“Magic isn’t really real, though, is it?” 

“Of course it’s real. How else would wishes come true, huh?” 

Her little hands scrunched up the hem of her dress as she thought about it.  

“So Buddy woke up?” 

“You bet he did. He’s over here.” 

He pointed into the shadows of the woodland. Standing up, the yellow rabbit laughed and held out a hand to her. 

“Follow me.” 

Chapter Text

“Charlie?” 

This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t Mike’s voice; it couldn’t be Mike’s voice. Her mouth hung open in confusion as the animatronic stomped over to her hiding spot. 

“Don’t be scared. Please.” Mike reached out towards her, in the manner of someone trying to calm down a distressed animal. “It’s Mike. I just want to talk.” 

Charlie held her breath. She’d heard his voice earlier. The ghostly chill that accompanied it still lingered in her mind. Her body went rigid with sudden fright as the animatronic touched her shoulder. 

“M-Mike?” 

“Yeah, Charlie, it’s me.” He knelt down in front of her. Spring Bonnie’s awkward smile felt an oddly fitting reflection of his feelings; it was the first time his new face had lined up with his inner self. “I missed you so much.” 

Mike wavered, torn between the need to hug her and the fear of hurting her with his mechanical body. Paralysed between the two, he simply hung there, holding on as if to prove to himself that she wasn’t an illusion. 

“You’ve been hiding in a suit this whole time?” she said. She was still openly gawking at the suit, not fully convinced that she wasn’t dreaming.  

“Well, basically, yes. It’s hard to explain, okay?” 

“How... How could you do that to us? Get out of there!” 

Charlie reached up towards Spring Bonnie’s head, and he pulled away quickly. 

“Don’t do that,” he said. “I’m... I’m not ready to come out yet.” 

A shudder shook her body. Mike was back. He was alive. As the fear and sadness of the past days released their grasp over her heart, a sudden surge of annoyance rushed to take their place. 

“I can’t believe you would scare me like that, you asshole! I thought you were kidnapped! Or dead! Why are you hiding?!” 

“It’s complicated! I just told you!” 

“How the heck did you do the telepathy thing?” 

“What?” 

“I thought I was going crazy! I heard your voice calling me here!” 

Spring Bonnie’s arms slumped in shock. 

“That really worked?” he asked. 

“What worked? What'd you do?” She gave the animatronic a weak punch, a vent to her frustration rather than any attempt to show real anger. “It was like one of your creepy ghost movies!” 

Mike faltered. The rabbit ears twitched up and down as he desperately tried to plan his next move. Before he could decide anything, Charlie made a move towards the chest hatch. 

“D-Don’t do that!”  

He held out an arm to try and fend her off. She simply ducked around and reached up for the catch. Pushing her back would have been easy, but he was still petrified of his own strength. He’d risked interactions with his dad, but he wasn’t ready to take a chance with Charlie. Accepting his defeat, he let her clamber up his side and click the hatch open. 

Charlie stared at the bulbous mass of soldered metal plates inside. 

“What the heck? Where – are you in there?” 

“Get out!” He rose up to stop her prying around his innards and looked off to the side. One robotic finger tapped the inner chamber self-consciously. “I’m in this bit.” 

“How are you controlling that thing?” Stating this made her realise what a ridiculous notion it had been to assume Mike was piloting the suit to begin with. “You couldn’t wear it anyway, it’s way too big for you!” 

“I know, I know.” 

There was another helpless moment of silence as he tried vainly to respond.  

“Charlie, I don’t want to scare you, but you want to know the truth. Right?” 

“Yeah,” she said, the hesitancy clear in her voice. Annoyed at herself, she looked up into the staring white eyes on Bonnie and nodded, saying more loudly, “Of course I want to know. Everyone’s been so worried about you, Mikey.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course! Ev and Liz and me and Dad, and... And your dad, everyone’s missing you so much!” 

The internal wiring of the suit buzzed softly as Mike lowered himself down again, this time into a sitting position on the floor. The stiff joints would only allow him to balance when his legs were sticking out, as if he were a giant teddy bear. It made him feel ridiculous. Like something half-formed and inept. A fake creature mimicking life. 

After an agonising attempt at wording the truth in a more palatable manner, he realised there was no point in softening the blow. He had to be direct. 

“I’m dead, Charlie.” 

Mike paused, giving her a moment to process. He watched her lips quiver as various responses flickered through her mind. A mix of acceptances and denials; grief and terror, anger and betrayal.  

“You’re not dead, you’re talking to me,” she said at last, shaking her head. “Enough of this stupid prank, Mike!” 

“I talked to you before. The telepathy thing or whatever you called it. You said it was like a ghost movie.” 

“I didn’t mean you are a ghost!” 

“But it’s true, Charlie.” He pointed again to the out-of-place pod in his torso. “My body’s in there, but it's not alive anymore. I don't even know if I am a ghost, but it's the closest thing I can think of.” 

“T-That’s impossible.” 

“You know the animatronics aren’t meant to have this inside; you’ve seen them loads of times, okay, you know where all the parts are supposed to go! My body is in here because I...” He trailed off as the words turned bitter. “You can’t tell anyone else about me.” 

“Why?” Charlie tottered back, her shoes squeaking on the polished stage. “How would... Did someone put you in there? What’s going on?!” 

If he could still swallow, he would have. Another memory resurfaced: trying to explain to the twins how their mom wasn’t doing so well. He’d tried to pick words that sounded the softest. Or the least frightening, at least.  

“My body has to stay in the suit, so he-” 

“Who?!”  

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” His volume rose, though he felt angrier at himself for letting the pronoun slip than at her for pushing the matter. “They put me in this pod so no-one would find me when they looked at the suit. I need to stay in the animatronic. I guess I’m possessing it or something like that. I don’t get it. I just know that I’ll forget everything otherwise.” 

Mike slammed the hatch on his chest shut. Charlie clenched her fists tight and spoke with a slow, clear voice. 

“Who killed you, Mike?”  

“It was an accident. Anyway, I couldn't even remember that much until I saw you and Ev and Liz in the Diner. It’s like I’m not who I was before. I mean... Obviously, duh, I’m not the same. But I’m okay. You need to trust me on this.” 

She padded forward until she stood face to face with the crouching animatronic.  

“Can I just look in the pod? If I saw you it’d be easier to believe.” 

“There’s no way to get in. It’s sealed up.” 

“So who sealed it?” 

“Would you drop it, Charlie?” 

“No!” She gave a frustrated huff. “Mikey, you’ve been missing for ages! I thought you’d died – I mean...” 

“I get what you mean,” Mike said, lolling his head back in resignation.  

“Please. I want to help you, but I need to know exactly what happened.”  

“The best way you can help me is just to visit me again, Charlie. I don’t need anything else. It’s under control. I’m going to get out of this thing and come home. I just don’t know how long it will take, and I don’t want to be alone.” 

“You want me to sneak Liz and Ev up to see you?” she asked, sidestepping the larger questions for the moment. 

“Nah,” he said glumly. “I’d like to, but there’s no way they can keep a secret.” 

Charlie frowned, her heart thudding. 

“I’m not so sure about that. They seem pretty good at it.” 

His ears lowered, picking up on her pointed tone. 

“What do you mean?” 

Charlie held her breath. 

“Your dad does bad things to you, doesn’t he?” 

The mechanisms whirred in the dark as the Spring Bonnie suit rose to its full height. 

“What did they say, Charlie?” he asked desperately. Despite the pleading tone, it took all her strength not to bolt in fear as the massive machine loomed over her.  

“That’s just it – they don’t say anything. But it’s true, isn’t it? All the bruises, getting left on your own for days, cooking for yourself!” She listed the bulletpoints off on her fingers. “Your dad acts like he has no idea where you went, but he still left Ev and Liz alone for hours; he didn’t leave food out for them, Mikey. You could have been kidnapped, for all he knew, and he just left them alone! He only got a sitter because my dad told him to.” 

When Mike fell into yet another drawn-out pause, she placed her small, trembling hand on the bristly fur of his knee. 

“Tell me, Mikey?” 

The rabbit’s immutable jaw grinned down at her. Forever trapped in silent glee. 

“It was an accident. He’s fixing it.” 

“What happened?” 

Mike gripped his oversized head. A terrible urge to rip it off seized him. But he kept still. 

“He put me in the suit, Charlie. Then all the springlocks went off.” 

Charlie’s soft gasp seemed to fill the air around them. The dim light from the half-cracked door painted her face white, making her seem more ghostly that him. 

“Dad tried to get me out, but it was way too late,” Mike continued, trying not to recall the details of his own death too vividly. “It’s strange, but I didn’t remember anything. I felt like a mad dog or something. I was in the suit, but I wanted my body. Once he put me back in the suit, I felt more... More human again. It was an accident. He didn’t think the springlocks could fail.” 

With a hard swallow to keep down the rising bile, Charlie nodded. Every part of her screamed that this couldn’t be happening. It was one of Mike’s pranks; an elaborate one, perhaps, so elaborate she had no idea how he’d pulled it off, but a joke, nonetheless.  

No. For all his cruel antics and mean words, he’d never go that far. Disappearing for days, hiding out in the diner, rerigging one of their fathers’ machines? There was no way he could do all that. True or false, both options were incredible and improbable. Still, she couldn’t ignore what stood in front of her, nor the pain in Mike’s crystal-clear voice. 

“I believe you, Mikey.” 

“Dad’s trying to figure out what caused it – the possession, I mean. I think he wants to make me a new body or something. I want to believe he can do it, so badly, but I just don’t know. I’m... I’m scared, Charlie.” 

All their lives, he’d prided himself on reckless courage. His voice broke as the vulnerable words left him, the crack in perfect harmony with her breaking heart. The tears she’d stored up began to fall as she wrapped her arms around his cold metal leg. 

“It’ll be okay, Mikey, I promise.” 

Mike stared down at her. She looked so small now, so fragile. 

“I’m not going home again.”  

"Don't say that!"

She felt a lifeless hand, heavy yet gentle, rest on her head. 

“Please don’t tell anyone, Charlie,” he whispered. “I don’t want my dad to get in trouble. I can wait here, so long as I get to see you.” 

“My dad can help,” she said earnestly, looking up through the mop of hair he’d ruffled onto her forehead. “I’ll tell him!” 

“Maybe. Dad-”  

He was about to say, ‘Dad will listen to Uncle Henry’. A remnant of the world before, back when the Aftons and Emilys were closer than blood. Something that he still wanted to believe. Something comforting that once felt set in stone.  

“Dad won’t listen to Uncle Henry,” he finished. 

Before Charlie could respond, a low creak echoed out from the floor beneath them. It was a sound familiar to them both. The stage was waking up. Soon the curtains would swoosh open, and the animatronics would lift their heads to welcome another round of guests. 

“You better go, Charlie. Don’t tell Henry yet. Come and see me again!” 

Charlie didn’t have the time to argue if she wanted to escape unseen. With a head still full of questions, she nodded and slipped out the back exit, leaving Spring Bonnie alone to his audience. She cast one last, quick look back at him.

"I'm happy I can talk to you again, Mikey. I missed you."

"I missed you too."

And with that, she was gone.

At first, William had only pushed the knife between her lips to shut her up.  

Susie, caught amid pain and terror she had never imagined possible, was oblivious to the meaning of the threat. She thrashed and kicked and clawed at the arms which pushed her deeper and deeper into the dark metal chamber. The springlocks were already snapping into place in bursts of three and four. But Susie never stopped fighting. 

So he pushed the knife in deeper. 

“Shut the fuck up!” His voice was ragged as he grabbed a handful of her blonde hair and pushed it back down. The gold was stained with blood. 

It was too loud. The undergrowth cracked and rustled as William wrestled Susie into the machine. Even with mangled lips, her screams persisted. He was drowning her out with his own panicked threats. He felt eyes in the darkness between the trees. Punishing angels judging him in silence. 

It wasn’t like Tommy. There wasn’t any thrill, just raw adrenaline. William craved that moment, that Joy, when he became god over the life dying by his hands. It was alluding him this time.  

No, this was like Michael. Michael in slow motion. Michael in the dream. Guilt without satisfaction. 

His hands were clumsy and awkward. The trained precision he’d worked upon Tommy was nowhere to be found as he struggled to fit the headpiece over Susie’s coffin. She never stopped moving long enough for him to release his grip. He didn’t want to linger and watch the life ebb away this time. He wanted it done. And in his haste to see it finished, his fingers slipped again and again. 

In his panic, he neglected to remove his hand as the suit finally snapped shut.  

He tore it out and screamed, echoing the young girl whose life was leaving her body in slow, horrendous torment. A lock of yellow curls spilled out from the seam where the head met the chest. William grabbed them, yanking it as he would yank his children's shirt collars to silence them, feeling the prototype suit rock as she struggled within. 

“Stop it now, Elizabeth!” 

In time, Susie stopped. 

Then he was alone, lying in the dark against the nettles, pushing his broken hand hard against his chest to try and numb the pain. In front of him sat the shell of the prototype. Stray strands of hair from Susie’s scalp rested on the torso, caught in place by smears of her blood. Delicate threads trapped in gore. It was done. William groaned as the tears fell down his face. He'd lost track of time completely. He didn't even know how long he'd been lying there since Susie went silent.

“I’m sorry.” 

He let out a painful gag as he rolled onto his front. The cool undergrowth consumed his face. For a moment, he felt his empty stomach threatening to churn out its meagre contents. His mouth was a fixed and soundless scream. Throbbing pain had shut his senses off to the greater surroundings, leaving nothing but the earth and the half-formed animatronic. 

“I’m so sorry, baby...” 

Thunk. Thunk. 

William slowly turned his head to look at the prototype. It was an ugly facsimilae of a humanoid, rendered insidious by the deep shadows of the forest. A bulbous head atop a limbless torso, all stained brown by soil and blood. And as he watched, it swung its head down hard against its body, thunk, as if trying to end its miserable existence. 

Within a second, his sobs had been quelled. Each breath came suddenly slow and even as he levered himself up onto his knees, never taking his gaze off the machine. His hands, both whole and broken, moved up the sides of the chest piece. 

At the touch, the thing fitted wildly. It threw about its head and gnashed the double jaws. The sickness in William’s throat spasmed into a faltering laugh. 

“I did it.” 

He held on tight as it began to sway back and forth, threatening to overbalance itself. William stuttered incoherently until sense gradually returned to him. 

“What now, are you angry? Scared? Speak to me. Come on, speak to me. Be a good girl. Do it. Speak to me.” 

His voice dropped to a low murmur as he studied the suit intently. Then an unearthly sound, somewhere between a dog’s bark and the screech of metal on metal, was forced out Spring Bonnie’s maw. There was no garbled voice box or ghostly whisper. But she had responded. 

“Yes! Yes! You remember me?” William stood up and held out his mangled hand. “Do you remember?” 

There was no reaction. His brow furrowed in a desperate hopelessness. He couldn’t fail, not again. Susie must have possessed his prototype; it wouldn’t be able to move otherwise. He was so close to making progress. And just as she’d made her murder harder than it needed to be, she was once again delaying him. Without a care for his broken fingers, he grabbed the jaws and shook them furiously. 

“Come on! I know you’re in there!” 

The machine lashed out with another inorganic scream. William jumped back a second too late. The double rows of teeth sank deep into the skin of his injured hand. 

The shock and the pain stunned him to a point where he couldn’t so much as scream straight away. He hadn’t expected the rustic model to move with such agility. It had lunged with a speed the animatronics were never designed to reach. Animated now by a force outside this world, however, the clumsy prototype became a predator. William kicked out against the machine, using it as leverage as he tried pulling his hand out. He felt his skin buckle and tear as it caught in the teeth, caught faster than a buck in a beartrap. 

A scream finally escaped this throat as he tugged more frantically. His good hand clawed at the animatronic, vainly trying to pry it open. Behind the grinning facade, past the puncturing flesh of his own appendage, deep within the throat of the machine, he saw Susie’s blank eyes staring back at him. 

She’d been too small to fit in properly. 

“I’ll help you!” He chocked the words out between his cries, panting heavily as his vision threatened to dim. “Let me go, I’ll take you home!” 

The mouth opened up ever so slightly. Sensing his chance, William steeled himself and pulled with all his strength. He fell heavily to the ground as the hand slid free. Still gasping from the pain, he skidded away behind the cover of the closest tree. The thing had no legs, but it still took him a moment to find courage enough to peer around at it. As he did, Spring Bonnie’s mouth snapped fully open, revealing a glimpse at the ghastly sight within. The words that came next seemed to originate within the suit itself, rasping out in a voice neither human nor mechanical. 

“Yellow! Rabbit!” 

William’s racing pulse went still. 

He didn’t feel like himself anymore. He was alien, and distant, and perfectly free of weight. But he allowed himself to fall into the waves. He permitted himself to be consumed. He opened his heart to The Joy, and he screamed. 

And amidst his screams, two words emerged: “It worked.” 

“It worked! It worked!” He howled the phrase again and again until the shouts became laughter. The Joy purged his system of all rancor; a sudden focus overrode pain, guilt, fear, every vestige of human weakness. It was like walking up after a long illness and realising you were finally cured, magnified far beyond human understanding. 

Only when he went to move the animatronic did William remember his own vulnerabilities again. A dark blot around its mouth, which he had taken to be his blood, revealed a more uncomfortable truth as he approached. 

It was a flap of thick, torn skin.  

William stared down at his hand. It was completely degloved. The broken bones had contorted further, several of them visible as they pierced through the muscle tissue. He gasped, his mind finally processing the damage. Yet as he looked, the thought that rose above all others was simply, 

‘That makes us even.’ 

Powering the suit down brought the ghost’s fight to a standstill. With his guard now up, it wasn’t hard to navigate around the limbless animatronic. He held up his degloved hand in front of its face and pointed at it. The smile slowly fell.  

“I’m going to remould you next. If you weren’t a disobedient brat, I could have done it tonight. A nice new body. As it stands, you can sit and squirm for a while.” William lowered his hand and looked again at the injuries. He found the sight mesmerising. “Don’t worry. I won’t be too hard on you, kiddo. Just remember to be a good girl next time and I won’t have to hurt you again.” 

Elizabeth’s whole body bobbed up and down with excitement as she watched Charlie and Henry come down the stairs with armfuls of pillows and blankets. The Emilys placed the bedding down in the living room near the corner sofa. 

“Ooh, I call dibs!” she said, running up to grab a cushion covered in shaggy orange fluff. 

“You sure you want to sleep on that one? You’ll get all that fur in your mouth,” Henry said, smiling at the little girl as she cuddled it close. 

“Not to sleep on,” she said, “just to hug.” 

“Ah, gotcha. Sounds like a plan.” 

Henry began arranging a few of the plainer pillows and sheets on the sofa to create little sleeping areas for their guests. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Charlie picked through colourful novelty cushions and old teddies.  

“I’m going to make my side of the fort all furry like a cat,” said Liz, picking up a soft throw and throwing it over the back of the couch.  

“Okay, well, I’m making mine flowery,” said Charlie, smiling as the young girl busied herself undoing Henry’s work.  

Keeping the smile on her face was becoming hard work. Charlie was exhausted, all physical and mental resources now thoroughly drained. The full weight of what she’d found at the diner was still hitting her, like a slow-motion avalanche sending its rocks tumbling down in a torturous rain. She found herself questioning her own memory. Wondering if she was losing her mind. It frightened her to believe it had all been real, but was the alternative any better? 

Mike was dead. Mike was trapped and alone in a dark, empty building right now while she played with his siblings. The guilt was unbearable.  

“Hey, Ev,” she said, turning to the boy. “You want to pick some stuff out?” 

Evan was sitting on the other sofa, staring listlessly at the window. Fredbear was clasped close to his chest.  

“Uncle Henry, is Dad okay?” he asked quietly.  

Charlie glanced to her father, who had abandoned the sleeping arrangements to Liz. He stepped lightly over the scattered items covering the floor and knelt in front of Evan. 

“Sure he’s okay, sport,” Henry said, rubbing the boy’s arm. “He’ll be back soon. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Yeah, stop being mopey!” Elizabeth said from beneath a blanket heap. “This isn’t even the longest he’s been away.” 

Evan winced and tightened his grip on his toy.  

“You can be mopey all you want,” Henry whispered. He smiled; his soft features and curls of messy hair added a warmth to his face, like a Santa Claus on an old-fashioned Christmas card. “You’re a-okay here. Nothing bad is going to happen.” 

Charlie shivered as she watched a hint of confidence return to Evan’s face. Mike had insisted on secrecy, and she wanted to honour her best friend’s requests. That didn’t stop her feeling culpable for misleading the twins. They had every right to know, after all.  

To know that something terrible had happened. 

Time to put on the forced smile again. Evan padded over to her and gave an embarrassed glance at the cushions and toys. 

“What stuff do you want for your fort, Ev?” 

“Um, could I use this?” His fingers brushed the white felt of a Chica doll.  

Charlie handed him the toy, resisting the urge to scoop him up in her arms and cuddle him until all his worries went away. She didn’t want William to come back. Nothing would bring her greater relief than to hear he’d crashed on his little getaway drive. The malice of her own thoughts shocked her. Wishing pain on someone felt so wrong. But then she’d see his hideous grin and the shame would dwindle in the face of how badly she wanted him gone.  

Mike was dead. Mike was trapped and alone because of an ‘accident’. And maybe it had been. But she still didn’t have a good explanation for why William would put his son in a springlock suit. And she couldn’t imagine there was one. 

The doorbell rang. 

“Hey, that’ll be him!” Henry said, shooting Evan a thumbs up. Elizabeth gave a dramatic sigh of exasperation as he went to answer. 

“I didn’t even finish the fort! Charlie, can we still stay over, please?” 

But Charlie didn’t hear her. She had zoned out, all attention completely consumed by the dark shape standing behind the door. Subconsciously, her arms reached out to pull Evan into a close embrace.  

“Hiya, Wi- holy smokes!” 

Henry’s eyes widened as he swung open the door to reveal William, hunched over and shielding one hand in his coat. His face was thin and drawn, and his raw red eyes seemed too large for their sockets. A shaky grin grew on his lips as he looked up, squinting as though the glare of the houselights was blinding him. 

“I did something pretty stupid, Henry,” he said sheepishly. 

Henry slipped out onto the porch and pulled the door to, cutting the children off from the conversation. 

“What happened?” 

William held out his hand. Wads of bloodied tissue clung on to glistening red muscle. 

“Shit,” Henry said, before blushing at his own language. He cleared his throat and looked away for a second, pushing down a wave of revulsion. “Good lord, Will!” 

“I was grabbing a few things from the garage, and I set off the belt sander. Left the bloody thing plugged in for some reason. I was leaning on it to try and reach up a shelf.” 

William tilted his wrist to illustrate how he’d gotten his hand stuck in the sander. 

“We should get you to a hospital,” Henry said, leaning on the doorframe as nausea overtook him. “How did you drive here, Will?” 

“Used my arm to keep the wheel steady,” he said, still speaking casually like the entire incident was just an embarrassing slip-up. There was a glint of fascination within his tired eyes as he scanned the visible sinew. “Got blood all over the damn car now.” 

“Uncle Will?” 

The men looked back as Charlie peeked around the door. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the degloved hand. 

“Whoa, Charlie-Bear!” Henry stepped in front of her to block her view. “Stay inside a minute.” 

“What happened?” she asked, stubbornly refusing to be ushed back in. William chuckled in the face of Henry’s attempt to shield her from the sight. 

“Ah, just had a bit of an accident, Charlotte.” 

Charlie’s blood ran cold. 

“Come on, Charlie, you don’t need to see this.” Henry was gnawing his lip again. “I’ll call Ann and see if she can come watch the kids, Will, wait one minute. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” William said, stepping backwards down off the patio. “I’m heading up there now, Henry; came to ask if you’re okay keeping the kids tonight.” 

“You can’t drive, Will!” 

“Made it here in one piece, didn’t I?” 

“That’s not the point.” He pushed his palm against his forehead and sighed as Charlie stood unerringly in the doorway. “It’s dangerous.” 

“I just need you to keep the kids,” William said. His tone was still bizarrely laidback as he waved his good arm to them. “I owe you, Henry, I’ll pay you back.” 

“Will!” 

Henry watched on helplessly as William sauntered back to the street. His car was parked haphazardly, with one tyre half-straddling the pavement.  

“Will! For Pete’s sake! Charlie, stay put, and I mean it this time.” 

The girl watched her father leap into pursuit, hobbling down the driveway in only his socks. Then she quietly closed the door. 

“Charlie, why isn’t Daddy coming in?” Elizabeth asked. She and Evan hadn’t left the blanket fort. Their heads stuck out from under the soft mound like little moles, eyes wide and wary. 

“Your dad hurt himself. He’s going to the hospital.” 

“We can stay here, then?” Evan asked. 

“Evan! What’s wrong with you? Daddy’s hurt!” Liz said in a shriek. She began kicking her way out the fort. Charlie rushed over to take her by the shoulders. 

“Hey, he’s okay, I promise! He just scraped his hand, that’s all. Nothing serious.” 

Elizabeth moaned a little as her body slumped back down against the sofa. 

“Why does everyone keep getting hurt? It’s always us. It’s not fair.” 

“I don’t know, Liz. You’re right, it isn’t fair.” 

Charlie sat down next to her, holding out an arm to invite Evan in. He crawled over into her embrace. There was something unreadable about his plain expression.  

“I was right, he wasn’t okay,” Evan whispered. 

“He is okay, Evan,” Charlie said sternly. “Everything will be fine.” 

“I don’t think so,” Liz said. 

Charlie closed her eyes for a second and thought as hard as she could.  

“Who else got hurt, Liz?” she asked, speaking as softly as she could. Elizabeth stuck her bottom lip out in a severe frown. 

“Mommy, and Michael.” 

“We don’t know if Mike’s hurt.” 

“Of course he’s hurt, he would have come home by now if he was okay.” 

She watched the little girl closely, looking for any hint of deception. As much as she hated trying to extract information from them like this, she needed some kind of context for what had happened in the Afton household. 

“Was Mikey hurting before he went away, Liz?” The girl looked away, but Charlie persisted. “Did he have bruises or cuts?” 

“Bruises,” said Evan. 

Elizabeth shot her brother a poisonous look and spoke up loudly. 

“Yeah, but just from smacks.” 

“Dad hit him.” 

“Because he was being naughty.” 

“He smacked Mikey a lot, didn’t he?” Charlie said in a whisper. 

“No,” Evan said. For once, his iron grip on Fredbear had loosened. He let the teddy fall to his side as he looked at Charlie with glassy eyes. “He punches and does it like this.” 

At her side, Charlie could feel Liz squirming around as Evan took the Chica doll and began to mime beating it up. She felt her body grow colder and colder, even in the warmth of the living room. Evan swung his fist into the toy. He put his hands around the neck and shook it wildly. Then he threw it away from him, leaving it sprawled out on the carpet. 

“Evan’s been bad,” Elizabeth whispered. 

“Come on, Will, you know you shouldn’t do that anymore.” 

“They don’t have a smoking lounge.” 

“Don’t be like that.” 

William sighed and dropped the cigarette onto the floor, snuffing it out underfoot. Henry shifted awkwardly in his seat. His eyes were fixed on the smear now defacing the well-mopped floor. After a minute, he bent down to try and brush up the remains into his handkerchief. William watched impassively. 

The waiting room was devoid of life except for the two men. They sat between a dying Monstera and a stack of outdated magazines. Gentle hums of fizzing bulbs and air conditioning gave the space an almost dreamlike dimension.  

Henry finished cleaning the ash. He straightened up and trailed his foot along a green squiggle pattern on the flooring. 

“Hell of a day, huh?”  

“It’s been better. Worse, too.” 

“Yeah.” 

He sat back down next to William and wrapped the handkerchief in on itself, scrunching the debris inside. William’s eyes flicked down to watch as his knuckles flexed up and down. 

“I have some painkillers in the car,” Henry said. “Should have thought of that earlier.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Heh, you sure about that? It’s no trouble.” 

“I’m sure.” 

William stretched his hand out on his lap, studying the way his digits would twitch and tremble. He couldn’t contain a brief smirk as he heard Henry groan and shuffle around so he wouldn’t have to look. 

“I don’t know how you can stay so calm,” Henry said, shaking his head. 

“I’m not too sure, either. Everything feels different now.” 

“What do you mean, Will?” 

“Pain, I mean. I can’t describe it without sounding crazy, but it’s like I’ve been craving it since Michael went.” 

Henry’s brow raised. He fluffed up his mop of hair and breathed out heavily. 

“That’s... Hm. Our brains are mysterious things. This was an accident, right?” 

“Bloody hell, Henry, yes. It’s just a feeling, I’m not going to stick my hand down a sanding belt on purpose.” 

“I had to ask,” Henry said with a shrug.  

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, don’t worry.” 

Henry intertwined his fingers and leaned forward, eyes to the floor. He spoke again, lingering hesitantly on each word. 

“Look, Will. You can’t beat yourself up for what happened. It could happen to anyone.” 

“What, so if he ran away, that wouldn’t be my fault? You can’t know a bloody thing about what happened, because we still don’t know what happened.” William could feel his face growing hot. The disguise of the clueless father searching for a mysteriously vanished son was a role he was meant to slip in and out of, like the Spring Bonnie suit. Yet at that moment, the words felt so genuine to him. The persona entangled him without warning.

“If he ran away, it wouldn’t be because of you,” Henry said softly. “Mike loves you.” 

“He didn’t act like it. I know I was too harsh on him. Breaking the damn rules all the time, getting the cops called out on him... I never meant to push him away. I couldn’t just let him carry on without saying anything, but I – I was harsh on him.” 

“That’s just teenagers, Will. Hell, my dad used to get the belt on me. It didn’t mean that he stopped loving me. I knew that even then. Lord knows you weren’t anything like that bad.” 

William felt a lump in his throat. He coughed and pinched his eyes. 

“You think so?” 

“Yes!” 

“So. He was taken, then.” 

Henry’s face fell. 

“I don’t know, Will. Maybe... Maybe he wandered off somewhere and got lost.” 

“In Hurricane? This town’s a bloody square, Henry, you couldn’t if you tried.”  

William wanted to bite down on his own tongue. He could feel the next thought vying to be given voice. A thought dangerous enough to set gears turning in his friend’s mind. He didn’t have to say it. He shouldn’t say it. None of the churning turmoil in his gut made sense. He knew what had happened, this despair was illogical. And yet the words came out anyway. 

“Someone took my boy away.” 

He felt Henry’s hand against his back, like an overburdened rucksack weighing him down. 

“We’ll get him back, Will.” 

He swallowed again. 

“Do you still believe in God, Henry?” 

“I think so. Can’t say I’m much good if you want that kind of comfort, though. It’s been a long time.” A brief pause. “I’ve been praying for him, Will.” 

William nodded, silver eyes fixed blankly at nothing. 

“Long time, yeah. Manasseh.” 

“What?” 

“That’s one I still remember. Manasseh. Remember him? The king who sacrificed his own sons.” 

Henry didn’t respond. Instead, he kept gently rubbing William’s back and let the man organise his thoughts. 

“God let him be captured and tormented because he was so evil. Killing his children. But then he repented, and God forgave him.” He glanced sidelong at Henry. “Do you think God’s going to forgive the person who killed my son?” 

Henry considered the question for a long time before he replied.

"I don't know what they'd tell you at a church, Will. But what I think is, God can see the good people. He can see the ones in pain. Even if it isn't in this lifetime, he's going to make sure justice is done. Wherever Mike is now, He can see him."

"You didn't answer the question."

Chapter Text

The adrenaline couldn’t last forever. And as it faded, the pain began. 

William had refused to take any additional painkillers offered to him. Dulling his senses further was the last thing he wanted. Now he paid for that decision with an agony that shot through his entire side. 

By the time William was released from hospital, the sun had already dawned on a new day. Henry had waited loyally for the whole time. He turned a sympathetic gaze on his friend’s tightly bound hand. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Fine, fine.” 

It was, of course, a lie. 

Even with the pain screaming for his attention, all William could think about was his car. Or, more specifically, the cargo within. He trailed behind Henry as they made their way through the car park, utterly consumed in his own reflections. The killing had been sloppy from beginning to end. His rushed decision to go after Susie had set the tone for everything that had followed. Mess upon mess. A string of reckless choices, all topped off by going to see Henry. Why? He asked himself the same thing over and over again. Why the hell go to see Henry while the bloody body was still in his car?

The worst part was, he knew the answer. He’d been worried about his kids. 

It was that realisation that had tortured him during the long night in hospital. Tortured him worse the doctors prodding and pulling and jabbing his broken bones. William could have slapped himself for his sheer foolishness. The kids had been fine. It wasn’t as if Henry would have tossed them out on the streets when he didn't return. He could have phoned from the hospital and explained what had happened.  

But no. He’d gone back. And Henry had whisked him off in his own car, and William had left his vehicle out on the street, and it was sitting there in the open, with a front soaked in blood and a back caked in gore. 

“Wanna grab lunch?” 

William broke free from his thoughts and looked up. 

“What time is it again?” 

“Half two.” 

“Ah. We should probably get back to the kids.” 

“I already gave them a bell while they were patching you up,” said Henry. “Everyone’s doing fine. I told them you’d be okay now. Come on, we’ve been gone all night. Another hour won’t make a difference. You must be starving.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Now that William thought about it, he was certain he hadn’t eaten anything yesterday, even before he’d left for work. Although he felt more nauseous than hungry, the idea of passing out prompted him to nod in agreement. 

“Okay then.” 

Henry drove them to an old mom-and-pop cafe at the edge of town. The rundown interior did little to dilute its popularity. People frequented it for the quality of the food rather than the atmosphere. At one time, William and Henry had been among those regular customers. That was back before they’d raised the money to buy the diner; with nowhere better to go, the pair would run through budgets and blueprints over fried bacon and black coffee every morning. 

Nothing inside had changed. William sat in a booth and looked down at the dark mug stains on the laminate table. Still the same as in the early days. Days when he’d been happy for a fleeting, glorious few years. Before the merger. Before Laura’s accident. Before the depression. Before Mike grew up. 

Mike. 

Mike. 

Mike.

“You okay, Will?” 

William looked up with moist eyes and felt a hard stab of humiliation. He leaned back in an attempt to look calm and unaffected. 

“I’m alright. Tired, that’s all.” 

“Tell me about it. Roll on the coffee, hey?” 

William murmured in agreement and pretended to glance at the menu. Henry followed suit. 

“Forgot how one-note the menu was. Hope you still like bacon.” 

William forced a smile as he blankly scanned the mess of black and white, trying to discern words amidst the blur. He didn’t care what he ate so long as it kept him conscious. 

“Hey, Henry. You don’t think my car would get towed out on your street?” 

“Nah, don’t worry. Parking is always a mess down there anyway. Ooh, they still have it!” Henry smiled as if greeting an old friend. “Sandy’s All-Day Brunch. Brings back memories. Best biscuits in the state. I reckon Fredbear’s was built on Sandy’s brunch. Made those early starts more bearable, huh?” 

“Why do you always do this, Henry?” 

Henry lowered the menu to find William staring poison into him. 

“Do what?” 

“Acting like it’s all fine. Blabbering on like Chatty bloody Cathy so no one has to think about what’s really happening for one damn second.”  

It was an overreaction, he knew. Even William himself didn’t truly know why Henry's rambling was getting to him so badly. Henry had always been like this since Uni, and if anything, it behooved him for the man to stay this way. If Henry wanted to stay in some cheerful oblivion, all the better for him. But he just couldn't bear it for one second more. Couldn't bear the worthlessness of the words, the airy tone of his voice.  

“I'm sorry, Will.” 

“It’s fine. I'm sorry,” William said quickly. He breathed out as Henry set the menu back in its stand. “I’m tired and I'm being an ass. Ignore me.” 

“No, no, you’re right. You’re going through one hell of a time. I don’t mean to act like it’s all sunshine and roses.” 

“I never figured you did. Genuinely, Henry, there is nothing to apologise for. I’m tired and fed up and my bloody hand is aching, that’s all.” 

"Hey, I get it. You have every right to feel this way."

A waiter came to take their order. William simply repeated Henry’s order and hoped the brief distraction would be enough to kill the conversation. But as soon as they were alone again, Henry picked it back up. 

“I know why you’re frustrated with me. Lord knows I haven’t been doing everything I should.” 

If it were anyone else, William would have assumed the self-deprecating comment was designed to win sympathy. Only this was Henry. He knew that he really meant it. And it sickened him. 

“Don’t be daft. You’ve done more than enough, minding the kids and...” 

He trailed off as Henry shook his head and met his look with a gentle determination. 

“It’s not the same as being proactive,” Henry said. “I should have been out there searching for Mikey with you. Hell, I even told you to stop looking and leave it to the cops. If it was Charlie missing, I wouldn’t have taken that lying down. I’m sorry.” 

William went to point out that Henry had only been worried about Liz and Evan. The words died in his throat. Listening to the apology was too much to resist. For a moment, he even felt his shaking hand calm its trembling. 

“I forgive you.” 

“You know how much I love Mikey,” said Henry. “I’d do anything to get him home. I want to do more.” 

“There’s no need-” 

Two steaming coffees were delivered to their table, followed soon after by breakfast platters piled high with sizzling food. Combined with the midday sun streaming through the windows, William began to feel unbearably hot. A small drip of sweat crawled down his forehead as Henry kept on speaking. 

“We’ll put up posters in every restaurant.” His words came quicker as he brainstormed ideas. “Hell, we can use one of our slots on KSL; make some kind of public service announcement, get Mikey’s face out there to the rest of the state.” 

“We’re not putting a missing child poster in the restaurants, Henry. No one wants that kind of thing in their kid’s birthday venue.” 

Henry faltered, looking confused. 

“What about the arcade in Freddy’s? That’s where the big kids hang out.” 

“It’ll make the parents uncomfortable.” 

“Come on, Will, anything’s worth a shot now.” 

“I said no. It’s demeaning.” 

“Demeaning? What’s demeaning about it?”  

William forced himself to swallow down some of the boiling coffee. His throat was too dry - he had to get some down. It burned in his chest. His vision was losing focus. 

“Using my own franchises to beg for help. Putting posters up in town is fine, but I’m not having them inside. That’s final.” 

“That makes no sense!” 

“I’m not having my son’s disappearance turned into a spectacle.” 

“Will!” Henry rolled his eyes, mouth open in pure disbelief. “Good Lord, Will, what are you talking about? We’ve got to take every opportunity! Who in their right mind is going to hold that against you?” 

“Forty-sixty.” 

Henry froze, all frustrations replaced by a cold stare. 

“Will, I-” 

“I’m using my sixty.” William stared right back, straightening up further as his voice hardened. “The brand isn’t getting involved. At all.” 

“We have a resource right there, William, why the hell won’t you just use it?” 

William put the mug down stiffly. He hardly noticed the splashes of hot liquid that jumped out to scold his wrist. 

“You’re ready to go back to fifty-fifty now? Ready to convince me your last big decision wasn’t a disaster too?” 

With a bitter sigh, Henry relented. He cupped his hands together and shook his head. 

“Fine. Do it your way.” 

Mike flexed his metal fingers and lifted them to the strings. The babble of children became cheering cries as the curtains parted. Once more, the suit played out its programming, and Mike allowed his body to be carried along to the song.  

The night had been hard on him. Not painful like the night when he was shut down. But it had been lonely. A depth of loneliness that weighed heavier than before when he was still in the warehouse. Since the moment Charlie had walked away, something within him had changed. Memories were flooding back fast and strong. Scenes of his life played out in new clarity and brought with them more faces. Not just the people he had loved the most, but the incidental ones, too. It had been staggering to realise just how large his world had been, and how many people he had met in his short life.  

Now that he had remembered, he couldn't stop thinking about them. In some ways, that was worse than not knowing at all. He wondered if he'd see them ever again. If they would look at him and call out, “Hey Mike!”, ever again.  

So Mike pretended the children in the Diner were his friends. Even if he didn’t know their names, he could recognise a few faces now. Some of them were from nearby neighbourhoods, some of them from school, some of them from the park. Mike sang and danced and pretended they were his friends; he imagined they could see him, a flesh and blood human, goofing off on a stage for their entertainment. They would laugh and cheer and share the joke.  

Then the curtains would close, and his legs would be shunted back down into a rigid pose, and he would wait once more in the dark.  

Mike glanced over at Fredbear. The bear's eyes looked like black holes in the heavy shadow. 

“Dad said he’d visit me this morning.” He spoke quietly, so quietly he couldn’t quite tell if he was just thinking it. “No show, of course. He’s probably going to forget about me again. Huh. Stupid, stupid! As if he’d suddenly start making time for me now... I bet he wishes I’d actually died so he didn’t have to bother.”  

Fredbear’s mouth hung open in a wordless grin.  

“Maybe he just wants to figure out how ghosts work. Bet that’s way more interesting than ‘fixing me’ or whatever bullshit he keeps talking about. He just wants to be the first person to figure it out; get famous and make some machine out of it so he can sell it.”   

I should ask him when he comes back.  

Mike stared. His senses couldn't tell if that had truly happened or if some hallucination had gripped his mind. He spoke again, his voice smaller than ever, testing it out.

“There’s not much point. He’ll only lie again.” 

But I could make him tell the truth.

He still didn't know if it was real or imagination. But regardless of which it was, he knew for sure what he thought he'd just witnessed.

Fredbear was talking back to him.

"...Hello?"

Silence. Mike edged closer, sliding his paw forward without raising it from the floor. A hint of light from the gap in the curtains reflected in Fredbear's eyes, creating a pinpoint of light in the dark.

"Are you a ghost too? I-Is someone in there?"

He felt almost foolish for how nervous he was - there was no way it could have been real. He'd heard the voice inside his own head. Of course, Charlie had said the same thing about how it'd felt when Mike reached out to her. But it couldn't be the same thing. It was like Fredbear's words made up a part of his own train of thought. He had spoken the words that Mike's subconscious had created. 

"I'm going batshit now, too. Great... This is so dumb." He sighed bitterly and glared at the lifeless animatronic, convincing himself that the thing hadn't spoken as he ranted. "It's all Dad's fault too. Everything is his fault and he can't even come see me. Guess I'll just go crazy all alone. It's not like he would care. He'll just turn me off again."

He won’t ignore me when I’ve got my hands around his throat. 

Mike could vividly remember how only days ago, he’d held his father aloft and decided to kill him. Completely and utterly in control. At last. The inner thoughts had spurred his anger on into murderous intent. He barely managed to stop himself in time.  

Those inner thoughts... In the warehouse, he had the vaguest sense of them coming unbidden into his mind. Now the monologue became enitrely alien. It was like a pirate radio station broadcasting a signal into his brain. All of the sadness, the pain, and the anger congealed into a voice. No longer a seamless part of his psyche, but a presence.

Mike looked at Fredbear.

"I can just tell Dad how I feel. I mean, he really does seem guilty, even if he's still a jackass. He'll listen."

But he won't listen. Because he doesn't love me.

"I know he's trying to help me, but..."

What does that matter when all he ever does is hurt me?

"I should just give him more time to figure it out."

Or I could stop him right now. 

Charlie didn’t show up that day. 

William didn’t show up that day. 

Even Henry wasn’t dancing around in his mascot costume. 

Mike pretended the kids were his friends. 

It was too heavy. 

William shifted his grip and tried again. With gritted teeth and a pained hiss, he heaved the animatronic up under his arm. For a second, it teetered on the lip of the trunk. A little bit more and he’d have it in his grasp. But his arm was shaking too much. Weakened further by his previous attempts, he couldn’t maintain the strength needed to pick it up. With a heavy thud, Susie and her prison fell back down. 

William collapsed onto the curb and swore furiously under his breath. It was impossible. He couldn’t move it. He could barely understand how he’d managed to drag Susie back to his car in the first place with one hand mutilated beyond recognition. A heady mix of adrenaline and desperation must have empowered him to fight through. 

He had to face it. His hand was useless now. Wrapped in its casing of plaster and bandages, the broken digits had officially been pushed well beyond their limits. William had tried using both hands to get Susie out the car and into the warehouse, but his efforts were fruitless. Despite pushing through the agony and forcing the digits to grip the animatronic, there was no strength in them to hold on with. All he’d achieved was cutting a new tear into the wrappings. 

And lifting it up with just one arm - well, five attempts in, and that was looking pretty hopeless too.

Tilting his head to the night breeze, he gave himself a moment to steady his breathing, allowing the air to cool his sweaty brow. William’s unfocused eyes stared into the haze of bright orange streetlamps that pierced the black sky. The warehouse stood before him like some faceless gravestone, the grey, featureless wall consuming him whole. 

He could hardly bear to even look at the animatronic anymore. William had laid the black bags from his costume out to stop Susie’s blood staining the car's interior. It hadn’t helped much. A panel had come loose during the drive at some point; he could see her torso through the gap. More than just blood had come out.

A strong chill ran through him as the midnight wind picked up. He rested his ruined hand on his knee and closed his eyes. He needed help. Help from someone who wouldn’t blab to the police about blood streaks and human hair. Help from someone controllable. 

The irony wasn’t lost on him; Michael would have been perfect for the job. Of course.  

Inevitably, his mind became lost amid thoughts of the boy. Oh yes, Mike wouldn’t have even struggled that much with handling the animatronic’s weight. He’d been big for his age. Skinny, it was true, but tall and strong regardless.  

Mike often surprised people with how strong he was. His little gang was the same, all bruisers who’d fight anyone regardless of their size. William reflected back on all the times he’d been called out to the police station to collect his wayward son. Mike and his friends would be sitting sullenly in a row, blood-stained and bruised and ready for the next brawl. 

William always kept his interactions with the boys as limited as possible. He hated them. Despised them all. Despised how their influence had changed his Michael. It wasn’t the fact that they got into fights that made him so angry. If anything, he was glad Mike knew how to fight. The problem came when Mike began to realise he could fight his father, too. 

Still. He remembered Jeremy, even if the names of the other boys alluded him. He was the oldest of the boys, an early bloomer whose growth spurt had affected every muscle but his brain. Aside from Charlotte, he was Mike’s closest friend. He was also the only boy in the gang who ever said hello to him, opting for a polite “Hi, Mr. Afton’ every time.  

William didn’t mind Jeremy that much. 

Jeremy was slow. A bit more polite. A bit more stupid. And he really loved Mike. 

Yeah. Jeremy was bearable. 

“Hey there, Jeremy.” 

Jeremy clicked his Walkman off and glanced over at the voice. He almost did a double-take as he saw who it was. 

“Oh, hi, Mr. Afton.”  

Jeremy pushed through the bustle of the school parking lot to get near the driver’s open window.  

“Nice coat,” William said. 

“Thanks.” 

Jeremy had changed into his leather biker jacket as soon as he left the school gates. The overbearing principal had a tendency to confiscate it whenever she saw him wearing it on the grounds, loudly berating him for dipping into ‘drug culture’. That only made the jacket all the better in Jeremy’s eyes. He felt like an adult when he wore it. 

It was oversized for the boy. William thought it made him look even more childish. 

“It’s been a while. How have you been holding up?” 

“I’m okay,” Jeremy said, slouching a little. “I’m really sorry about Mike and all. I’ve been looking everywhere for him.” 

“That means a lot to me, Jeremy. Thanks.” 

Jeremy shrugged and shifted the weight of his backpack to the other shoulder, keeping his eyes down now. 

“Yeah, well, I haven’t found anything...” 

“It’s the effort that counts, hey?” 

“I’ll keep looking. I ain’t giving up on Mike. Like, shit, it’s so crazy.” Jeremy cut himself off, eyes widening in alarm. “I mean – sorry, Mr. Afton.” 

“Don’t worry about that.” 

“I just get so fucking mad, y’know?” 

“I know, I know.” William ran his hand through his hair wearily. “It’s hard. Going home knowing he isn’t there. Strange not having all you lads running around the neighbourhood too.” 

“Huh, bet you never thought you’d say that,” Jeremy said, smiling awkwardly. Talking to adults had never been a comfortable experience for him, especially when the adult in question was a friend’s parent. They didn’t need to say anything; he knew they all hated him. The bad egg, the corrupting influence.  

Although he suspected William had gone a bit soft because of grief, something about it didn’t make sense. Not that he knew the man well or anything, but from what Mike had said, he just didn’t seem the type. Between Mike’s accounts and the glimpses he’d seen, Jeremy figured William was only capable of two modes: furious and blank. Jeremy couldn’t see how Mike’s disappearance could make him suddenly act so fond of him. 

William flicked ash off his cigarette, letting it fall to the tarmac. 

“He’s going to come home,” he said resolutely. “My boy’s a fighter. You’ll see.” 

“You really think so, Mr Afton?” 

“I know he will.” 

William smiled gently as he saw Jeremy’s tension relax just a little. 

“I sure hope so. A-And I’ll keep looking.” 

“Thanks, kiddo. It’s tough on all of us, you know.” 

“Yeah.” Jeremy glanced at the back seats of the car that patiently awaited Ev and Liz. “It’s weird.” 

William followed his eyes and sighed. “Sure doesn’t make it easier running the house.” 

“I guess... You’re pretty busy, huh?” Jeremy broke off as he clocked William’s bandaged hand for the first time. Swallowing down the immediate instinct to make a joke about dangerous animatronics, he cleared his throat and pointed. “You get hurt at work?” 

“Oh no. Just caught my hand in the car door like an idiot,” he said, glancing at his hand. “When it rains, it pours.” 

“Well, uh, get well soon, yeah.” 

William made a show of pausing to consider his words. “Say Jeremy. You reckon you could help me with a few things in my workshop? I can’t do much now my hand’s buggered. I’d pay you.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, why not? Michael used to...” He timed his trail off perfectly, letting his voice break just a bit. Heaving a sigh, he continued in a lower tone. “Michael used to help out sometimes. Just moving boxes and things like that.” 

“Oh...” 

“Yeah.” William looked back up with heavy eyes, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Hey. I’ll make it worth your while.” 

Jeremy cringed as William reached into a pocket, fully expecting the man to hand him a few arcade tokens or discount coupons. To his surprise, though, he pulled out a wallet and began counting out notes. Thirty, forty, fifty – fifty dollars. William split the bills and handed Jeremy thirty, letting the notes fan out so he could clearly see each alluring slip of paper. 

“Thirty on deposit for being a good sport, and twenty when we finish up. Sound good?” 

The teen almost choked on his own spit. 

“Good, yeah.” 

“It’s nothing too hard, especially not for a strong lad like you,” William said, leaning his elbow on the open window. “Think you’d be up for it this evening?” 

“Sure,” Jeremy blurted out. He stared down at the cash in a daze. “I can come whenever you want.” 

“You’re on Greatwood Avenue, right?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Then I’ll pick you up outside the old mill at six.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Jeremy wasn’t inclined to ask why William couldn’t just get him from his house. His neighbourhood was barely a mile from the old mill. But Mike had always told him how weird his dad was, and he put it down to the quirks his friend so often complained about. Besides, he didn’t care walking ten minutes down the road for fifty dollars. 

“Be seeing you soon, kiddo.” 

Chapter Text

Bile clogged Jeremy’s throat. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. All he knew was that he had to keep moving. His legs felt like separate vessels, disconnected from his mind, distant as dream logic. 

It didn’t even feel like metal now. It was too wet. The sticky blood coating its surface pressed against his palms and sent his nerves into spasms. The smell was unbearable. Pure iron. He couldn’t bear to inhale through his nose.  

Opposite him, William held the other end of the animatronic with his good hand. He focused on the workbench, silently willing the boy to hold on until they got there. He bit his tongue in annoyance. He’d covered the animatronic coffin with tarp before bringing Jeremy to the warehouse, hoping to hide anything identifiable as a body part. But as soon as the death trap had been jostled out the boot, blood had pooled and spilt out the white plastic.

Nevermind. He could still work with this. 

As soon as the prototype was on the workbench, Jeremy stumbled away. William made to grab the boy, thinking he was making a run for it, only to stop as Jeremy collapsed to his knees and emptied his stomach onto the warehouse floor. William stroked the outline of the box cutter in his pocket before kneeling beside him. 

“You’re okay, kiddo,” William said, rubbing Jeremy’s back. “There you go, let it out.” 

Jeremy coughed up another mouthful of thick saliva. His retching body had given up its contents, but still he gagged, like he was trying to expel something buried deeper within.  

“You did a good job. It’s done now, okay? It’s all done. Take a deep breath in and out.” 

There hadn’t been time to replace every bulb in the warehouse. William had fixed a few at key points to provide barely enough light to work in. They flickered overhead now, casting odd shadows. Jeremy stared down at his own mess in the dim light. Jagged shadows intersected with his own silhouette on the floor; long knives that cut through his body and out the other side.

“What happened?” It was all Jeremy could manage to ask. He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to get the man’s hands off his back, wanted to run away from this place, wanted to know what the hell he’d done to Michael. But nothing else would come out his burning throat. 

“I can’t explain everything right now,” William said softly. “I know this is confusing, and I know how bad it looks. But you need to trust me. I have to do this for Michael.” 

“W-Why?” 

William felt the teen shuddering and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close to his chest. He felt a moment of resistance before the boy gave in, too weak and shocked to put up a fight against the much stronger adult. 

"Hold it together, Jeremy. Listen to me. I'm going to explain it, and I need you to pay attention. Michael is alive. He's going to be okay. He's going to come home. But there are some things I need to do first. Just trust me and everything will go back to normal."

Jeremy couldn’t hold in the tears any longer. He’d tried so hard. It was the first rule he had ever learned: never show fear. But the sobs wrenched free from his lungs. 

“Why? Why? What is that?! Why is there blood?!” 

William tightened his grip as the teenager screamed and writhed in his arms. The grip was firm, not painful – not yet. 

“Listen. Listen. Jeremy? You don’t need to worry about that. Just let me handle this. Are you listening?” 

The boy wasn’t screaming now. Each breath for air became a hoarse, painful gasp. He tried to speak but couldn't make any other sounds. 

“You are not in trouble, Jeremy. You are going to be absolutely fine. But you can’t tell anyone, do you understand?” 

“Is it...” Jeremy choked again as he thought about it. “Is it...” 

“Yes." William slowly let his hold on the kid tighten. A part of him was furious the tarp hadn't managed to keep Susie's corpse hidden. And yet another part felt almost relieved. There wouldn't be any pretence to keep up now. It made things simpler, at least. "A body."

Jeremy moaned. His head almost dropped to the floor, the ends of his unruly hair touching the vomit. William yanked him upright.

"Shh, shh... I don't have a choice, Jeremy. It's the only way."

"What's happening?!"

"I told you, I can't tell you everything right now. Michael's in trouble and he needs me to do this for him. I swear to you-"

"You killed him!" Jeremy blurted out.

"No. No. Look at me." William grabbed the boy's chin and angled it so they were eye to eye. "I did not kill Michael. Michael is alive, you understand me?"

"Who is it?!" 

"There are things you don't understand, Jeremy," William said, refusing to let the kid escape his intense stare. "The only way Michael comes home is if I do a certain... work."

"You're lying! You fucking killed him! Is that Mike?!" The panic left no room for logic. It was only once he saw William's face growing cold that Jeremy clammed up. 

"You think I'd kill Michael?" 

William pressed his arm down hard into the boy's middle. Jeremy gasped as his already raw stomach was squeezed. Keeping the grip tight, Afton reached for the box cutter and slipped it under his chin.

"You think I'd kill my own son, you little shit?!"

Jeremy whimpered helplessly, the fight in his face falling away like melting wax. 

"Please, Mr. Afton..."

A few more sobs shook his body. Spittle was dribbling down his chin and onto William's shift cuff. William shook it off and hissed under his breath in disgust.

"I'm doing everything for Michael! Look at me! Michael is alive!"

"Okay!" Jeremy screamed out.

William snarled at the forced appeasement.

"We can do this the hard way if you want, kid. You tell your parents where you were going tonight?"

Jeremy shook his head so hard he thought he might throw up again. Of course he hadn't told them. He never told them anything. They never asked. The blood was still staining his hands.

"Michael's alive! I believe you!" he said, clenching his eyes shut. 

"The easy way is still on the table. You can help me, kid. You want Michael back, don't you?"

Jeremy nodded quickly, letting his fringe flop over his face. He hung loosely out from William's arms, trying to put as much distance between them as possible, vainly hoping for some escape he knew wouldn't come.

"I want to know what's happening, that's all! I don't understand!"

"Of course you don't."

The thin knife was still on Jeremy's skin. He could feel the itch of the blade as he trembled against it. There was an excruciating pause before William spoke again.

"You don't need to know anything. What you need to do is shut up and do what I tell you." William scoffed, still taken off guard by Jeremy's show of determination. "You've got some balls calling me out, though."

Jeremy felt some small shred of his soul rally at that.

"I'm not a stupid kid."

"You think?" William let the blade bite just that bit deeper. "Let's find out."

The boy's shuddering grew all the worse as he felt his own blood beginning to leak from the small cut.

"Ah! P-Please don't kill me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you. You're Michael's best friend, you know that?"

Another nod, though just one this time. A strangled exhale sent more snot dripping down Jeremy's damp face. The boy that tried so hard to look like a man now appeared even younger than his fourteen years. 

"Now stop whimpering and listen to me." William emphasised each word with a hard shake. "Michael isn't dead, but I can't bring him home until I've finished my work. Understand? And it would be extremely helpful if you help me."

William's breath rushed against his ear, gradually slowing as the man calmed down. Jeremy dared to speak up again.

"How?"

"I need help carrying things, like just now. And I need someone who can do odd jobs for me. Little jobs, nothing dangerous. You won't have to do anything crazy, alright? You won't have to see any blood again, I swear; you won't see anything like this again. You just keep quiet and do what I say. Can you do that for me?"

He watched as Jeremy's eyes flickered about, absorbing the minut ia of his face. Jeremy was thinking hard and fast, battling through a wave of trauma and fear to find the answers. William cut back in to guide those haphazard thoughts further along the path he wanted.  

"Listen, Jeremy. I need help." William injected an edge of vulnerability into his stern tone. "I can't do this by myself. I just want my son back. Please. I need you to help me."

With the smallest hint of hesitation, Jeremy shifted back to face William. The muscles he had tensed against the man's hold just barely released their rigidity enough to be noticeable. 

"Is Mike gonna come back?"

"Yes, Jeremy, he's coming back. But only if I can get this done uninterrupted."

"I... I'll do it." Jeremy slumped in his arms, the final pillars of resistance crumbling to terror and faint hope. "I want Mike..." 

A wave of endorphins washed over William as the kid gave in. He looked like Michael when all the fight in him had dried up. When the argument was over and he finally became his Michael again.

"You won't get hurt, and you won't have to hurt anyone. It's just a few little jobs, okay?" 

William finally released the boy as he reached for his wallet. Jeremy took the opportunity to shuffle away a few inches, his eyes keenly fixed on the man's every movement. The box cutter remained squarely in Afton's hand.

"Here." Out came twenty dollars. With a smile, he held them out as you might offer treats to a timid rescue dog. "For helping me save Michael."

Jeremy wasn't quite so quick to take the money this time. Nevertheless, out came a shaking hand. He stuffed them into his pocket and pushed himself onto his unstable legs. William grabbed his arm and helped haul him up.

"You're going to keep it a secret, aren't you, Jeremy?"

Jeremy nodded, still fully aware of the knife. The man held his shoulder as they walked towards the warehouse door.

"There's a good lad. I suppose it doesn't matter too much, though, does it? No one would believe you. Would they?"

When the boy didn't answer immediately, William repeated himself, leaning in closer.

"Would they?"

"No," Jeremy said. He hadn't wanted to say it out loud because he knew Afton was right. No one ever would.

It was hard to resist the morbid urge to look at the animatronic again. He wondered if he'd see a face if he looked inside. It was just a small part of the machine. Could an adult even fit inside it? Maybe. Maybe it wasn't an adult.

He swallowed deeply, grimacing at the acidic bite in his throat. There was no reason to look, he told himself. He'd seen blood plenty of times before. So what? He wasn't a pussy. He'd never cared. He wouldn't care now. Not if Mike was going to come home.

"Hello?"

Michael's consciousness awoke from the void. He stopped spinning in the darkness behind closed eyes and opened the plastic eyelids that shielded him from the outside world.

It was dark. Still night. Not a crack of light to peek through the gap in the curtains. He turned to Fredbear, wondering if it was another hallucination. Then the voice came again.

"Hello? I'm lost!"

A young girl. Mike raised his head, straining to hear footsteps. But there was no sound apart from the little voice that continued to call out.

Not for the first time, he cursed his cumbersome body. It should have been easy to peek out and see what was happening. For a moment he stayed still, hoping that he was wrong about the time of day; there wouldn't be a kid at the diner in the middle of the night. And even if there was, they'd be there with a grown up. He just had to wait it out and she'd be picked up in no time.

Then he heard her crying.

Mike ground his oversized teeth in frustration. Great. Of course some stupid kid would get left behind past closing time. That was just his luck. It almost seemed like the sort of prank he'd pull on Evan - a thought that made his nagging sense of responsibility grow all the stronger. 

He shouldn't go out there. He'd scare her. Worse still, he might give himself away. The girl was probably too smart to believe the animatronics were real walking-and-talking creatures. She'd know something was wrong the moment he asked her questions.

Or... Maybe not. 

The long rabbit ears drooped. That was the whole point of the springlock suits in the first place. Creating the illusion of a character who'd perform on stage before hopping down and talking to the kids like a real person. Mike groaned quietly. He even knew how to use the voice box to replicate his dad's performance. 

There was no reason not to help anymore. The sound of the girl weeping bothered him in a way that he'd never known. Usually he would laugh at the thought of a scaredy-cat kid peeing themselves at nothing. But he just couldn't do that anymore. 

Gently, he pulled back the curtains.

"He-Hey superstar!"

He heard a gasp. There was a brief flash of movement, and then nothing. After scanning the rows of empty tables, he eased himself down off the stage, moving as delicately as he could.

"I'm your be-be-b- friend. Don't be-b-b-b- shy-hy-y-y!"

Stupid voice box. Spring Bonnie rolled his bulbous eyes in annoyance and tried to adjust the speed of the recording. At this rate the kid would be hiding in terror all night.

"Please. Come on- Out. I want to-! Help."

Mike stopped as he saw a small hint of colour in the darkness. A pale grey, glowing shape was rising up from behind one of the party tables. No, glow wasn't the right word. There wasn't any light. Not even a hint of illumination on the furniture right next to it. And yet it seemed to radiate a brightness into the very air around it.

The shape, he soon realised, was a bow. And as it rose, he saw the hair it adorned. Pretty curled hair that framed a little round face. 

It was the face that almost sent him running back to the stage. The eyes were wide and shallow, devoid of colour. Just two balls of white stretching out far larger than any human eyes could. And from each came a steady stream of black tears, running like stripes down her pallid cheeks.

"Don't hurt me," she said.

"I - will you? Not. Ha-urt you." Mike tried desperately to make the words on the recordings make sense. In truth, though, he could barely make sense of what he was even seeing. A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind; the springtrap malfunctions, the dead employee, the nature of his own being. After a second he attempted to sentence-mix a more complex word. "Guh- Go-ss- Ghost."

The pale girl stared at him with those haunting, lidless eyes. Then she cowered again, ducking her chin behind the table.

"Promise you won't hurt me?"

Again, he didn't know what to do. She hadn't understood what he'd tried to ask, but maybe it was better that way. Putting his own nagging fear aside, he nodded his head.

"You look different," she said quietly. "You're a nice Bonnie?"

Mike nodded once more and stepped closer, weaving his way through the tables.

"I'm your friend." He lowered the pitch and tempo, turning the more manic, happy-go-lucky recording into something more calm and - he hoped - more genuine. "I want to- help you- superstar. What is run-ro-wrong?"

The girl stepped out from her cover and tiptoed towards him. She sniffled and ran the back of her hand over her face, failing to wipe away her dark tears.

"I can't go home."

Mike's spirit withered inside him at the words. For a moment he almost muttered, "Me too". But he caught himself before he could do anything rash. Raising a furry paw, he pointed to the front counter. 

"Fow-n under... Phone there. Call. Nine. One. One."

The girl followed his gesture and stared at the front of the diner. Her curly hair bobbed lightly as she shook her head.

"I know how to get home."

"Po-lease will take you home."

"No! I tried already!" She looked up at him, hands cupped in a desperate plea. "I walked all the way home but I can't stay."

"Why?"

"I..." She trailed off. The blank eyes stared up at him, reaching past the lenses and into that which lay deeper. For a moment there was silence as Mike felt the animatronic fade away. It was just him and her.

"Why didn't you just stay home if you were already there?"

"I tried!" She gripped her dress and stared down at her spotless little shoes. "I tried to go home but I just can't."

"What happened?"

She raised her head up, nose scrunched up. Once again, he was trapped. She had never seen him. There was just a cold, lifeless animatronic suit.

"I can't go home yet. I'm still lost."

Mike felt a chill run through the endoskeleton as her watchful eyes turned to the windows. He looked up too. Posters and cardboard cutouts crowded the windows and shut out the streetlamps beyond. Only a hint of light managed to bleed through.

"I can't go home either."

"But this is your home. Isn't it?"

"Oh. Right..." He shook his head. "What I mean is, I... I can't go to your home. But you can stay at my home if you want. Until you're, uh, not lost."

The girl bit her lip.

"I keep getting scared you'll hurt me."

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you." Mike tried to perk up a little as he saw her face crumpling with more sadness. He waggled his ears and pretended to fix his bow. "I'm Spring Bonnie, I cheer people up. Right?"

Although she didn't quite smile, her face relaxed. It almost seemed like the trail of tears grew fainter for one moment.

"I don't know why I keep being scared. You're my favourite."

"Oh yeah? Good, because I'm the best one!" He stood up tall and stuck his chin out proudly. The silly pose was rewarded by the slightest titter from the girl. Mike lowered his arm with a small flourish, intending to offer his hand out to her like a dashing knight to a princess. "Let's-"

But she was already gone.

Chapter Text

“Morning, Louise.”  

Henry gave Louise a cheery wave as he entered the diner. The young manager whipped around, revealing the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes were wide, like an anxious bird caught in a cat’s glare. He paused mid-step.  

“Everything okay?”  

Taking a deep breath, Louise pointed out back.  

“Mr Emily, could you come and look at something for me?”  

The cassette tape whirred loudly as Louise rewound the security footage. Henry hunched over in the cramped office and watched the flickering screen carefully.   

While Fazbear Entertainment had forked out for guards at the pizzerias, there had never been a need for such measures at Fredbear’s Family Diner. With less animatronics, less arcade machines, and less appeal to teenagers, there had never been a problem with break-ins and property damage. Instead, they had opted for a basic video camera. Most of the time, no-one even checked the footage. They’d simply record over the same tape the following night. It was a back-up on the off chance that something should ever occur, and until now, nothing ever had.   

“The front was unlocked when I got in. No sign of anyone mooching around,” Lousie said. “So I had a flick through the tape. Ah, there, right there.”  

Henry had briefly seen a blur of motion moving in reverse when Louise suddenly hit play. Now he watched the grainy figure of Spring Bonnie parting the curtains and stepping down onto the main floor. It walked past a few tables, swinging its head around. A few minutes passed before it returned to the stage, letting the curtains conceal it once more.  

“These ones aren’t meant to do that, right?” Louise said. “I called Phil at the Pizzeria and he said it’s only the new ones that walk at night.”  

“Right, right. Did you take a look at Bonnie?”  

“Yeah, it looked fine to me. Apart from ripping the charging cable out the wall.”  

“Ah crap. Add a new outlet to the list, then.” Henry clicked the rewind button himself and watched the footage over again. “We use charging plates in the pizzerias. Built them directly under the stage. I doubt we could convince the suits to let us install them here, though. Budget’s too slim.”  

Louise fiddled with her badge as she watched the screen.  

“Do you think it’s broke bad, Mr Emily?”  

“It's probably just a corrupted script file. Wouldn't surprise me. Will insisted on finishing it by himself, and in his state of mind, it can hardly be his best work.”  

“Do you think we should close the diner for today? Someone could get hurt if it jumps down again.”  

Henry tapped his fingers on the VCR. After a moment of thought, he shook his head.  

“No. No. It'll take ages to scrub through the floppies. We’re fully booked up, anyway. No reason to cancel everything over a minute’s worth of odd behaviour. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Will and I can check it after closing time." 

Louise frowned as Henry left the office. She stopped the recording and let out a long, low sigh. Hopefully, he was right. She knew who would be losing their job if he was wrong.  

William sat motionless on the floor while Elizabeth decorated his face with stickers. She chatted away as she carefully selected each one and found the perfect spot. The conversation wasn’t about any particular subject. She drifted between lessons at school, drama with friends, shows on TV; it didn’t really matter. All she really wanted was a reaction.  

But as she stuck another rainbow onto her dad’s chin, it became clear he wasn’t going to respond.  

Throwing aside the sticker book, Liz stood up and shook his shoulder.  

“Daddy? Do you want me to make you coffee?” She spoke melodically, putting on her sweetest smile.   

“You aren’t allowed use the kettle,” he said.  

“I know how to, though. I could do it. Milly says her mom lets her use it, and she’s 2 months younger than me!”  

“No, Elizabeth.”  

“Do you want me to draw something on your cast?”  

William made a nondescript noise, which she took as permission. Grabbing a felt pen, she knelt down on the other side of him and started scrawling a flower on his bandaged hand.  

“I’m making it purple, because it’s your favourite colour. It’s my favourite too. But I can do it another colour if you want. Daddy?”  

“Hmm?”  

“Did you want it a different colour?”  

“It’s fine.”  

Elizabeth smiled and nodded, only to immediately scowl as soon as she lowered her head. Her patience was running thin.   

“Are you mad at me?”  

“No, no, of course not.”  

The girl chewed the top of the pen and stared down at his bandaged hand. She had half a mind to try jabbing the marker down hard. That would get a reaction. Just not the kind she really wanted. Causing trouble to get attention had always been Mike’s method, not hers.  

Elizabeth’s pen drew to a halt as she thought about Mike. She chewed at her lip a moment as her heart rate picked up. There was one thing that would get her father’s interest. It might not be good attention, but it might not be all bad – at least, not for her.  

“Hey Daddy, guess what happened when you were at the hospital?” she said.  

William made a slightly inquisitive noise, prompting her to keep going. He didn’t have the strength to muster much more, and as long as she could keep herself entertained with all the nattering, he didn’t have to worry about her. Between the exhaustion, the anxiety, and the pain, he felt he’d done a good job by not simply locking the kids in their room to keep them out his hair.  

“Evan started being really weird,” Elizabeth said, adding a sun to her drawing. “He was playing at being you.”  

Just as she had expected, William finally met her eyes.  

“How so?”  

“He was playing at being you and Mikey.” She saw how he frowned and flashed her softest smile in response. “With the dolls. Like, playing pretend.”  

William sat up a bit straighter.  

“What was he doing?” he asked, consciously softening his tone of voice as he watched her closely.  

“Just being silly, like he was you and the dolly was Mike. And doing things you do.” Then she added, “Because he just misses him. That’s why I thought it was interesting.”  

She felt a small bubble of regret growing larger as he continued to stare.  

“At Henry’s house, right?”  

“Yes.”  

“Was Charlie playing too?”  

“Um.”  

Elizabeth quickly looked down and started adding to the picture on his bandage. She gasped as she felt his good hand grab her by the arm and pull her up.  

“Didn’t I tell you it’s rude to talk about what your family does at home?”  

“It was him, not me,” she said, her high-pitched voice coming out in a squeak.  

“Did you tell Evan he was being rude?”  

“Yes!” She lied without a second of hesitation. “I told him it was rude, and he said it was fine because it was just playing.”  

“And Charlie was there?”  

“Yes!”  

William let go and began pulling her stickers off his face, his eyes wide and unblinking. She couldn’t stand to see her father looking so expressionless; no expression was the worst of them all. She latched onto his side, hugging his chest.  

“Evan was being stupid!” she said, feeling her cheeks burning. “I told him!”  

“Tell me exactly what he did,” he said. There was no pretence of softness anymore, just the cold sharp edge of a knife. Elizabeth felt tears prick her eyes as she realised what she had done.  

“It wasn’t Evan’s fault!” she screamed, jumping as she kept her grip on him.  

“Tell me what he did.”  

“It was Charlie! Charlie keeps asking and asking and-”  

“What did he do?”   

“Evan punched it and kicked it, and it’s only because of Charlie!”  

She burst out into a long wail as tears fell down her bright pink cheeks. Burying her head into his shirt, she yelled it again.   

“It was Charlie, Daddy, not Evan!”  

William could feel every muscle in his body clenching with the urge to grab her mouth, her throat, to shut up her incessant screams. She was being too damn loud. Someone would see him. He forced her onto his lap and held her tight to his chest, desperately trying to resist pulling her tighter, and tighter, and-  

“Be quiet.” 

Elizabeth bawled. She rammed her head against him harder.  

“Make it better!”  

“Everything is going to be fine,” he said, rocking her a little from side to side. He wanted to rock harder. Shake her. Shake Liz. Shake Susie until she stopped screaming forever.  

“I hate it! I hate everything!” Elizabeth’s mind was short-circuiting at the prospect of being in trouble. She was never, ever in trouble. That was for Mike, or sometimes even Evan, but not her. 

William forced himself to swallow, to inhale deep, to still his nerves.  

“You don’t mean that. Everything is going to be fine, I promise you. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m here.”  

Elizabeth's rattled mind recoiled. Nothing bad? Everything was bad! It had already happened! If nothing bad was going to happen, that was because it had already happened. But he had promised. Her dad had promised her. Nothing bad could happen if he was there.  

It was nice to believe.  

“...I love you, Daddy.”  

They stayed on the floor a moment longer, locked in a tight hug as her shuddering sobs slowly calmed. And as the minutes passed, Willaim knew he was being watched. He saw the small shadow by the door. As Elizabeth grew still, he decided to finally call out.  

“Come over here, Evan.”  

Around the corner of the doorframe, Evan froze. The boy had never been as sharp as his siblings. Never quite so insightful, never quite so perceptive. He couldn’t tell if his father’s low, even tone signified a stern command or a gentle invitation. Still, it wasn’t as if he could refuse either way.  

Cautiously, Evan padded out into the living room and approached. Elizabeth watched him, a single eye peering out through her mess of blonde hair.   

“I heard Liz cry,” he said, by way of an excuse for his eavesdropping.   

“Alright. Come here.” William held his arm out, welcoming his son into the embrace. Evan hurried over and curled up next to him on folded knees.   

“Sorry,” Evan said.  

Elizabeth stared at her brother, her pretty young face scrunched in a mix of anger and fear. It dawned on Evan that her reproach was for him, and he could figure out why. He had disturbed the peace. He should have known that Liz wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. She’d been upset at him and Charlie since the night he’d told their friend the truth in his own strange way. 

“I want to know what you did at Henry’s house,” said William. 

Evan opened his mouth as he thought what to say next. His first instinct had always been to tell the truth. But there was an alternative now. Mike lied. Elizabeth lied. Dad lied. Mom had lied.   

He could lie.  

“Charlie asked about Michael, didn't she?” William asked. “Did she ask if I ever hurt him?” 

Evan knew he couldn’t just stubbornly refute that if Elizabeth had told him the truth. William always believed Liz over Mike, and he expected she’d beat his word out, too. Spinning it was the only way he could keep Charlie out of this. If he could make her a bystander in all this, then he would be the only target for his father. 

“No, not that. She asked what I’d do if Mike came back.”  

“And you used the doll to show her?” 

“Because you only ever care about Mike now. You never pay any attention to me. You’re always out looking for him.”  

He felt Elizabeth’s eyes glued to him. Was she just as surprised as he was at himself? Evan felt something deeply unpleasant in his torso, as if his organs were condensing into a ball of mush. Lying hurt, but it was so easy to keep the words coming once he started. 

William was staring too. When he managed at last to reply, his voice was oddly strained.  

“You told Charlie you wanted to hurt your brother?”  

“It was just a doll,” he said softly, squeezing his arms around himself. “It’s not like Mike's coming back.”  

“Don’t say that.”  

“Why? You only like him now because he isn't here anymore. You don’t really want him though.”   

“That isn’t true. I love your brother. I love all of you.” 

“You don’t like him.” 

Evan kept his lips firm, refusing to give his tears a chance. His father’s tired eyes were wide with shock as he looked down at his youngest – the boy who had always been so quiet and meek. This wasn’t like Evan. William felt his throat tighten as he recognised the dissonance he felt. This wasn’t like Evan, it was like Michael. Michael, his perfect, obedient, quiet Michael, who left home for school one day and came back changed, a rebellious and surly doppelganger. 

“What is wrong with you, Evan?”  

“Nothing’s wrong with me. You’re the one whose all wrong, not me.”  

And slowly, the aching pressure inside Evan died. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind as William scooted Elizabeth off his lap. No sense of remorse as his father towered up over him. He didn’t even hesitate when he was yanked onto his feet. He knew what would happen; he’d seen this a thousand times with Mike. Evan’s dark brown eyes met the sickly grey of William’s, and the boy realised that, at least for that one fleeting moment, he wasn’t afraid.   

"You don't talk to me that way."

A dizzying flurry of motions and sensations. They flew up the stairs and exploded into a hundred pounding waves. The roar of sound and pain left him dazed. In a moment it was over, and Evan suddenly rediscovered himself, lying sideways on the bedroom floor. Those familiar tears, his constant companion, swelled up alongside the bruises. But he didn’t feel the usual depth of despair that should have accompanied them. Even as he curled in on his aching body and sobbed into the carpet like a defenceless little boy, he felt stronger and prouder than he ever had.  

For one moment, he had become like Michael.

William could practically feel the bags under his eyes. They weighed down his whole face, slowly sagging the skin off his skull. He rubbed them hard and scanned the sea of C code. 

Henry buzzed behind him like a fly. He could feel his partner leaning over his shoulder now, checking the programming himself. It didn’t distract him as much as the other pair of eyes on his back. Those dull, dead eyes reflected the dim desk light like a predator peering out the darkness of Parts and Services.  

All he could do was pretend Spring Bonnie was just another animatronic. 

"Maybe it was ghost voltage," William muttered. 

"One hell of a ghost voltage, then. Moving a big old animatronic for that long?" 

He didn't like the tone Henry struck, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he simply hummed and continued to feign debugging the system.  

"Enough to load up a show file. It would have still been plugged in at first, before it pulled the cable out. Just a thought." 

William selected a line at random and started to adjust the code, tweaking a command by a single digit. He gave a small 'aha' as he typed, pretending he'd found something significant. 

"There we go. Just one little number. Always the way, huh?" 

Henry looked tense but nodded along. 

"You think you found something?" 

"The object name is wrong. Give me a second. Just checking for more." 

Henry backed off and scratched the back of his head, ruffling his already wild hair. Since the conversation at the café, he'd been loath to get on Will's nerves again. Even though he was the more capable programmer, he hadn't dared fiddle with the codes himself. William had always hated people meddling with his work. Instead, Henry opted kept his mouth shut despite his own doubts over the supposedly simple errors. 

"You sure do use some crazy names in your programs," he said, as much to alleviate his own unease as anything else.  

"You'd rather we go beg to use SongCode?" William cast a glance over his shoulder. "Thought you liked writing things your own way. No limits, total creative freedom, no fiddly programming systems putting limits on what we can make."  

"I wasn't criticising your work. I just meant it's a quirk I'd noticed, that's all." 

"Is Fazbear still on your back about making them a system to use in the other locations?" 

"Yeah." 

"Going to give in?" 

Henry shifted and put his hands in his pockets.  

"Let's not talk about Fazbear stuff right now," he said gently. "We've got enough to be dealing with." 

William nodded stiffly and stabbed a little too hard against the keyboard, wearing a pinched smile. 

"Sure, we'll talk later.” 

William played his pantomime for a moment longer. Just small edits here and there. Not enough to break any of the routines, but enough to buy time. He sat back and ran the program. Henry jumped as Spring Bonnie suddenly swung into life behind them and silently mouthed the words to a song.  

“He seems happy,” William said, watching his creation wave its stiff arms. 

“I’d still be happier if we knew what set him off in the first place.” 

“Yeah. I’m going to check over the pneumatics.” William got up and unplugged the solenoids once the little performance drew to a halt. "Hey Hen, could you grab us a coffee from Joe’s? I’ll give Bonnie the once-over and then we can take a break.” 

A smile finally cracked Henry's tension. That simple request was the closest William had sounded to his old self in a while. A warmth came to his chest as he recalled long nights working on their first machines, drinking coffee until the sun came up. 

"Sure thing." 

"Great. Thanks. Here, take my wallet."

As soon as the door shut behind Henry, William was in front of the animatronic. 

“I am risking everything for you and you can’t stop causing trouble.” He waited for a moment. When nothing happened, he snapped his fingers in front of its face. "I don't have much time. Now talk to me, and keep your voice down, for heaven’s sake.”  

Mike's jaw twitched. The internals creaked as he loomed forward over his father. 

"You said you were going to check in on me!" He had more to add, but William cut him off. 

"Is that what your little stunt was for? Begging for attention?"  

Mike bristled at the calm and clipped voice.  

"No. And don't talk to me like I'm some kid." 

"Just tell me what happened. What could have possibly possessed you to move? I told you about the cameras." 

As much as he wanted to let loose with all his anger, the question forced Mike to pause. Describing what he had seen in the night was hard, and he didn’t even know if he should. For all he knew, it could have been an illusion. An annoyed grunt escaped him; he hadn’t even thought of the dead-eyed Fredbear, either. Did he admit to that little conversation too? Just give up a list of things his father could research while leaving him to rot on that stupid stage?  

"I'll tell you, but you need to make me some promises." he said at last. 

"Make it quick, then. Henry's going to be back soon.” 

"Fine. First. Promise me you're going to save me first. Before you do anything else. No researching ghosts or whatever else." 

This gave William pause. His neutral bearing finally gave way to curiosity as he furrowed his brow. 

"Of course you're my priority, Michael. There isn't a minute in the day where I'm not thinking about how to fix you." 

A small, dry gasp came from Spring Bonnie's chest. Mike tried to sound unimpressed.

"You really mean it?" 

"Whatever else would I be doing? What did you think?" 

"I just... You don't seem to care."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm doing everything in my power to bring you home." 

Mike wanted to believe it. He wanted to accept the words without a second of doubt. But he knew better. Knew that he had to grow up. Knew that fleeting comfort wouldn't cut it anymore. He let his weight fall onto one leg as he stepped forward, grinding the heel into the floorboards. 

“I’m not being ridiculous. Promise you’ll help me and you won’t get distracted by anything else.” 

“I promise. Now what the hell happened last night?” 

“No,” Mike said sternly. “Second, promise you’ll visit more and tell me what’s happening.” 

“I promise.” William repeated that simple little phrase so quickly, as if willing his son to hurry up. Mike ground the buck teeth down furiously.

“You’re not even thinking about it!” 

“I don’t need to think,” William said. “I want to help you, and deep down you know I do. I'm promising to do what I would have anyway.” 

Mike flexed his fingers. The pistons in the legs let out a low whine as he slowly leaned back, loosening his intimidating pose by just a fraction. 

“I saw a ghost,” he said quietly. “It was like, this little girl, and she had no pupils. And there was all this slime on her face.” 

He ran his hands over his metal face, mimicking the tears. He’d hoped to get some sense of William’s initial reaction and found only a tense stare in return. Michael carried on, trying to add as much detail as possible to give his recollections credence. 

“She was all grey and glowing. She had a dress and lots of curly hair. She said she wanted to go home but she couldn’t; I didn't really understand, she just said she couldn't stay there when she arrived. I only left the stage to see her. I couldn’t just stand around. It was the weirdest thing I’d ever seen! No way anyone would have ignored it.” 

Michael’s impatience grew as William stayed still and silent.  

“Well?” 

“Well - I see.” 

“That’s it?” 

William took a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“And you’re sure you saw this? It wasn’t a dream?” 

“I can’t sleep!” The endoskeleton grinded like pressurised steelworks under his voice. “You think I’m gonna make up stories now?” 

“How old was she?” 

“What? Ugh! I don’t know, like a little girl, like... Like Elizabeth, I think? But younger.” 

A swallow got stuck in William’s throat. He coughed to cover over the wet gasp that had slipped out and turned to look at the door, as if Henry would burst in that second. 

“I need to think this over. It's unprecedented, I don't know what I can say. If you’re sure it’s real, then maybe it was another spirit.” 

“That’s what I think,” Mike said, his frustrations alleviated by William’s acceptance. “If I’m a ghost then I can see other ghosts, or something like that. Maybe there are ghosts all over the place and no one can see them. But it’s different, because she wasn’t possessing anything. I thought that if she came back, maybe I could ask her if she knows how it works – possessing, I mean, and-” 

“I have to go.” 

Mike was thrown off his theorising immediately. 

“No way, you only just got here! I have other ideas, too!” 

But William was already shutting off the computer and swinging his jacket over his shoulders. 

“I’ll visit you soon. Don’t talk to it if it appears again, Michael. We have no idea what we’re dealing with.” 

“Yeah, I do, actually. It’s some ghost girl, and if you’d just listen-” 

“I want to listen, I really do, Mike. Just hold on to those thoughts. And stay away from it. I mean it. Even if you aren’t afraid, there’s no telling what it might be capable of doing to you.” 

Just as he turned to beeline for the door, he was stopped by Spring Bonnie’s foot slamming down in front of him. 

“You don’t get to ignore me!” Mike roared in his face. “You haven’t visited me; you haven’t told me anything about what you’re doing! I saw a fucking ghost and even that isn’t enough for you to just listen to me for one fucking moment!” 

The computer hum faded away as the fans stopped spinning. Somewhere overhead, the old pipework gave a muffled bang. All William could hear was his own pulse. He looked up at Spring Bonnie’s face and saw Michael glaring down at him, empty and blood-stained eye sockets seething with hatred. 

“Michael.” 

Mike didn’t move. 

“I’ll stay. You can tell me, and – and I’ll tell you what I’ve been doing. Henry will be here soon, but I’ll come back tomorrow night, and we can carry on from wherever we get to. Okay?” 

With the measured pace of an animal, Mike straightened up again. William blinked and the boy was gone. All that was left was the yellow rabbit.