Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

September 9th , 1985 – Hurricane, Utah 

This was downright unfair. Michael had just started high school, and they were throwing this huge party where all his friends were going—every single one of them, except for him. It wasn’t because he was a loser like his nine-year-old brother; no, it was because he was stuck babysitting Evan.  

His dad, with all the money he had, could’ve easily hired a babysitter, but instead, he chose to leave Michael with the responsibility. Why bother spending money when he had a free one just down the hall? 

However, Michael couldn’t admit it, but he was scared shitless of his father. He knew he could ask once, but asking twice was not an option. William Afton wasn’t a kind man. To annoy him could end very badly. But tonight, Michael felt he couldn’t hold back any longer. He walked to the door to put on his shoes, not caring if his father saw him. 

Just then, William appeared, ready to leave. 

“May I know what you’re about to do, Michael?” he asked in that calm, annoying voice. 

Michael wanted to scream about how unfair this was, but the fear stopped him again. 

“Father... I... I'm invited to a party...” 

Crap. It sounded so weak. He hated that he felt more like his crybaby brother when he was in front of that asshole. His father looked at him with less interest than the morning newspaper. 

“And who’s going to take care of your brother, Michael?” 

The way his father spoke sent a chill down his spine. Michael knew that at any moment, William could become violent. He didn’t know when it would happen, but it always hung over him. 

“I... uh...” he stuttered, sounding just like Evan. 

“Yes, Michael. You’re going to be useful for once. I know you will. I’m off to work; I have a night shift tonight. Don’t disappoint me.”  

And with that, William closed the door, leaving his son behind. That prick. Michael felt humiliated—his own father had shut him down without even raising his voice, and yet Michael had obeyed, just like always. The whole thing pissed him off. 

But his father wasn’t the only one he was angry at. Whenever he got stuck on “Evan duty,” Michael couldn’t help but blame his little brother. He knew it was stupid to blame someone just for existing, but still, if Evan wasn’t such a crybaby, maybe he’d be off at the party, having a good time. 

Michael stopped outside Evan’s door. His little brother was sitting quietly in his room, as usual, not making a sound. Michael knew he could probably just leave him alone, and Evan wouldn’t even notice—but he couldn’t take that risk. 

Still, maybe he could do something else, just to get a bit of fun out of this night... 

... 

Evan hated it when his father forced Michael to stay home with him. It made him feel like a burden, one of the reasons his big brother seemed to hate him. Sure, he wanted to spend time with Michael, but not like this. Not as a responsibility Michael had to be dragged into. 

If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t remember a time they’d ever spent real time together. Not the kind of time brothers were supposed to have. They’d never really had fun; Michael only seemed to find ways to make fun of him. 

But tonight felt too calm. He hadn’t heard a single sound from Michael since the door closed. His brother had probably ditched him, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it… it scared the hell out of him. Left alone again. 

Evan stayed frozen on his bed, clutching Fredbear, his only friend. God, he hated himself for being so damn pathetic, scared to be alone, feeling the slightest bit safer just by squeezing a stupid stuffed animal. He was nearly ten now; he shouldn’t need something like this. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do anything else. He just sat there, helpless to shake the fear crawling up his spine. 

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Evan’s eyes widened like he’d just heard the howl of a beast in the distance. He began to shake uncontrollably, knowing he looked utterly ridiculous, but he couldn’t give a damn. The door had swung open, the window was shut tight, and Michael was probably off at his stupid party, leaving him alone to face this bullshit. 

His attention snapped to the bedside table... to the clock. It was only 9 PM. 

What the actual fucking fuck? 

Did they really come back early? Were they going to start showing up earlier every damn night, forcing him to stay awake longer and longer? 

Evan felt the tears threatening to spill, but he quickly wiped them away, gritting his teeth against the rush of fear. He opened his drawer and fumbled around until his fingers closed around the only thing that made him feel safer than his plush. His flashlight. 

... 

Evan rushed to the door, not daring to glance around. Nothing felt safe in his room, especially now that all this weird shit was starting to happen. He didn’t know what was wrong—whether it was the house, his toys, his door, or just him—but he felt like he was in real danger. The thought that he could end up a bloody mess at any second made him switch completely. His heart raced, but his mind went sharp, his whole body on edge. 

He gripped the flashlight tightly, listening into the heavy silence of the hallway. Nothing. Just darkness. 

Weird... 

Evan lit the flashlight into the hallway just as he heard someone snicker, and holy fucking shit—he was so dead. He didn’t even bother to see who was there; it was bigger than him, it had teeth, and it was... threatening. It was there to hurt him, and he knew he had messed up. 

In an instant, he slammed the door as hard as he could, but it was too late—the monster was already in his room. He stumbled backward and fell to the floor—goddammit, it hurt like hell, but he couldn’t care less. His flashlight slipped from his grasp, clattering away as he scrambled back, a trembling mess, desperate to put distance between himself and whatever was about to spill his blood. 

Then came a laugh. 

Evan opened his tear-blurred eyes, confused, and looked up as the “monster” turned on the light. A monster with a human arm, brown hair, and, through his stupid Foxy mask... blue eyes. Of fucking course. He hadn’t even considered the fact that Michael might’ve stayed home. 

“I didn’t even have to say a thing... damn... this never gets old,” Michael sneered. 

Evan tried to stop crying, but instead, he buried his face in his knees, embarrassed and still shaking. Relief washed over him, but he was also pissed at Michael for putting him through that. His head throbbed, a gnawing headache from the sleepless nights spent running in terror, trying to keep the monsters away. 

He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. And suddenly, he understood why Michael thought he was overreacting... because Michael wasn’t the one lying awake night after night, having to deal with this shit. 

... 

The boy didn’t know how much time had passed, but he stayed like that for what felt like forever, his ankle throbbing painfully from how he fell. Michael kept trying to get him to pay attention, but Evan knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, he would politely tell his big brother to fuck off. So, the little boy remained quiet, sniffling occasionally because he didn’t want to move to grab tissues. 

But after a while, he was alone again. 

And it didn’t feel as horrible as he thought it would. 

Maybe the sound of the TV downstairs made him feel a little safe. Because Michael was here, and despite how much of an asshole he could be, and how Evan wanted to tell him so badly—except he was too scared—his brother wasn’t like the monsters. Sure, he could shove him and make him fall to the ground, but Michael Afton had never hurt his little brother badly, nor had he ever let their father lay a finger on him. It was confusing, but… it felt like there was maybe hope. 

He couldn’t deal with them; maybe he could deal with his brother. 

... 

Evan went downstairs, putting on a convincing face for his brother. He knew that even if Michael laughed at him, his brother was still upset to be forced to be with his "stupid little brother." So, the boy did what any good little brother would do... 

“Uh... Michael?” he called softly, as his brother was still watching TV. 

His brother’s eyes flicked away from the screen, looking at him with annoyance. That smug smile was gone. If Evan wasn’t a source of laughter, he was a minor inconvenience. 

“What do you want? Go to bed, now. It’s 11 PM,” he snapped, his voice harsh. 

Evan kept his head down, unable to speak, just like when Michael talked to their dad. He knew his brother wasn’t going to get anything out of him if he kept being a dick, but Evan had to try. Before he could muster the courage to continue, Michael stood up, towering over him. 

“Now, I said. Don’t piss me off.” 

There was so much anger in Michael's eyes. Evan wasn’t stupid; he knew his brother was blaming him for everything. The younger one was just trying to make it all better, but it felt like Michael was only being selfish. 

“Evan, I won’t—” 

“Will you shut up for two seconds!” 

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Michael’s face darkened instantly. Shit, he was so stupid. But instead of slapping him, Michael knelt down, a curious yet menacing look crossing his features. 

“Go ahead then, little man, what do you want?” he asked, his voice dripping with venom, ready to deny whatever his brother was about to ask. 

Evan had to try really fucking hard to keep his cheeks dry. 

“I... I can stay on my own, Michael...” the boy mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Michael was surprised. Good. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“I’m not stupid, Michael. I know you wanted to go to that party. Just go.” 

Evan was surprised at how smoothly the words came out. He just wanted his brother to stop hating on him so much. All of Michael’s anger quickly evaporated, replaced by concern. 

“Dad will kill me...” 

“I won’t tell anything. I’m not like that, Michael... you know it. And Dad is doing the night shift. You just have to be back before... uh... 6 AM, I guess.” 

“You swear...?” 

“Just go already...” Evan mumbled, feeling a mix of dread and relief. 

Now that triggered a spark of excitement in Michael. That asshole... But Evan had to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to ruin the moment. As Michael turned off the TV, he looked back at his brother with a more serious expression. 

“You... already ate?” 

Evan lied and nodded, the truth hanging heavy in his throat. He’d probably throw up whatever he managed to eat, given what he faced every night. 

“Okay... then... go to bed, I guess... and brush your teeth...” 

He lied again. It was pathetic how much bullshit he was saying just to earn his brother’s approval. Sure, Michael's voice sounded grateful and even a little caring, but Evan couldn't shake the hurt that gnawed at him. He wanted his brother to stay, to cling to him and hear that everything would be alright; to finally get some rest and not just an hour or two. He wanted a big brother. 

“Bye, Michael...” he muttered, his voice wavering with emotion. 

Michael hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing his face, but all he managed was a quick goodbye before he left. The door clicked shut behind him, and Evan was alone, swallowed by darkness.  

It was going to be midnight soon.  

Chapter Text

Afton household – a few hours later...  

Michael slid his key into the lock, squinting as he turned it. It was so late it had basically become morning—hell, maybe it actually was morning by now. Not that he could tell; he couldn’t think straight, anyway. His head was pounding like crazy, and he was sure he looked like shit. He’d fallen asleep at the party, for fuck's sake. When he realized that, he bolted right out of there, leaving in a rush. Everyone else had already left. 

And Jeremy? Didn’t even bother to wake him up. That fucking... 

Oh, right. 

Jeremy’s mom had wanted him home by 1 a.m., and Michael had just... stayed. Now he understood why underage drinking was bad. Just great. 

Michael opened the door as quietly as he could, his hand shaking a little. He pushed it open slowly and scanned the hallway. Nothing. He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and stepped inside. His dad’s car wasn’t back yet, but he still felt that uneasy pit in his stomach, knowing what would happen if Evan... 

Oh. Right. Evan. 

He kicked off his shoes and headed upstairs, pretty sure his little brother was passed out by now. But he stopped by the kitchen to grab some painkillers—his head was pounding like hell. He could barely remember what happened last night, only that it was fun enough for this kind of hangover. He was about to take the pill when he spotted a cup on the table, and his shoulders sagged. 

“Bloody hell, Ev… you know Dad’ll lose his shit if we don’t clean our…” 

He expected it to be water, or maybe milk, but not this. This smelled strong, like… coffee? Michael blinked. Was Dad back? Or was it… 

“No fucking way. No way Evan could like this stuff. He’s nine.” 

But the thought wouldn’t leave. Evan looked wrecked every day, practically forcing himself to stay awake anytime he sat down, like he was about to pass out on the spot. Michael sighed and dumped the coffee in the sink. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to have a talk about this. He wasn’t good at this big brother thing to begin with. But this was... unexpected. 

But then, he heard a door creak upstairs. Michael’s gut twisted. He walked toward the stairs, his voice tense. 

“Evan?” he called, not expecting an answer. 

And got nothing. A chill crawled up his spine as he climbed the stairs, his mind racing. What the hell had Evan gotten himself into this time? All he wanted was for nothing to catch William’s eye—because if anything did, he’d be the one forced to cover Evan’s tracks. Just let him be asleep, nothing weird... please... fucking hell, his brother had promised. 

The hallway was pitch dark, and Michael moved forward slowly, like the time he’d crept up to scare Evan. But this time wasn’t for laughs. Something in the air felt wrong, like he was being watched. Every step seemed louder, his nerves prickling, as if something was hiding in the dark, just waiting to grab him. 

Michael whipped around. Nothing. He let out a breath, feeling ridiculous. God, he was so tired of all this. He just wanted to go to his room, shut the door, and pretend everything was fine. 

“Fuck it... he’s ten, he can... take care of himself, I trust him...” Michael mumbled. 

But just as Michael was about to leave his little brother alone, he saw the door crack open a bit more and then... 

“What the... Evan? Turn off the damn light!” 

He couldn’t even see Evan’s face—just a blinding beam hitting his eyes. Then, just as fast, Evan pointed the light down at the floor. 

“M... Mikey...?” 

Evan’s voice was small, shaky as hell. He looked terrified, his eyes wide. Great. The kid was really in for it now. Michael stormed toward him, and Evan started backing up, trembling and tearing up, which only pissed Michael off more. He walked into Evan’s room, ready to smack some sense into him. 

Michael wanted answers—right now. He was curious, sure, but he was also sick of dealing with Evan’s problems. Maybe... he should just let it go? He sighed, but he was still fuming. 

“Bed. Now.” Michael’s voice was firm, no nonsense. 

Usually, Evan would bolt to his bed, hiding under the covers. But this time, he shook his head. Yeah, he was scared, but there was something else there too... like some weird confidence. Since when did Evan look like that? 

“I swear to God, Evan...” 

“I... can’t, Michael...” Evan tried to sound firm, which only made Michael’s blood boil. 

“Oh yeah? Why are you even awake? Can’t you fucking see it’s 5AM?” Michael hissed, his voice low, like he was afraid someone might hear them. 

Evan clutched his flashlight, eyes darting away, and Michael noticed the dark bags under his brother’s eyes. He almost felt a twinge of pity but stayed tough. But instead of answering, Evan suddenly ran over to his bed and flashed the light there, just on his Freddy plush. 

“Don’t tell me you’re looking for your other pl—” 

“Shush!” 

Michael’s jaw dropped. Did Evan really just shush him? That was it. Whatever patience he’d had just vanished. He was done with this nonsense, and Evan clearly needed to snap out of it. 

“Okay, that’s fucking it.” 

He grabbed Evan and tossed him onto the bed. Evan squirmed, weaker than usual but still fighting a bit. Now he was panicking, which only made Michael angrier. 

“Look at me, brat.” 

Evan’s gaze darted around his room—door, closet, pillow—like he was scanning for something hiding in the shadows. He wasn’t faking it; he looked freaked out. What was wrong with this kid? 

“Ev, I don’t care about your eye bags... just look at me , please,” Michael said, his voice softer this time. 

The nickname did the trick. Evan’s tired blue eyes finally met his, and damn, he looked exhausted. Michael almost felt sorry for him. Almost. 

“What’s going on? Nightmare?” Michael’s tone stayed gentle; he couldn’t tease his brother now, not at 5AM. 

But Evan’s attention shifted to the clock. Almost 6AM. He took a deep breath, his shoulders finally relaxing. 

“N... nothing. Nothing to worry about,” he muttered, sounding a little more at ease. 

Michael eyed him, unconvinced. “Did you sleep at all?” 

Evan just yawned, and that was all Michael needed to see. It was obvious now—Evan was scared of something. Monsters? Probably. But they weren’t real. 

“Evan, you know it’s just us in the house, right? Only us.” 

Evan’s gaze had already drifted, his flashlight slipping from his hand, his head ready to hit the pillow. Michael wasn’t having it. Staying up all night at his age wasn’t something to shrug off. 

“Hey. Answer me.” 

“I... don’t know, Michael,” Evan mumbled, yawning again. He was barely keeping his eyes open. Michael sighed, torn between letting him sleep or pushing him for answers. 

“If Dad sees you’re dead tired, he’ll force you to sleep in my room. I thought you wanted to keep me out of trouble.” 

Evan frowned—just barely, but still a frown.  

“It’s not always about you, Michael...” he mumbled, then collapsed onto his bed, already drifting off, even though school was only a few hours away.  

Chapter Text

September 16th, 1985 - Hurricane Elementary School  

No one could say he didn’t try—he did… he really tried his best. On the outside, Evan Afton was just a quiet, shy kid who hardly seemed to pay attention, when he wasn’t sleeping in class. His grades were barely enough. He didn’t get into trouble, mostly because he was too scared of his father, but he wasn’t exactly a great student either. 

If only they knew what was happening inside him... Why did it look like that kid hadn’t closed his eyes in a week? 

As the young boy yawned for what felt like the twentieth time in half an hour, he noticed his teacher giving him a slight glare. He wanted to brush it off—yawning wasn’t against the rules—but he hated being the center of attention and didn’t want the teacher to get suspicious. So, he quickly sat up straight and pinched himself to stay awake. 

He let out a small whimper of pain. Great. Why was he so fucking stupid? 

Some of his classmates glanced at him, while his teacher definitely did, as he was asking them to just forget about him under his breath. He hated it... but he had no choice. Nobody here, or in the whole school or whatever place might be, had to deal with what he lived every night. It has been like that for weeks now...  

But he had to do it. So, he stared at the board and noticed that he didn’t even know it was all about math. Fraction? Well... he didn’t like that much. But he still focused, like all the time he had to hear their breathing at his bedroom door. The boy almost dozed off, his head felt heavy, like an anvil... so he supported it with his hand. It wasn’t a big deal... he could say he was just bored, not sleepy, right? He closed his eyes... just for a small moment... 

“Evan?” 

Shit. He opened his eyes immediately. The board was filled with new stuff. How long had he been napping? He had no idea, but it definitely wasn’t just two seconds. 

“Uh... yeah?” he mumbled. 

“Well, answer the question,” she said, frowning a little. 

God, this was embarrassing. He looked around; everyone had their math manuals out. The boy tensed up and quickly dug through his bag. 

Yeah, great. Fantastic. He’d been so focused on the deadly animatronics that wanted to kill him at night that he forgot to pack his stuff. Of course, no one was sitting next to him; he was such a loser. He shook slightly. 

“I... I... don’t have m... my manual, ma'am... sorry...” he mumbled again, feeling pathetic. 

Some of his classmates chuckled, but he couldn’t care less as he stared at his desk. 

“Evan, look at me,” the teacher ordered firmly. 

He lifted his head, biting his lip. This wasn’t as scary as dealing with the Nightmares, but if there was anything scarier than school, it was his dad. He couldn’t imagine how William Afton would react if he got a call from the school. 

“Y... yeah?” 

“Next time, don’t forget your stuff, or you’ll get a punishment.” 

Evan’s face turned pale, as if she had just announced his death sentence. At least his father wouldn’t be involved... but now he was trembling, and he could see the teacher noticed, her gaze softening as she looked around the class. 

“But today, I won’t mind... for now, take a seat next to Gabriel; he has his manual.” 

Evan quickly nodded. A punishment? He could handle that. A call to his father? Hell no. He wasn’t suicidal. 

But as he walked toward Gabriel, a new feeling twisted in his gut. Shyness. Embarrassment. Anxiety... He was known to be the kid everyone laughed at, even though no one really talked to him since the start of the year. He had no clue how his classmate would react to sitting next to that one sleepy random kid. 

So, he sat down. It was awkward as hell. But at least now, Evan was alert; he wouldn’t doze off whenever his stupid brain decided to shut down. 

“Huh... hi?” Gabriel said, raising an eyebrow. 

That was it. He already wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Gabriel was taller than him—well, he was normal size—but Evan was pretty small, thanks to the little sleep he got. The shy kid locked eyes with his classmate, who had that questioning look... it wasn’t... hostile? Gathering some courage, Evan managed to mumble a small “hi.” 

And that was it. 

He wasn’t sure what Gabriel was thinking, but he stopped talking, sometimes paying attention, sometimes looking bored. But he wasn’t tired. Maybe he didn’t care or sensed that Evan didn’t want to chat. It kinda sucked because Evan didn’t want to seem like a jerk. But then they had to work with that manual. And of course, Evan was completely lost, just holding his pen over a blank page of his notebook like a dumbass. 

And Gabriel noticed. This day was just getting better and better. 

"Do you know how to..." 

Evan jumped, startled, and—shit. Gabriel chuckled. Great. That was it. He was going to get bullied for this. He remembered last year, how his classmates had teased him endlessly for being so jumpy. He could already feel the familiar sting of trying to hide his tears, pretending he didn’t care, though it never really worked. 

"Hey... sorry I scared you. I... anyway. So, you don’t know how to answer?" 

Wait, what? That actually sounded... friendly? Or was he imagining it? Evan nodded, too shy to speak, and Gabriel smiled. But it wasn’t like the mocking grin his older brother Michael gave him. This smile seemed real. 

"Well... at least that makes us two idiots," Gabriel said. 

Evan wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he felt himself smiling a bit. Sure, they both sucked, but at least he wasn’t alone… at least not right now. 

“So... what did you get on your last test?” Gabriel asked, sounding casual. 

Evan froze. He remembered. It was about those damn triangles. His mind blanked for a moment, and he could barely get the words out. 

“Uh... C... I don’t like... triangles...” he mumbled. 

“Yeah, me neither. I got a stupid B-. My parents were not happy,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. 

Evan nodded, smiling nervously. He hadn’t shown his dad his grades in forever, and hid them whenever possible—for obvious reasons. After a pause, Gabriel seemed to hesitate, then spoke again. 

“Why were you sleeping earlier?” 

Oh, crap. 

“Uh... I was just... tired, I guess.” 

Gabriel gave him a knowing look. “You’re always tired, Evan... everyone kinda sees it... you... do you even sleep at night?” 

Evan’s heart raced. He could tell a little bit of the truth, maybe. 

“I... I have trouble sleeping,” he said softly. 

Gabriel tilted his head thoughtfully. “Really? Like, you can’t fall asleep?” 

Evan nodded, not caring about how much nonsense he was spinning. The truth? Yeah, that wasn’t an option. 

“Yeah... I...” 

He caught himself before blurting out anything about monsters. He didn’t need more reasons to feel like a freak. 

“I don’t feel... safe... in my bed,” he mumbled. 

Gabriel frowned, and Evan regretted the words instantly. That had sounded way too strange. He should really think before he spoke. 

“Oh... okay...” he said, finally letting it go. 

Evan quietly released the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. And then the bell rang. Finally.  

Afton household – 4 hours later...  

During dinner time, the only person who made it lively was Elizabeth, bragging to her father about her day, sharing her good grades, and talking about her friend Susie. Contrary to popular belief, William listened. Any abusive father would have smacked her the moment she became a little too annoying, but he never did. Now, though, she was gone—never to return. And with her absence, the noise during dinner time had vanished. Now it was only the forks. 

And everyone seemed okay with that, as the three remaining members of the Afton family sat in dead silence. So, Evan almost forgot about Dad and Michael as he drowned in his own thoughts. He didn’t notice the weird look William was giving him. 

“What’s with that smile?” 

Evan glanced up, his smile vanishing in an instant. 

“I... I... huh...” 

Yeah, can’t even form a fucking sentence. Michael wasn’t even looking at him. He was alone in this... and he hated it. He hated his father for making him feel like he was about to piss himself over the most basic question. 

“Evan, you know I don’t like gibberish,” his dad said, his tone sterner. 

The boy wanted to flee to his room right then, but he knew his father would just snap, like he always did. So, Evan did what he always did during these filler conversations with that guy. He pretended to have a normal family. 

“Sorry... um... a classmate was nice to me... today, I guess...” 

And with that, William’s face brightened slightly. Evan could almost see the excitement. 

“A friend, are you saying? What’s his name?” William asked, forcing himself to keep that stern tone, though there was happiness creeping in. 

This was kinda weird... why would his dad suddenly be so interested in his son’s friend, considering he didn’t give a crap about him most of the time? 

“Huh... Gabriel...” 

“Gabriel,” William repeated, smiling. 

For the first time, Michael glanced away from his plate to cast a weird look at their dad, just like Evan was doing. There was a legitimate question lingering in the air that they wouldn’t dare say out loud... 

Was he drunk? 

“And tell me more about this... Gabriel, Evan. Does he like Freddy and the others?” 

The boy shrugged, feeling a little more comfortable that his father’s cold attitude had shifted. 

“Huh... I’ll ask him tomorrow... why?” 

“I was just wondering...” 

Chapter Text

Circus Baby Pizza World Location – July 5 th , 1983  

Evan Afton never really knew how to feel about his dad. He couldn’t deny that his father was a genius—everyone knew it. No one else could make robots like he did. It was amazing but also... a little scary. Evan used to love those robots, back when things were still sort of normal. But even then, he was careful around them, unlike his sister... 

As the purple car parked roughly in front of the new opened restaurant, Evan felt the tension in the air. This had been an endless argument... the small boy didn’t have his Fredbear plush yet, so when he felt scared or uneasy, he clung to Michael. Not William or Elizabeth... but him. His big brother. 

“Why can’t you let me...” 

“For fuck’s sake Elizabeth, I said, NO !!” 

As William finally snapped, Evan hid his small face in Michael’s shoulder since they were sitting side by side, and the teenager sighed, but let him. Elizabeth’s mouth dropped slightly. It was the first time her beloved daddy swore at her. 

Why would dad not let his sister play with Circus Baby? 

They opened the car door and stepped out, feeling the warm breeze of the sunny summer day. The huge building ahead was packed with people—it was opening day, and everyone in town had been buzzing about it. Elizabeth had told anyone who’d listen that her dad had made a robot just for her. But her little brother... 

Well, his classmates didn’t even know his father ran one of the most successful businesses in town. 

“Daddy, please... didn’t you make her just for me?” 

Her voice was so desperate, it almost sounded pitiful. Evan felt a bit sorry for her, even though he was a little annoyed. She was treated so gently, even when she acted like this, while he’d be yelled at just for sniffing. 

Elizabeth always had this way of softening their dad’s tone. But today, William’s gaze stayed cold, like he was holding back from shouting. Finally, he sighed and gently pulled his hand away from hers. 

“D... dad... where is she?” 

“Elizabeth Abigail Afton.” 

Shit. Their dad never used her middle name. He only did that with Michael when he was on the verge of losing his shit. The air went still. 

“You will listen to me. Listen carefully, alright? Never—and I mean never—go near that thing. Do you understand?” His tone was calm but sharp, and it made Elizabeth’s eyes water. 

“B... but...” 

Evan noticed Michael giving their dad a glare full of hatred, instead of his usual fear. At least they agreed that their dad was being really harsh today. 

“Did I make myself clear?” he repeated, even icier. 

Elizabeth looked down at her shoes, heartbroken, but nodded. 

“Good. Because if you disobey, you’ll regret it...” he said before leaving his children, on their own. 

And with that, William Afton said his last words to his little girl. 

... 

Hurricane Elementary school – A week after Evan met Gabriel...  

He wasn’t sure if he could really call Gabriel a friend yet. Gabriel was nice enough, but he always seemed to laugh more and talk more easily when he was with the others. At first, Evan thought Gabriel didn’t have any other friends, but that was stupid—of course, he’d made some last year. And they got along just fine. 

Except with Evan. 

Then, out of nowhere, the laughter stopped. Evan frowned and glanced around, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They were still on break, and there wasn’t a fight or any of that crazy shit happening... but they were staring at him. Shit. He must’ve been thinking about his sister again, and that just made him look even more miserable. 

Fritz was the first to speak up. “What’s with the sad face?” 

Evan quickly wiped the frown off his face, trying to play it cool. He hoped they’d buy his bullshit, but he cursed himself for making them suspicious. 

“Nothing, just…” he trailed off, hoping they'd leave it at that. 

Fritz raised an eyebrow; Jeremy rolled his eyes. 

“Come on Fritz...” 

Evan panicked. “Uh, no. I’m fine. I just… wasn’t focused. What were you talking about” 

He could see Fritz wasn’t buying it, and he cursed himself for opening his mouth. Before he could dig himself deeper, Gabriel stepped in, sensing Evan was about to screw up. He knew Evan well enough to understand something was off, and he was nice enough not to say it out loud. 

Gabriel figured Evan was just tired, but that wasn’t it. Evan hadn’t been sleeping right, sure, but it wasn’t just the lack of sleep that made him look so fragile. It was the fact that, for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about his sister’s death. He didn’t know why, but ever since it happened a few days ago, the memory kept playing over and over in his mind. 

It was always there, adding to the pile of bad thoughts that never left him. And the more he tried to push it away, the worse it got... 

“Yeah, well…” Gabriel said, trying to ease the tension, “Maybe we could hang out sometime. You know, get your mind off stuff.” 

Evan frowned. 

“You mean... after school?” 

Fritz chuckled, his usual carefree laugh. This kid always had something to laugh about. Evan never really saw him serious—just that playful, mocking tone all the time. 

“Yeah, no. Let’s say we’ll hang out in school, after hours, in the empty halls.” 

“God, you’re so stupid...” Jeremy muttered, rolling his eyes at Fritz, trying to sound like he was annoyed but not really meaning it. 

Evan almost smiled. This would be the first time he’d actually hang out with someone in his nine years of life. Sure, Michael did it when he was forced, but he wasn’t really his friend. It was exciting, but also kind of scary. 

“But... but where? I mean... we’ll go somewhere, right?” he asked, his voice a little unsure. 

Gabriel shrugged. 

“You got an idea? Somewhere fun?” 

Evan gulped. His mind immediately went to a place, but he couldn’t say it. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to hang out anymore. 

“It’s been ages since I’ve been to that Freddy place,” Fritz said, sounding like he was really looking forward to it. 

“NO!” Evan shouted, his voice sharper than he meant. 

He hadn’t planned to sound so loud. It came out so desperate and weird, and he immediately regretted it. His heart was racing. He hoped they didn’t think he was a freak... 

“I mean... no... We shouldn’t...” 

Jeremy and Gabriel just stared at him, confused, trying to figure out where the outburst had come from. Before anyone could say anything, Fritz did what he always did—he acted like an idiot. 

“Aw, come on... matey,” Fritz said, in a cheesy pirate voice. 

“You’re not even sounding like Foxy,” Jeremy said. 

But Evan just flinched at the mention of the pirate fox. To be honest, Fritz did kind of look like Foxy, with his ginger hair, but Evan would never want to be anywhere near the real Foxy. Not after the nightmares. Not after what happened there. 

“Yeah, sure, Bonnie boy,” Fritz teased. 

Evan barely heard it. He was still stuck on the idea of that place. The thought made his stomach twist, but he didn’t want to ruin this. He had to hold it together. Just for a little while longer. After all, his friends couldn’t hold out much longer. His dad’s restaurant was the only place that combined pizza, arcade games, and alive cartoon characters at the same time. 

... 

A few hours later...  

Michael used to hide his uneasiness. In the past few days, though, it had become harder and harder to ignore. His dad being an asshole? That was classic William Afton, no surprises there. But seeing his brother, Evan, looking so sleep-deprived—sleeping all day during the weekends, drinking coffee at nine years old, trembling ever so slightly—it felt uncanny. No, screw that. That was fucked up. 

And then there was the most unsettling part: Evan was hiding something. Michael could see it, even if Evan wasn’t talking. There was something wrong, and Michael wasn’t sure if he was ready to find out what it was. But he couldn’t just ignore it, call it big brother instinct, and he couldn’t. Not this time. 

He was going to have a talk with his brother. After all, William would let him die on the spot without batting an eye, not caring one bit about his health. The only thing William would bother doing was throwing him in the hospital if he ever got close to death—because, apparently, filling out death papers was just too boring for him to handle. 

Michael, however, gave a damn. He couldn't just sit there and do nothing. Evan was his brother, and if anyone was going to help him, it had to be him. William wasn’t exactly the “man of the house” since Clara left. 

As he sat there, waiting for Evan to show up, Michael glanced at the time. Almost 5PM. School had ended an hour ago, and Evan had promised he wouldn’t need Michael to bring him home again. 

And Michael listened, because it meant more time with Jeremy and the others, more time away from his shitty family. But now, sitting there, he felt so fucking stupid for not giving it a second thought. Because if William came home and saw Evan’s bed empty, Michael knew exactly what would happen. It would stir up all those old memories of his dead daughter, and for Michael, it would end with a bruise on his cheek. 

Now, Michael didn’t feel scared. He was terrified shitless. 

Chapter Text

September 22nd 1985 – Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza  

In the middle of the parking lot stood a huge sign that read “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza,” glowing with bright, multicolored lights designed to catch the eye of every kid heading home from school. 

It worked perfectly. His friend’s face lit up the moment they saw it, even Jeremy, who was usually so good at hiding his excitement. Evan’s heart was beating fast too, but not for the same reasons. And they hadn’t even gone inside yet... 

“This seems so cool! I can’t wait to see Foxy!” Fritz said, practically bouncing. 

Evan cringed at the name, though he couldn’t explain them why. It bothered him every time, but no one seemed to notice. His friends were way too excited, acting like little kids. Evan just followed along, even though he didn’t want to. 

Then everything happened fast. They pushed through the glass doors, and suddenly there was noise everywhere—screaming, shouting, laughing. It was a loud, chaotic mess. Evan kept his head down, staring at the black and white checkered floor, not ready to look up just yet. 

But when he looked up, his friends were gone. He was alone in the crowd, surrounded by flashing colors, kids running around, and the smell of pizza—way too much pizza. Evan didn’t hate pizza, but here, it made him sick. And then… they were there. 

His eyes started to tear up, and suddenly, he felt someone behind him. His heart dropped. Who the hell was about to get him? Freddy? No, still singing. Bonnie? Nah, playing guitar as always. Chica? Too busy serving those stupid pizza. That left… 

“FOXY?!” 

Evan spun around, heart pounding. But it was just Fritz, grinning, he looked amused as Evan let out a nervous laugh. 

“Jeez, Evan, for a second I thought you were actually freaked out!” Fritz laughed, thinking Evan was just pretending. 

Evan forced a laugh and tried to shake off the panic rising inside him. Get your shit together, he told himself. It’s just a bad moment... But as they started walking, his confidence started to crumble. His stomach twisted. He didn’t know what to do anymore. 

“Let’s head to the stage,” Gabriel said, pointing toward the back. “There should be—” 

“I’m gonna get the pizza!” Evan blurted out before he could stop himself. 

They all stopped and stared at him, confused. 

“You mean... you’ll go by yourself? You have money?” Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Evan swallowed. No, he didn’t have money. But he couldn’t stay here. Not with everything feeling so wrong. He nodded, trying to seem sure of himself. Maybe he’d regret it, but he couldn’t face them right now. If they saw him, he might break down right in front of them. 

“I’m coming with you,” Jeremy said, stepping forward. 

Great. This was exactly what he didn’t want. Why was it so hard to lie to them? He didn’t want to disappoint them, but as long as he didn't see their disapproving look, it would be alright. 

“Yeah, me too... Foxy can wait,” Gabriel said, giving a half-smile. “Come on, Fritz.” 

Now they were all going to see he was full of shit. Evan instinctively shoved his hands in his pockets. Empty. The only thing inside was his flashlight, the one thing that made him feel even slightly safer than Fredbear. No money. Nothing. 

He’d spent all his pocket money buying something for Michael, hoping it would make his brother like him more. It worked for a week. Maybe less. 

“You really don’t have to. Just... have fun, I’ll be quick, I swear,” Evan said, trying to back out. 

“You sure? I mean…” Gabriel started, but Fritz was already heading toward Pirate’s Cove. 

“Okay... I’ll make sure he doesn't get in trouble,” Gabriel giggled, before following Fritz. 

But Jeremy stayed. Evan, always intimidated by everyone and everything, just stood there awkwardly. Jeremy was the smartest of them all, and it wasn’t only because he was the top of his class... He could see through the lies of his best friend, and Fritz always hide it well. But Evan... he didn’t think before he acts, as typical emotional mess would be. Sever sleep deprivation didn’t help his thinking skills neither. Jeremy had every occasion to see that something was wrong with him, but he never said it.  

“We can pay together...” 

The boy sigh in relief and nodded. But this didn’t solve the fact that he didn’t have shit. It was going to take some more crossed fingers to get through this day.  

Then, they were at the counter. Way too fucking quickly. Evan left Jeremy choose the pizza, because he honestly didn’t care about it. He wouldn’t even eat. Throwing up was not a goal he had, and he knew what would happen if they locked eyes with him.  

And Jeremy gave his money. He didn’t have enough. But Evan should have, as Jeremy was gesturing him to go through. 

“I... huh...” 

“What? Just... give him” he said. 

Evan bit his lips. Shit. He was so dead now. He knew he would regret it, but not that soon. It was always too soon anyway.  

And now, he hoped for some miracle to happen.  

He lifted his head, and the employee locked eyes with him. He frowned. What? 

“Sorry kids, but... you don’t have enough. You should... tell your parents.” 

“Come on, man...” Jeremy mumbled. 

He looked slightly disappointed, and Evan wanted to dig a hole and die in it. But he didn’t say anything nor asked Evan. Their friends lied. He was a liar. As he was about to follow him, he felt the cashier still staring at him. 

“Wait a second...” 

The two turned, one was skeptical, the other terrified. Did they do something? 

“Are you... our boss’ son?” 

Evan could almost feel Jeremy’s eyes widen. Of course, he used to cling to his dad when Michael wasn’t here, at Fredbear’s and Freddy’s.  

Evan stuttered some mess, and the man then was sure. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I mean... he told us to make it for free for you and your friends.” 

The boy seriously doubted it, but then again... this man wasn’t lying. William did make something for him for once. 

“Really?!” Jeremy said, almost excited.  

Now he knew, and that was one of Evan’s fears. Sure, there was deadly monsters all around his room, but there was also the... attention. He didn’t want to have that, it only caused trouble. He was the opposite of his sister. 

“Yeah, here you go.” 

And with that, he gave them, without even spending a dim. What the fuck? 

“You want something else?” the cashier asked, smiling expectantly. 

Evan shook his head, trying to avoid eye contact. All he wanted was to get out of there. 

“I mean... why not!” Jeremy answered, grinning. 

Oh no. Jeremy sounded almost...excited. And he wasn’t usually the childish type. Evan could only imagine how Fritz would react. 

… 

A few minutes later, they were loaded with food and drinks worth at least 40 bucks. Jeremy seemed to think Evan was excited too, just a little surprised, and wanted to make the most of it for both of them. But if Jeremy hadn’t been there, Evan would’ve just grabbed a soda and nothing else. 

Now, as they walked toward the table, Jeremy’s smile faded a little, as if he was finally piecing things together. Evan felt the dread settle in. Jeremy hesitated, clearly not wanting to make Evan uncomfortable, but finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell us your dad owns this place? Dude, that’s awesome!” 

Evan almost dropped the stuff he was holding. He set everything down on the table and turned to Jeremy, eyes wide. 

“P... Please don’t tell them,” he whispered, his voice shaky. 

Jeremy’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

Before Evan could answer, Fritz’s voice rang out. “Whoa... you guys got all that?” 

Jeremy turned, glancing back and forth between Evan and Fritz, unsure of what to say. Evan gave him a slight shake of his head, his face almost pleading. Jeremy looked at him, a flicker of confusion on his face. What’s wrong with him? he seemed to be wondering. 

“Yeah, we did,” Evan managed, sliding into his seat, trying to hide his nerves. 

“We owe you two big time,” Gabriel chimed in, nudging Fritz, who nodded happily. 

Jeremy and Evan stayed quiet, each lost in thought, while Gabriel brushed off the tension as he always did, talking away about their day. Jeremy tried to sound normal as he mentioned helping Fritz with his test today—a funny contrast, the troublemaker and the top of the class, best friends. 

At least, Evan thought, they were close.  

As Evan forced himself to eat—despite his genuine fear of eating in public, especially at a place like this—the conversation shifted to something that made his stomach turn. 

“Who’s your favorite, Jeremy?” Fritz asked, grinning like it was the most innocent question in the world. 

“Well... Freddy?” Jeremy replied, a little unsure. 

Fritz chuckled. “Hell no, I know you, and it’s not him. He’s just an old bear, can’t even sing properly, you even said it last time.” 

“Hey, quit it. Freddy is cool,” Gabriel defended with a teasing smile. 

Jeremy sighed, clearly feeling the need to go along with it. “Fine! Okay... just because I used to play guitar, I guess I...” 

“Yeah, I know... Bonnie boy.” Fritz laughed. 

“Stop calling me that!” Jeremy said, though he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Evan barely registered the banter. He didn’t get the appeal of these machines—these things . To him, they were all the same. Deadly. Bloodthirsty. His mind wandered back to his lovely room from 12 to 6AM. 

“Anyway, what about you, Evan?” Fritz asked, eyes on him now. 

“M... Me?” Evan stammered. 

The moment the spotlight shifted to him; panic surged. His friends were all looking at him expectantly, but all he could think about was his real friend. Not the monsters, not the animatronics, just... his plush. The soft, comforting plush. Not the cold, metal things. 

“I... I l... like F... Fredbear...” Evan mumbled, struggling to keep his voice steady. 

They all stared at him. Great. What had he said this time? 

“Fredbear? Who’s that?” Fritz asked, his face scrunched in confusion. 

“You mean... the yellow Freddy? It was in the old restaurant...” Gabriel’s voice held a hint of surprise. “I didn’t know you knew about it since the beginning.” 

Evan's heart sank. They had no idea what Fredbear really was. They couldn’t understand. 

He had hated it— had always hated it—for as long as he could remember.  

But then, everyone went quiet. Not his friends, but everyone else. They were all turned toward the stage. Evan felt confused, he looked in their direction. And then he understood. Time for the show. Fuck. 

The curtains slowly opened, as Evan’s heart skipped a bit. He stopped eating, as nausea was already kicking in full force.  

Then, they revealed them.  

... 

October 14th,1983 - Fredbear’s Family Diner

“Wow, your brother is kind of a baby, isn’t he?” 

Evan, only seven at that time, froze in fear. His chest tightened, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Nightmares had been haunting him for weeks—nightmares he wasn’t sure were even real. He had seen his sister get eaten by an animatronic, her screams still echoing in his mind. His family was falling apart, and now, his brother was making things worse. What did they expect from him? 

“It’s hilarious! Let’s let him get a closer look. He’ll love it!” 

The words cut through him like a knife. His heart was pounding, his body shaking, and he felt like he might faint. But before he could do anything, strong hands grabbed his arms, lifting him off the ground. 

“NO PLEASE! Mikey, I... I don’t wanna go...” Evan sobbed, his voice cracking. 

But they didn’t care. They were enjoying this. They loved his fear. 

“Come on, guys, he wants to get up close and personal!” Bonnie laughed, his voice sharp. 

They weren’t human anymore. They were monsters. Evan’s brother, Mikey, was Foxy now, and he wanted to hurt him. He could see it in his eyes. Mikey hated him. 

They stopped in front of something huge—something powerful. Evan’s head lifted, and his stomach dropped. The sight of it made his blood run cold. 

Fredbear. 

The animatronic stood towering over him, its sharp teeth glinting. His whole body trembled, and he tried to back away, but he couldn’t. The hands held him tight. He was trapped. 

“Guys, I think the little man wants to give Fredbear a big kiss!” Michael laughed, a cruel grin on his face. 

Evan’s body went numb. His head was being forced closer to Fredbear’s mouth. He couldn’t move. His heart was in his throat, and his mind was screaming for him to get away, but his body wouldn’t listen. Everything around him felt like it was closing in. 

Then, just as his panic reached its peak, a loud shout broke through. 

“MICHAEL, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!!!” 

It was William. His father’s voice cut through the air, filled with fury. 

Evan collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. The grip on him loosened, and he crumpled, too stunned to do anything. 

In an instant, William stormed forward, his eyes burning with rage. Without hesitation, he punched Michael hard in the jaw. The sickening crack of bone echoed in the air, and Michael stumbled back, dazed and in pain. 

For a moment, everything was silent. Evan’s body was still shaking, his mind reeling, unsure of what had just happened. His father had just hit Michael. 

He didn’t know whether to feel relief or fear. 

...

Evan was in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet, emptying his stomach. It was gross, but it was better than being out there, surrounded by those things—those fake, creepy animatronics. He had told his friends he was just going to the toilet, but they didn’t know it wasn’t to pee. He needed a break. 

When he was done, he shakily got up, his legs feeling weak beneath him, and stumbled to the sink. The cold water felt good against his dry mouth, but it didn’t ease the gnawing feeling in his stomach. Eating had been a mistake. 

As he looked up at the mirror, he was forced to confront the reflection staring back at him. His hair was a mess, a tangled mess of brown strands that hadn’t seen a comb in days. His eye bags were getting worse—dark and puffy, like they belonged to someone much older than him. His body trembled slightly, like it couldn’t keep still for long. 

What the fuck was wrong with his life? 

He didn't know what to do anymore. Every day felt harder, every step more exhausting. It wasn’t just the animatronics or his messed-up family—it was everything. 

His eyes lingered on his reflection for a moment longer, wishing he could disappear. But there was no escape. He wasn’t even sure what was real anymore. 

Chapter Text

As expected, the crowd was anything but quiet during the show. The noise was a loud mess of excited chatter and laughter, so loud that the animatronics’ voices could barely be heard. But no one seemed to care. Everyone was amazed by the sight of cartoon characters coming to life right in front of them. 

“Guys, do you have any idea who stole Chica’s cupcake?” Freddy’s pre-recorded voice boomed, his head turning stiffly from side to side, as if searching for the thief. 

The children burst into giggles. Jeremy just shook his head, smiling, while Fritz’s eyes were glued to Pirate’s Cove, waiting for the moment he knew was coming. 

“Foxy stole it! Foxy stole it!” the kids yelled together, their laughter filling the room. 

The purple curtains opened, revealing Foxy, his metal body creaking as it moved. Fritz nearly jumped out of his seat, so eager to run up to his favorite character. His friends stayed slumped in their seats, too full to move. It was almost strange how much energy Fritz had—he looked ready to explode. 

Foxy’s face twisted in what was supposed to be a frown, but it looked more silly than scary, his eyebrows jerking as they tried to make an expression. 

“Don’t snitch on me, mateys... I didn’t steal anything!” he said, grinning widely, showing off his sharp teeth. 

Bonnie, standing nearby, made a mocking “Mmh...” sound, like he was thinking in a very exaggerated way. 

“Prove it.” 

“I swear on me booty I didn’t! And me booty’s very precious,” Foxy said, his movements stiff as he pointed to his chest, his metal joints clicking with each move. 

“Liar! Liar!” the kids chanted, pointing and laughing as they joined in.  

“Liar...” The word echoed in Jeremy’s mind, pulling him away from the show. The noise of the crowd blurred into a distant hum. Foxy was probably lying out of selfishness, but... was lying always bad? If something big was a secret, was it worth telling the truth? He didn’t know. Evan didn’t scare him, at least he didn’t want to admit it. But Evan... he was different. 

Why was he so unsure, even in simple conversations? Why did it seem worse at Freddy’s? Why was he hiding so much from everyone, and why did he look like he hadn’t slept in days? 

As Jeremy turned to check on him, he noticed Evan’s seat was empty. Only Gabriel was still there. 

“Where’s Evan?” he asked, speaking over the noise. 

“I think he went to the bathroom,” Gabriel replied, though he looked worried too. 

They both knew something was off. They didn’t want to talk about it out loud, but ignoring it felt wrong, like they were avoiding something they didn’t want to face. Jeremy’s mouth hung open as he glanced around, tension building in his gut. 

“It’s been a while. Do you think he’s sick?” he asked. 

Gabriel shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe... I don’t know.” 

After a while, Jeremy let out a frustrated sigh. “Seriously, what’s wrong with him?” 

Gabriel looked startled and avoided Jeremy’s eyes behind his glasses, but his friend’s expression was clear. No more bullshit. 

“What do you mean?” Gabriel asked, frowning. 

“You know what I mean. He always looks at us like he expects us to hurt him. He’s too polite—like, weirdly polite for his age. And since we got here, he’s looked... terrified.” 

Gabriel’s face fell, his gaze dropping to the table. “Yeah, but we can’t just make him tell us.” 

Jeremy took a deep breath. “He’s our friend, though, right?” 

Gabriel nodded, this time without hesitation. 

“We should help him,” Jeremy said, his voice quiet. He slumped back into his chair, the noisy restaurant fading further into the background as a feeling of dread crept over him. 

But how... 

... 

Evan stiffened as someone else entered the bathroom. He pressed his hand over his mouth, fighting to keep any whimper or shaky breath from giving him away. The closed toilet stall was his only shield, and he hoped it was enough to keep him hidden. 

His mind drifted back to Fredbear’s, to those days he’d hide under tablecloths, knees hugged to his chest, crying in the dark where no one could reach him—no Michael, no nightmares, no father, no bullies. Just him and his plush, a small comfort in the shadowy corners where he felt safe. 

Now, crouched on the cold toilet seat, he wrapped his arms around his knees, feeling both ridiculous and desperate. After everything that had happened—the way his brother had almost shoved his head into Fredbear’s jaws—he’d learned to make himself invisible, to bury every hint of fear and sorrow deep inside. He sat there, still as a shadow, the only sign of him being the locked door that he hoped no one would notice. 

There were plenty of stalls, right? 

"Evan, you’re okay?" 

No. Not him. Of all voices, Gabriel’s was the last he wanted to hear. Not here. Not like this. Evan’s breath caught, and he felt his lips tremble, but he forced himself to stay quiet. Gabriel couldn’t see him, but he was close enough to hear. Close enough to know something was wrong. 

Gabriel waited, and the silence felt like it was closing in, squeezing the air from the room. But Evan only let his silent tears fall, holding them in, pressing his face to his knees so no one would see just how broken he was. 

Because how could Gabriel understand? Gabriel was just a kid, just like him. He didn’t live with these nightmares, these memories that hurt too much to even say out loud. So, Evan stayed as still as stone, trying to disappear, just like he did at night when the real monsters came into his room, and he hid behind the door, praying they’d not tear him apart.  

"Are you really there...?" 

No answer. Evan hated ignoring him, but what else could he do? He heard Gabriel try the door, gently at first, then with more force when it wouldn’t open. The soft thud made Evan flinch. 

“Look... I know you probably won’t tell me why this place bothers you so much. But please... let us help you.” Gabriel’s voice wavered, sounding hurt and worried. Evan felt a fresh wave of guilt. He knew he wasn’t a good friend, maybe not even a good brother, and that only made the ache inside worse. 

“Is it... because your dad owns this place?” 

Evan’s heart skipped, and before he could stop himself, he whispered, “Jeremy told you?” 

His voice shook, and he cursed himself for letting it slip. But Gabriel already knew something was wrong. 

“It doesn’t matter who told me,” Gabriel said gently. “Just tell us what’s going on so we can help. What’s so bad about this place, Evan? I mean... I kinda like it. Freddy’s fun, and...” 

Evan felt his breath hitch at the name of the animatronic, and Gabriel’s voice trailed off, sensing he’d touched a nerve. There was a long silence, broken only by the quiet sounds of Evan’s shaky breathing behind the door. 

“Can you at least open the door... please?” 

Evan wiped his eyes and reached slowly for the lock, his fingers trembling. But then he stopped. His friends couldn’t help him. They wouldn’t understand, and it hurt too much to even try. Maybe they were better off without him. Maybe everyone was. 

“No,” he whispered. 

Gabriel’s voice was muffled but surprised. “What? Evan, come on—” 

“I said NO! Just... leave me alone!” The words burst out, sharper than he’d meant. 

The silence afterward was thick and heavy, and Evan instantly regretted how harsh he’d sounded. But he couldn’t take it back now. 

“Staying alone won’t make it better, Evan... but if it’s really what you want, I... I’ll give you space. Just know that we can... leave the place if you want to. If that’ll help.” 

Evan froze. His heart skipped a beat. 

“W... what?” he whispered, not sure he heard correctly. 

“We don’t have to stay here, if you don’t like it.” 

Evan’s mind spun. His friend didn’t make any sense. “But... you guys like... this place. Fritz really likes... – gulp – Foxy, the pizza is good, and... and there’s an arcade...” 

“Yeah, but it’s not worth it if you’re forcing yourself to like it,” Gabriel said, his tone firm but gentle. 

Evan felt a twinge of confusion and guilt. “I mean... I should be the only one to... not come.” 

Gabriel scoffed; the sound was soft but sincere. “Yeah, not really... that’d be a dick move, leaving you behind. I bet there’s other fun places than... Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. And don’t worry about Fritz. His attention shifts faster than you think. Did I ever tell you about the time I overheard his mom saying she hated bringing him to the mall?” 

Evan let out a quiet, forced giggle. It was funny hearing about Fritz’s little shit moments, but it also reminded him of something painful—his own mom ditched them. Would she have dragged him to the mall, too? Would she have even cared? 

The thought lingered, heavy and silent. 

“Come on... let’s go,” Gabriel said, his voice carrying a note of disappointment now, like he wished things were different. 

Evan wiped at his eyes quickly, trying to hide the evidence of the tears. His eyes were still red, but he didn’t want Gabriel to see how broken he felt. He could keep the headache to himself, at least. 

He slowly opened the door, trying to act like nothing was wrong. Gabriel didn’t look at him; he just smiled, a soft and understanding smile. Evan couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. His stomach churned with guilt. 

He could feel the weight of the moment, the awkwardness of being the one who couldn’t just enjoy the day like everyone else. 

“Sorry,” Evan mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. 

Gabriel didn’t respond, just gave a little shrug, his face still kind. Evan turned his gaze away, ashamed of being the crybaby friend. 

They walked out of the bathroom together, but the silence between them felt even louder than before. Evan tried to ignore the guilt in his chest, but it stayed with him, heavy and pressing. They couldn’t even have fun because of him. 

... 

"And remember, folks! You only need a few tickets and some good aim to earn your very own Foxy mask and become a rrrrrreal pirate!" 

Fritz's eyes lit up immediately. He jumped to his feet, his focus laser-sharp on the aiming game across the room. There was no doubt in his mind—he was going to win that Foxy mask, no question. Pirates were cool, sure, but there was something about Foxy that drew him in deeper, something he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just about the pirate theme... it was like they were... connected? Like they shared some unspoken link. 

But then his eyes shifted back to the table, and his excitement faltered. His friends were getting up and leaving. The frown that tugged at his lips deepened. What was going on? Why were they leaving? Something didn’t feel right. He stood frozen for a moment, his thoughts swirling with confusion. 

“Why are you guys... leaving?” 

“I... I think we’ve been here enough,” Jeremy interrupted, his voice flat, avoiding eye contact. 

“What do you mean? It’s barely been an hour!” 

Fritz blinked, his frustration growing. He didn’t understand. Why were they acting like this? He could feel the tension in the air—his friends were clearly upset, but no one was saying why. They were all so... confusing. His gaze locked onto Jeremy, trying to block his path. 

“Seriously, why are we leaving?” 

Still, no one answered. His eyes moved to Evan, and the sight of his friend’s downcast face made something tighten in his chest. He felt a pang of guilt, like he was missing something important. 

“What happened?” Fritz asked, his voice suddenly serious, a tone he rarely used. 

Gabriel sighed. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to make things worse. But it had to be said. So, he took a breath and opened his mouth, ready to speak. 

But before he could get a word out, a voice cut through the air. 

“Evan, what the hell are you doing here?!” 

Evan’s heart dropped. That voice. No way. He froze. He didn’t want to turn around, but he couldn’t ignore it. The pressure hit him all at once. He didn’t even think about his family before following his friends. 

He looked around. Gabriel and the others were staring, confusion mixing with a bit of fear. 

“Do you know him?” Gabriel muttered; his voice low. 

Before Evan could answer, a hand grabbed his wrist. Hard. 

“Move your ass, now. We’re going home, you still need a punishment,” Michael snapped. 

Evan tried to stay still. His brother wasn’t going to make a scene. Not here. Not in front of everyone. 

“A... A punishment?” Evan whispered, the words sticking in his throat. 

“Yes! Now get the hell over here!” Michael’s grip tightened, pulling Evan toward the door. 

“I don’t wanna!” Evan yelped, his voice cracking. He wasn’t going with him. Not like this. 

Michael’s anger flared. He was doing his best to stay calm—he really was—but Evan was making it impossible. With a frustrated growl, he knelt, shoving his face into Evan’s. He didn’t care who was watching anymore. His voice was sharp, dangerous. 

“You want Foxy to beat your ass?” 

Evan’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And here was his brother, always treating him like shit, like he wasn’t worth anything. All those memories of him trying to be nice to Michael—making breakfast, picking out gifts for his birthday, the stupid smiles after school, even when he was bullied all day—those memories hit him, but not in the warm, good way they used to. No, this time it felt like the walls were closing in, suffocating him. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It was all so goddamn unfair. 

“Fuck off, Mike!” Evan snapped. 

“What did you just—” 

“I said...” Evan’s voice was low, dark. 

But before he could say another word, Michael’s hand lashed out. 

The slap was loud. Hard. 

Evan’s head whipped to the side. The sting of the slap burned, hot and sharp. His cheek felt like it was on fire, and for a second, the world spun. His eyes watered, and everything was blurry. He barely registered the pain as his mouth opened in shock. 

“Y... You...” 

Michael stood there, still fuming. "You brought it upon yourself," he muttered, his voice more emotional now, almost as if he regretted what he'd done, but not enough to take it back. 

“No, he didn’t!” Fritz’s voice was loud, harsh—his anger like a slap of its own. 

Michael’s eyes snapped to the boy standing up for Evan. He studied Fritz for a moment, sizing him up. This kid, who was clearly protective of his friend, wasn’t someone Michael wanted to deal with. He ignored him, turning back to Evan, who was still reeling from the slap, his face burning with shame and anger. 

Fritz felt his blood boil. He wanted to step in, to get between Evan and Michael, but Jeremy’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“D... Don’t start a fight,” Jeremy said, his voice unusually stern, the fear in his eyes clear. 

Fritz shot him a look. Jeremy was scared—of Michael, of the situation, of what might happen next. But Fritz wasn’t. This was wrong, and he wasn’t going to just stand by. 

Ignoring his best friend, Fritz pushed past Jeremy and stepped forward, placing himself between Michael and Evan. He didn’t care that Michael was taller or older. He wasn’t backing down. 

“Go play elsewhere, my brother’s being a crybaby, he needs to be dealt with,” Michael sneered, trying to brush them off like they were nothing. 

“You slapped him! It’s not fair...” Fritz’s voice was shaking with anger, his hands balled into fists. 

Michael raised an eyebrow, looking at him like he was some annoying mosquito buzzing around his ear. 

“Really? You know how hard it is to deal with this little shit?” Michael’s voice dripped with frustration, his eyes flicking over to Evan, who was standing behind Fritz, still trying to hold it together. “He promised me he’d go straight home after school. You know what happens when he doesn’t? You know what our dad’s gonna do when he finds out?” 

Fritz didn’t back down. “I don’t care what your dad’s gonna do. You don’t slap people for trying to have a life.” 

Michael scoffed, his face twisting into a grin. “Yeah, well, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows when you’ve got a little brother who thinks he can do whatever he wants.” 

Evan stood there, frozen. He didn’t want this. Didn’t want his friends to see this side of him. He had tried to avoid it, tried to get his brother to let him go in peace, but it was too late now. Michael was going to make sure everyone knew why he had to keep him on a leash. 

“Michael, stop... not in front of them, let’s... go home,” Evan muttered, his voice trembling. 

Michael didn’t listen. His grin widened as he decided to let it all spill out, to humiliate Evan in front of his friends, to show who was in control. “Oh, you don’t want them to know? You don’t want them to know about you staying up all night? Drinking all of Dad’s coffee?” His tone was biting, cruel. 

Evan’s stomach churned. “T... that’s not true! Please don’t...” 

Michael stepped closer, his words cold. “Just because he thinks there are big scary monsters who come to eat him at night.” 

The room fell silent. Evan’s heart stopped. He stared at Michael in disbelief, the weight of the betrayal crashing down on him. The last time his brother had looked at him like this, it was the day he had tried to force Evan’s head into Fredbear’s mouth, making him feel smaller than he already did. 

Evan couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He just stared at Michael with wide eyes, his face pale, the sting of the slap still burning in his cheek. How could Michael say that? How could he make him feel so ashamed in front of his friends? 

Michael’s grin faltered when he saw the look in Evan’s eyes, the pain and shame that were written there.

Evan turned slowly, his eyes downcast, and took a shaky step back. The weight of his brother’s words crushed him more than the slap ever could. The betrayal stung deeper than anything Michael had ever done. 

Michael watched him leave, his face softening for just a second. He let out a long, frustrated sigh, but instead of following right away, he stood there for a moment, staring at his brother’s retreating form, the anger and bitterness still sitting in his chest. 

Finally, Michael turned, taking slow, deliberate steps after him, not daring to glance back at Evan’s friends. 

Chapter Text

September 22nd , 1985 – Hurricane's Street  

Michael could tell Evan wasn’t furious—just... disappointed. At least, that’s what he showed on the outside. The sidewalk was wide enough for them to walk side by side, like Evan used to always insist. But tonight? Evan wasn’t in the mood for it. Neither was Michael. 

As they walked, Michael could feel something gnawing at him. He should feel guilty, right? He’d just slapped his little brother, humiliated him in front of his friends... But for some reason, he didn’t feel that bad. In fact, there was a part of him that liked this new side of Evan. The quiet, distant version of him. 

The harsh words hadn’t worked. The Foxy mask, the shoving, the shouting—nothing had ever really stuck. But this... this had. A small humiliation, something so simple, and Evan was finally quiet. It wasn’t a punishment that would leave a mark... right? He didn’t break his little brother... Right ? But that was enough. Enough for Evan to stop being so clingy. To stop asking trying to be nice. To stop annoying him. It was a small price to pay, but it would work. It was working. 

As Evan knew the way home, he walked faster, trying to put some distance between himself and his big brother. Michael noticed the change in him. Sure, Evan was always in a bad mood, always upset... but he had never looked like this before. Every time Michael was around, Evan usually looked at him with those pleading eyes, like he was silently asking his brother to stop hating him. 

Suddenly, a dog barked angrily in the distance, making Evan flinch. Michael quickly scanned the street to see if the dog was nearby, but Evan didn’t react. He kept his eyes on the ground. 

That was new. 

It made Michael uneasy. What if the dog was loose? Why wasn’t Evan worried? 

Without thinking, Michael reached for Evan’s hand, but his brother immediately pulled away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me”. 

Michael blinked in surprise. He knew he should be angry with Evan for talking back, but for some reason, he didn’t feel it. He’d already done enough damage. 

“I... fine... but stay close to me,” Michael muttered, his voice quieter now. “Dad will kill me if you—” 

“I don’t care,” Evan said, his tone flat, like it didn’t matter. 

Michael frowned, confused. 

“You don’t care?” He glanced at Evan, his voice sharp. “You know how he gets when he’s pissed.” 

Evan finally lifted his head, his eyes empty of tears but filled with so much hurt. 

“Yeah, well... sometimes I feel like you’re not any better than—” 

“Don’t even say it. Don’t you fucking say it, Evan.” Michael’s voice dropped, dark and dangerous. “You don’t know how Dad is.” 

Evan clenched his fists. He didn’t want to argue, not in the middle of the street, but his brother was making it impossible to stay quiet. So, he kept silent, keeping his eyes on the ground. Michael, though, kept walking beside him, oblivious to the tension. 

“I’m not worse than Dad...” Michael muttered, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. His voice was shaky, though. 

Evan used to be sure that their dad was the worst of them, but now? He wasn’t so sure anymore. His father was terrifying, sure—he was unpredictable, his voice dark enough to freeze anyone in their tracks. But he never humiliated Evan. He never slapped him or shoved him around. Michael, on the other hand, had done all of that and more. 

By the time they reached home, Evan was almost certain. Michael was worse. 

Afton household – 9:46PM...  

Evan lay still, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that made his thoughts louder. He could feel the tears threatening to fall, but he refused to let them escape. He hated how weak he felt. His mind raced, trying to escape the pain, but it was hard to ignore the sting of Michael’s words and the slap still burning on his face. He had to get some sleep—before midnight. That’s when everything went wrong, every night. His mind was used to the routine of staying awake from midnight to 6 AM. It was exhausting, but he couldn’t stop. It felt like something was pulling him into that dark, lonely space. But tonight... tonight felt different. 

He heard a voice beside him, soft and small. “What did he do to you this time?” 

Evan buried his head deeper into his pillow, trying to block out the sound. He didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Let me sleep, Fredbear...” His voice cracked, and his breath hitched. 

As strange as it was, Fredbear—the talking plush he’d had since he was little—was the only one who truly understood. Evan had never questioned it before, but tonight, it felt too surreal. He was almost ten now. He was supposed to be too old for this. 

“You won’t sleep if you feel like this...” Fredbear’s voice was quiet but persistent. “I’m your best friend, right?” 

Evan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the bear’s voice, but he couldn’t. Gabriel might be his best friend at school, but Gabriel didn’t understand. Only Fredbear knew the truth. Still, Evan didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to forget, even if it was for a few hours. 

“I... don’t know...” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. 

Fredbear didn’t give up. “Remember last time when Michael locked you in the storage room and you told me? Didn’t it feel better?” 

Evan clenched his fists, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t want to think about it. The memory of that night was too fresh, too raw. 

Fredbear pressed on, his voice gentle but insistent. “Come on, Ev... You’re lucky to have a friend who understands you. You can tell me anything.” 

Evan turned to face the bear, frowning. His blue eyes locked onto Fredbear’s white ones, and he felt something shift. 

“How can you even talk?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, sharp and angry. It was the first time he’d questioned it, and the thought made him feel foolish. But Fredbear just stared back with that same unnerving plastic smile. 

“What’s important is making you feel better...” Fredbear said, as if that was all that mattered. 

Evan’s heartbeat got faster. He turned his face away from Fredbear, his voice low. “I... I don’t care. I can’t trust you if I don’t even know who you are.” 

There was a long pause. Fredbear seemed to consider this, his eyes unblinking, his smile frozen. 

After a beat, Fredbear spoke again, his voice calm. “Let’s make a deal... You tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll tell you where I come from.” 

Evan sighed deeply, his chest tightening. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his blanket as he tried to find the right words. 

“Okay... fine...” 

Fredbear’s white eyes glowed with anticipation, burning with curiosity, but Evan couldn’t bring himself to meet its gaze. He just stared at his socks, the room feeling too heavy, too quiet. 

“I... got new friends at school,” Evan started, his voice small, barely above a whisper. “They’re nice b... but I...” He paused, swallowing hard. His throat felt tight, like his words were caught inside. “Every time I talk to them, I get scared... I sound stupid.” The words felt like they weighed a thousand pounds, but he pushed through. This part wasn’t the hardest—yet. 

Fredbear stayed silent, watching, waiting. 

“But then... they wanted to... to go to Freddy’s after school and...” 

“Freddy’s?!” Fredbear interrupted, almost too eager. 

Evan frowned and turned his head to look at Fredbear. 

“Yeah... my dad’s restaurant,” he said, a lump forming in his throat. 

“Did they like it?” Fredbear’s voice was almost too excited, like it was more invested in Evan's life than anyone else. 

“I mean... yeah... but I didn’t,” Evan admitted, his words stumbling out. “I hate the animatronics... since... since Michael did...” His voice faltered, and he clutched his pillow tighter, as if it could stop the flood of memories. The image of Golden Freddy’s mouth, so wide, so ready to devour him, flashed in his mind. The fear surged again, but he forced it down. 

He blinked rapidly, pushing away the tears. “But Gabriel, Jeremy, and Fritz... they knew. They knew I didn’t like it. So, they decided to leave... because of me.” Evan’s cheeks turned red with embarrassment, his voice barely audible. “They didn’t have to, but they did.” 

Fredbear’s tone softened, reassuring. “Hey, that’s a good thing. I’m sure they really care about you.” 

Evan managed a small, sad smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, sure... but it feels... it feels like I’m just ruining everything. Like I’m a party pooper.” 

The smile faded. His face darkened as something heavy pressed down on his chest. 

“But that’s not the worst part...” Evan’s voice shook. His hands trembled as he gripped Fredbear, holding onto it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “When we were about to leave... Michael—he...” His words broke, and he buried his face in Fredbear’s soft fur, sobbing quietly. 

“Shhh... shhh... take your time,” Fredbear said, its voice soothing, but Evan couldn’t stop. 

“He... slapped me. In front of them... he...” His breath hitched, and he pulled back slightly, showing Fredbear the red mark on his cheek. “He slapped me,” he repeated, his voice thick with hurt. 

Fredbear stayed still, listening, its plastic smile unchanged. 

“But it didn’t stop there... when I tried to go, he... he didn’t let me. He... he told them everything. He...” Evan’s voice cracked, and he fought against the sobs that threatened to break free. “He told them... the truth.” 

Fredbear leaned in closer, its eyes narrowing, focused. “The truth?” 

Evan looked away, ashamed. “They’ll think I’m weird... they won’t want to look at me anymore... they... they know about the Nightmares...” His voice trailed off, and the tears flowed freely now. He couldn’t stop them. 

Fredbear’s expression didn’t change, but its voice was quieter now, almost sad. “Is that really what you’re afraid of?” 

Evan nodded, tears staining his cheeks. 

Fredbear’s words seeped into Evan’s mind, twisting around his already fragile thoughts. 

“Evan, Evan, Evan... I would want to make you feel better, I really do, but... I think your fears might be true.” 

A chill ran through Evan’s spine. He gripped the edge of his blanket tightly, knuckles white. “W... What do you mean...?” 

Fredbear’s eyes seemed to glint, almost mocking. “You might lose your friends... You’re too old to believe there are monsters.” 

Evan’s frustration surged, and he slammed his fists into the mattress. “But they’re TRUE! You think it’s my imagination when I feel Bonnie’s breath on my face? Or when I see Chica at the end of the hall? You think Foxy isn’t really...” His voice trailed off, and his gaze darted to the closet, fear flickering across his face. 

Fredbear’s tone softened, but the words still stung. “I know, Evan. I know that they exist and that they could kill you if you’re not careful, but they don’t understand. They’ll... think you’re crazy.” 

“They would react the same way if they were in my shoes! Two years of... this nightmare...” Evan’s voice cracked, desperate to be understood, to have someone—anyone—validate his fear. 

“But they are NOT, you understand me, Evan?” Fredbear’s voice was sharp, slicing through Evan’s fragile hope. “They won’t know. They will never know. Only I understand. Not Michael, not your father, not your friends... Only me.” 

Evan’s lips trembled, and he sank into himself, his shoulders hunched under the weight of it all. “I... I know... but I don’t want to lose them. I don’t want to be alone again... I don’t want to sit at the back of the class and feel everyone staring at me like I’m... like I’m weird.” 

His voice had dropped to a desperate whisper, and he wiped at the tears that began spilling down his cheeks, stifling his sobs to keep Michael from hearing him. His whole body seemed to shrink in on itself, the fear and shame pulling him inward. 

Fredbear sensed it. He knew Evan was teetering on the edge, clinging to the small bit of hope he had left. “You will lose them, Evan... unless you trust me.” 

Evan looked at Fredbear, eyes wide, a flicker of hope mixed with fear. 

“Do you trust me, Evan?” 

Chapter Text

Afton household’s living room – later that night...  

Contrary to popular belief, Michael Afton didn’t hate his little brother. Maybe he hated how the kid acted—always trying to draw attention to himself, making Michael feel guilty even when he’d done something wrong, putting on a nice-guy act even though Michael could sense his resentment. That was the thing: they were never meant to be close. Michael was rough around the edges, while Evan was sensitive and soft. They clashed by nature. But despite it all, Michael didn’t hate Evan, the person. Sometimes, he could even tolerate his presence. 

But today wasn’t one of those times. 

Because if there was one thing Michael hated about his little brother, it was how easily Evan could get him into trouble. 

Michael was sprawled on the couch, zoning out to the TV as a masked killer raised his knife on screen, ready to unleash a bloodbath. He barely noticed the world around him—until, suddenly, the screen went black. 

His confusion quickly snapped to anger. He knew exactly who’d done it. 

“What the hell, Ev—” he started, whipping around. But his words died in his throat. 

William stood behind him, his expression cold and unreadable. Somehow, he seemed even taller, his face shadowed, his eyes like steel. 

“What did you just say?” William’s voice was dangerously low. 

Michael’s mouth went dry. “N-nothing, sir. Sorry dad, I... I though...” 

His father’s face stayed hard, unwavering. “Good. Now get the fuck out of my sight.” 

Michael scrambled to his feet, relief rushing through him. Maybe this wouldn’t turn into shit— 

His stomach dropped as he felt his father’s hand grip his shoulder—not enough to hurt, but firm enough to make a point. Michael’s face fell. 

“No, actually…” William’s voice was tight with irritation. “I’ll make us dinner.” 

Michael stammered, “I—I’ll go get Evan—” 

“Don’t,” William said flatly.  

And with that, the conversation was over. 

... 

If there was anything more terrifying than his father’s rage, it was William pretending to be a caring father. Michael kept his eyes glued to the table, leg shaking to hide his trembling hands as his stomach twisted with anxiety. Around William, he felt small and weak—always. And William seemed to enjoy it, feeding off his fear. 

They both knew why they were here, but no one acknowledged it. 

“So, how was your day, Michael?” William asked casually, placing two plates of leftover pasta into the microwave. 

Michael didn’t let himself think about the food. This wasn’t about sharing a meal. He could feel it. 

“Uh... it was fine, I guess,” Michael replied, his voice barely above a mumble. “How about...” He stopped himself, realizing too late how wrong the question sounded. A mistake. William’s eyes narrowed, just slightly, but enough to make Michael’s heart pound. 

“...my day?” William repeated, his voice laced with bitterness that made Michael’s skin prickle. But instead of the explosion he feared, his father only turned, setting a steaming plate in front of him. 

“Paperwork, mostly,” William said smoothly, though his voice carried an edge. “While your uncle fixed up one of the animatronics.” 

Michael’s brow furrowed. All the animatronics were usually on stage; who would need fixing? But before he could ask, he saw William’s hand tighten around his fork, knuckles white. 

“But then,” his father continued, eyes darkening as he looked directly at Michael, “I got a call.” 

Michael felt his mouth go dry. “W-what...” 

He froze as his father’s stare pinned him in place. Panic surged through him, and he struggled to think of an excuse, a way out. 

“Thanks... for the food, it’s... really nice, but—” 

“Don’t you fucking move,” William snapped, his voice low and dangerous. 

Michael sank back into his seat, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run. But William’s eyes were locked on him, and he knew there was no escape. 

The silence in the room was thick, like the calm before a storm. 

“You made a scene, didn’t you? Again...” William’s voice cut through the air, calm but charged, a quiet warning that made Michael’s stomach twist. 

Michael’s fists clenched tight. “I... It wasn’t my fault! I wanted to... I...” But he couldn’t find the words. His voice faltered. 

William’s steps were slow, deliberate, as he moved toward Michael, his eyes cold and calculating, like a predator closing in on wounded prey. Michael’s gaze flickered instinctively to his father’s hands—relieved, if only barely, that they were empty. For now. 

“You wanted what, exactly?” William's voice was low, mocking. “To get rid of him? You hate your brother, don’t you?” 

Michael felt his pulse pounding in his ears. The words caught in his throat. He wanted to shout back, to fight—but the weight of his father’s stare pinned him down, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I... I don’t hate him,” he whispered. 

“Oh, but you do,” William hissed. “You want to take him from me, don’t you? You want to destroy him, like you nearly did with—” 

“DON’T SAY IT!” Michael’s voice broke as he shoved his father back, his eyes stinging with tears he didn’t want to shed. The surge of anger left his chest tight, breathless. He hadn’t thought. He hadn’t planned. He’d just... snapped. 

William staggered back a step, surprise flashing across his face, before it hardened into something cold and merciless. Michael didn’t have time to process his mistake before his father’s fist connected with his cheek, pain exploding across his face. 

“That,” William snarled, his voice dripping with venom, “is for bullying my son.” 

Michael’s head spun, pain and shock merging into a sickening haze as blood dripped from his nose. But before he could even draw a breath, another blow struck him, this time harder, knocking the taste of iron into his mouth. 

“And that,” William continued, his tone chillingly calm, “is for embarrassing my name in front of my customers.” 

Michael collapsed to the floor, the room tilting around him as he coughed, blood pooling on his tongue. Through the blur, he caught a glimpse of William, standing over him with a look of utter disdain before turning and walking away, leaving Michael sprawled and broken on the cold floor. 

... 

A week later...  

When he wasn’t at school, Michael locked himself in his room for days, avoiding his brother completely. He hadn’t even mocked him once since... that night. In fact, he’d started ignoring him altogether. And it wasn’t so bad. Evan didn’t cling to him anymore, and Michael should’ve been happy about that. Right? But, for some reason, it hurt. There was something unsettling about how easily his little brother had pulled away. The kid had become distant—too distant. And that felt wrong. It felt strange, even, that his baby brother wasn’t trying to get his attention anymore. 

But then Michael would always remember the reason he had been punched by their father. The anger, the frustration, the sense of injustice—everything came rushing back. The hurt shifted into resentment. And all those confused feelings boiled inside of him. 

“Who the hell is that?” Michael muttered to himself, hearing a voice he didn’t recognize in the hallway. 

It was a child’s voice, cheerful and light, mixed with Evan’s, who… seemed to have a similar tone? Michael frowned, trying to place it. Wait... was that Evan’s friend? Did they actually come over? 

He wasn’t ready to leave his room yet, but curiosity gnawed at him. So, he quietly stepped out, creeping into the empty hallway. 

From downstairs, he heard Evan’s voice again. “So... huh… you guys want to watch TV?” 

“Sure, why not?” 

Michael’s stomach churned. That was enough. He didn’t need to go down there. He could already feel the familiar sting of irritation rising. He remembered how William had yelled at him when Jeremy used to sneak over. The constant sense that he was never enough, that he was always the disappointment. His father’s least favorite.  

But this... this was different. Wasn’t it? His brother, so... happy? Evan was always so quiet, so reserved. For him to be this cheerful, talking to someone else so easily, it felt so unfamiliar. Michael’s mind raced. He had never seen Evan so... at ease. 

But something didn’t add up. Michael thought back to when he humiliated Evan, made him look pathetic in front of everyone. If that had really hurt Evan, why was he acting this way now? Why was he so calm with his friend? Had he really gotten over it that quickly? 

The irritation turned into a bitter knot in Michael’s stomach. 

He moved downstairs, his footsteps deliberate, though the tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. He expected to find his brother upset, maybe even hiding his feelings behind that fake cheer. Michael was sure Evan missed him—the way he always did, even if he didn’t show it as much anymore. After all, Evan couldn’t go a day without wanting his big brother around. 

But this? This felt off. So off. 

As Michael pretended to go get water, he stayed just close enough to watch. His brother was smiling. And it wasn’t one of those fake smiles Evan always put on when Michael asked if he was okay, despite the bruises and scratches he hid. No, this one was different. This was the kind of smile that said, I’m so happy my friends are here . 

Michael paused, a tight knot forming in his chest. What was going on here? 

“Wait... did your father make the drawings?” asked the kid with ginger hair, voice curious. 

Evan giggled. The kind of laugh that sent a chill down Michael’s spine. Something didn’t sit right with him. It wasn’t a real laugh, not one Michael had heard from Evan in ages. It felt off, too forced. 

“Uh... no... I mean... I could ask him, but I don’t think so. He’s too busy... huh... building the animatronics, I guess...” Evan said, his voice trailing off. 

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. His little brother was talking about their dad in front of his friend... like it was normal. Their dad building animatronics . Did Evan just drop that bomb? 

“Don’t say that” the boy with glasses grinned, “Fritz doesn’t know they’re robots. He’d get all sad if he knew Foxy’s just a piece of metal.” 

“Sure, Bonnie boy,” Fritz shot back with a laugh. 

And Evan? He laughed too. It was a bright, easy laugh. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he heard Evan laugh like that. Genuinely laugh, not the sad, awkward kind he put on for his brother. 

Michael’s hand tightened around the doorframe, his knuckles turning white. 

“Did he fall on his head?” Michael muttered under his breath, his voice slipping out before he could stop it. The words burned his tongue as soon as they left. 

For a moment, the laughter stopped. The air in the room thickened. Evan’s smile faltered just slightly, but only for a second. Did he hear? Did they all hear? 

The laughter and chatter fell silent. 

Oh, this was awkward. Evan acted like Michael wasn’t even there, brushing him off and turning back to his friends, picking up on the conversation about cartoons. But Michael could see the shift in the room. His friends were starting to look uneasy. They all knew how Michael treated his brother, especially after witnessing it back at the pizzeria. They probably saw him as the mean big brother—the bully. And, honestly? Maybe he deserved it. But he hated it. 

Most older siblings found joy in their younger ones’ happiness. But Michael wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like Evan. He was selfish, so selfish that seeing his brother so happy, so unbothered by him... it made his stomach twist. He was his big brother, for god’s sake! He should still matter. But here was Evan, acting like he didn’t even exist. 

“Evan?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, steady, anything but hurt. 

Evan turned, and Michael caught the flicker of unease that crossed his face, the subtle way his smile faded, just for a second. 

“What do you want?” Fritz cut in, his voice sharp and protective. 

Michael clenched his fists, the resentment bubbling up. Who did these kids think they were? They needed to understand who was in charge when William wasn’t home. He was. 

He forced a smile, swallowing his pride. “Listen here, you little—” 

“Fine. I’ll talk to him.” Evan’s voice cut through, surprising everyone. He stood up, his tone tired and reluctant. “Wait here,” he told his friends, giving them a reassuring nod before following Michael out of the room. 

Michael could feel his heart racing, his mind spinning with emotions he couldn’t quite place. For a moment, it was just the two of them, and he felt an odd mixture of frustration and desperation welling up inside. What had he really wanted to say? What had he really wanted from Evan? 

Michael grabbed Evan’s arm, but Evan yanked it back sharply. 

“You don’t need to hold me, Michael. I’m not running away,” Evan said, his voice steady. 

Michael led him into his room, shutting the door so his friends wouldn’t overhear. He glanced back at Evan, half-expecting to see that hopeful look, the way his little brother’s eyes used to light up whenever Michael didn’t push him away. But this time? All he saw was impatience. 

“You trying to get yourself killed?” Michael asked, voice low and biting. 

Evan frowned. “Did you bring me here just to beat me up?” he asked calmly, almost like he’d heard it all before. 

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Wha—no! Of course not...” 

“Then what do you want, Michael?” Evan’s piercing blue gaze cut right through him, his little brother suddenly more confident, more... something Michael couldn’t put his finger on. 

“Are you kidding me? Dad’s going to flip when he finds out about this,” Michael hissed. 

Evan just shook his head. “Dad already said yes. Can I go now?” 

Michael scoffed. “No, he didn’t.” 

“Think about it. What day is it?” Evan asked, crossing his arms. 

“Saturday,” Michael mumbled, confused. 

“Exactly. Dad starts work at 1 PM. My friends came at 10. It’s been hours, sorry but I’m not dead.” Evan’s face was calm, almost mocking. 

Michael’s mouth fell open. He tried to steady his voice. “Don’t you dare fucking....” 

“Why not?” Evan glared at him. “Let’s not pretend you don’t hate me.” 

Michael’s gaze dropped, struggling to hold his brother’s stare. 

“Dad used to…” he trailed off, but Evan cut him off with a hard laugh. 

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Evan said, his voice trying to be cold. “Maybe Dad just likes me more. You know, he gives us free arcade tickets. We even get the new Fazbear and Friends episodes before anyone else.” 

“Really?” Michael’s voice wavered; his own anger replaced with something painful. 

Evan’s eyes gleamed with a hint of triumph as he nodded, flashing a small grin before slipping out, leaving Michael alone confused, frustrated, and somehow, heartbroken. 

Chapter Text

October 1st , 1985 – Hurricane High School  

Michael spotted his school in the distance, hands shoved in his pockets. The campus was eerily quiet, a dead giveaway that he was late... again. He’d missed the bus, and honestly, running to make it on time didn’t seem worth the effort. Autumn had already kicked his ass, and today it was colder than yesterday—like the season itself was out to get him. As he reached the gate, some other kid who’d also slept in was getting out of his parents’ car. Of course, they wouldn’t make him walk in the cold. They had time to waste on their son... 

“Yeah, fuck you too, William,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the gate open. 

It was locked. Of fucking course, it was, because why wouldn’t it be? But it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Hell, this could be his excuse to skip class... again. He gave the gate one more shove, then gave up. 

His eyes narrowed as the other kid sent him a weird look, but then—well, fuck—he just pulled it, and it opened. Great. Just fucking great. Embarrassing as hell. 

But it didn’t end there. As soon as Michael stepped into the school, he was met with this asshole. Before his friends got him into trouble, he didn’t think much about the principal. But now… 

“School started twenty minutes ago,” the man said, his voice clipped and matter of fact. 

Michael barely stopped himself from asking why the fuck this guy was standing like a guard dog right in front of the door—especially today. 

“I have a justification, sir,” the other kid said, holding out a slip of paper with his parent’s signature. 

The principal nodded, waved him off, and let him head to class. And then there was Michael, left standing there alone. He bit down on his tongue, fighting the urge to speak up too quickly. He knew exactly what would happen if his words slipped out of his mouth. 

“Michael Afton. Why am I not surprised?” 

“Yeah, sorry, can I go now?” Michael asked, his tone edging toward annoyance. He wasn’t in the mood for a scene. 

“You must justify this. Your father signed the paper, right?” the principal asked, like it was all that mattered. 

Michael clenched his jaw, doing his best not to snap. Of course, it was always about his father—his name. Afton. He wasn’t Michael, he was just Afton’s son. Everyone in town seemed to be jealous of his father, one of the richest men in town, and it felt like they’d all turned their frustrations toward him, the son. Why not? He was an easy target. 

Michael sighed. 

“No, he didn’t. Sorry, okay? I...” 

But there was nothing to say, was it? He got sent to class, with a warning. Next time, it would be detention. A detention that he would gladly skip.  

... 

All eyes snapped to Michael as he walked into class. He muttered a half-assed apology, not even looking at his teacher, and slumped into the back seat next to Jeremy Fitzgerald. He could almost feel the teacher's glare burning through him, but she didn’t say anything, thankfully. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with that shit. 

Jeremy flashed him a grin, the kind that said, Come on, man... But Michael didn’t respond—hell, he didn’t even look at him. He was too pissed to talk. 

“Evan didn’t want to get up again?” Jeremy joked. 

Shit. He didn’t want to talk about his brother right now. He didn’t want to get worked up, especially not in front of Jeremy, who had a way of making everything feel lighter. But Michael wasn’t like that—he wasn’t the type to fake a smile, not when he was pissed. 

Silence hung between them, but Jeremy tried to keep it light, pushing through with his usual cheerfulness. 

“I know your dad’s gonna kill you if you don’t bring him to school, but seriously... you should try to—” 

“It’s not about him!” Michael snapped, more sharply than he intended. 

It was always easier to lash out at nice people. Not right, but easier. That was the shortest conversation they'd ever had. 

"Mr. Afton," the old bitch’s cold voice cut through the tension. "Don’t you dare come late to my class and cause this much disruption. Here, now." She pointed to a seat at the front, her face twisted in irritation. 

Great. Now he was going to sit next to an empty chair, not even the nerds sat there. 

... 

Meanwhile...  

It had been weeks, and Evan almost forgot what it felt like to sit alone. His cheeks felt different, like there was no sad expression on his face anymore. Today, they were doing something fun, but that wasn’t the only reason he felt more like a normal kid. He was smiling, laughing, and talking without stuttering. Sure, his dark circles were still there, and he still felt overly aware of everything around him, but something had changed. He felt normal now. 

“Okay class, today’s theme will be animals,” the teacher said. 

“Animals? Cool...” Gabriel said, pulling out his pencil. 

Evan smiled and nodded, getting his things ready. 

“Alright, first you’ll imagine the animal and then find a photo. For this row, you’ll draw a wolf. This one will be a bear, and for this one... you’ll try a fox.” 

Evan didn’t like foxes, but he wouldn’t let it bother him. He had to focus. How would he draw a fox, though? Gabriel started sketching the body of his, and Evan thought he could just copy it. But as he watched, the teacher shot him a glare. Not wanting to get in trouble, Evan quickly looked away. But now, he couldn’t remember what foxes even looked like. 

Or did he? 

His thoughts drifted away as his hands started drawing the only image of a fox his mind could remember. He didn’t try to stop himself. He added the torn legs, the sharp teeth, the menacing eyes. He was drawing without thinking, his hands moving automatically, his eyes hollow, almost like he was reliving a memory. His smile was gone. 

... 

August 4 th , 1983, 2:45AM – Evan Afton's room...  

He was exhausted. The last three days had been the worst of his entire life, and yet, he had no idea that this would be his reality for years to come. The silence around him was suffocating—unnaturally loud in its stillness. The killing machines were near, but they didn’t make a single sound, except for the soft rhythm of their breathing. Were they real? Or was he just imagining it? He couldn’t say for sure. All he knew was that their presence loomed over him, a constant weight. He felt the danger, but he never saw them up close—just their towering shadows, or the eerie glow of their red eyes. 

His hand gripped the flashlight tightly, his fingers slick with sweat. He kept his sobs buried deep inside, refusing to let even the slightest sound escape. Something deep within him urged him to stay quiet. To listen. They couldn’t know he was there. He had to know they were. 

The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness, temporarily blinding the shadows that always seemed just out of reach—never close enough to see what they were doing, but always close enough to feel the threat they posed. 

As he rushed toward the door, a sudden gust of wind sent a cold shiver crawling down his spine. He froze, turning toward his closet. The door was slightly ajar. 

Evan’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as he slowly approached, the silence of the room pressing in on him. 

“I... I... it must be... b... broken,” he whispered to himself, trying to convince his trembling body that it was just his imagination. 

But when he shone the flashlight on the closet... 

... 

“Evan?” 

The boy didn’t respond. Gabriel’s smile faltered slightly as he noticed how serious Evan looked. The strange new confidence his friend had shown earlier—like a completely different person—was gone. In its place was the old Evan: distant, sad… afraid. 

Gabriel reached out and gently shook his shoulder. “Evan, are you okay?” 

Evan snapped back to reality, blinking rapidly as if waking from a dream. He looked down at what he was doing, his expression shifting to surprise—like he didn’t even recognize his own work. Gabriel glanced at the drawing, his eyes widening in shock. 

“Holy shit,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. The image was terrifying. 

Evan’s hands trembled as he sensed Gabriel staring, but he tried to shrug it off. His lips curled into a shaky smile, though panic was written all over his face. 

“I just... wanted to draw Foxy,” Evan said with a nervous laugh, trying to sound casual. 

But there was nothing funny about it. The drawing was grotesque—far too vivid, far too gory for something a nine-year-old could imagine. It looked real, like Evan had actually seen it. Gabriel’s stomach churned at the thought. 

Before he could say anything, Evan abruptly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Teacher, I need to go to the bathroom,” he said quickly, his voice uneven. 

Without waiting for permission, Evan grabbed something from his bag, slipped it into his coat pocket, and rushed out of the room. 

Gabriel sat frozen, staring at the doorway where his friend had disappeared. What the hell just happened? 

... 

Meanwhile...  

After what felt like a lifetime in the lunch line, Michael finally dropped his tray onto the table across from Jeremy. He was already in a bad mood, and waiting in that endless queue didn’t help. Neither did the faint ache of loneliness he’d felt earlier—God, that fucking sucked. Add to that his teacher’s overuse of perfume, which hung around him like a toxic cloud. Hell, it felt worse than breathing actual smoke. 

The cafeteria buzzed with noise, but Michael barely noticed. It wasn’t the chaos around them that bothered him—it was Jeremy. His friend wasn’t smiling like he usually did, and it grated on Michael’s nerves. He knew he was being an asshole again, letting his problems spill onto everyone else. But he wasn’t his brother—he didn’t care enough to keep it bottled up. 

“What’s going on, Mike?” Jeremy finally asked. His voice was soft, that damn nice tone he always had. 

Michael didn’t look up from his plate. Staring at his food felt safer. 

“Nothing, I...” He sighed, dragging out the words like they were painful. “My dad’s been a dick lately.” 

It wasn’t true, though. It wasn’t about William—Michael didn’t give a shit about his father. But it was easier to lie. Easier to say that than face the real reason he felt like crap. 

“What? What did he—” 

“Just drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about him right now,” Michael snapped, his voice low but edged with desperation. 

Jeremy didn’t look convinced, not this time. He sat back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Michael. From Jeremy’s perspective, Mr. Afton was... off. The man was strict, sure, maybe even harsh, but not to that extent. At least, not that he’d seen. 

“But it’s serious, Michael,” Jeremy said, his voice firm now. “You can’t just... ignore it. I mean, your bruise—it’s—he’s—” 

Fuck. Michael had completely forgotten about the bruise. The one that hadn’t fully healed and probably never would. Most people probably thought he got into some stupid fight—something typical for him. Not because he’d pissed off his brother a little too much. 

He shifted uncomfortably, stabbing at his food harder than before. “It’s nothing, Jeremy,” he muttered. 

But it wasn’t nothing, and they both knew it. 

As Jeremy was about to say something, he snapped his mouth shut, grinning and looking over Michael’s shoulder. Michael frowned, confused. 

“What?” 

When he turned around, he saw them . Great. Now he really had to shove his frustration down, because Jeremy? Fine, he could handle him. But them ? No fucking way. 

“Hey there, weirdos... why are you sitting all the way in the back? Don’t you wanna sit with our class?” Mark said, grinning like an idiot. 

Michael scoffed. 

“Yeah, sure, what kind of bullshit did you cook up this time?” 

“Calm down... what could we possibly do?” Simon said, shrugging. 

Michael raised an eyebrow. 

“Like last week when you dumped water in Arthur’s plate?” 

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad. Plus, he beat the shit out of me afterward, so I guess it’s... even?” Mark said, a little too casually. 

Michael frowned, glancing up. 

“You got in a fight too? Wow... who did you piss off?” Mark asked, his eyes landing on Michael's bruised cheek. 

Michael shot Jeremy a glare, the kind that said, “Don’t you fucking say anything.” He then nodded, looking away. 

“Whatever. I don’t wanna talk about it...” 

He froze when Mark and Simon slid into the seat next to him. No way in hell was he going to deal with this now. But actually, it wasn’t all bad—now Jeremy wouldn’t interrogate him. 

“Fine... but seriously, he really—” 

“Shut the hell up, Mark,” Jeremy interrupted, rolling his eyes. 

Mark stopped mid-sentence, sensing his friend’s mood. But he knew exactly how to bring it back to life. 

“Hey... by the way, isn’t your brother's birthday soon?” 

Meanwhile...  

Evan burst into the bathroom, his usual quiet demeanor completely shattered. He was a mess now, his face streaked with tears, eyes wide and frantic. His hands shook as he slammed the door behind him, checking every stall in a panic. Empty. He exhaled sharply, but it didn’t calm the storm inside. 

Not entirely alone. 

His trembling fingers dug into his pocket, pulling out his golden teddy bear—Fredbear. 

“F... Fredbear?” His voice was small, desperate. “I... I... can you tell me what to do?” His voice cracked, and he hugged the bear close to his chest, as if the plush toy could provide him the answers he so desperately sought. 

Fredbear stared back with cold, black eyes that would make most children uncomfortable. But for Evan, those eyes were a strange kind of comfort. They made him feel protected, like nothing could hurt him as long as the bear was near. But now, those eyes felt like they were staring through him, and Fredbear didn’t speak. 

Evan’s breathing quickened. He squeezed the bear tighter. “Come on! I need you! I... please !” he begged, his panic creeping higher, his chest tightening. 

Silence. 

Was Fredbear... dead? Did Evan break him? Had he somehow killed the only thing that could help him? His mind raced. 

Then, finally, the voice. 

“What is it, Evan?” 

Evan’s eyes welled up again, tears threatening to spill over. He let out a shaky, teary smile, his shoulders sagging in relief. 

“Sorry I yelled at you... I didn’t mean it...” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Evan,” Fredbear replied calmly, his voice steady. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

Evan glanced around nervously, making sure he was still alone, his voice trembling. “I... I did everything you said. I pretended like I didn’t care about Michael anymore. I... I pretended to be happy around them, like I didn’t care. I even... even go to Freddy’s after school when their parents let them... but... but... but...” He choked on his words, the tears returning in full force. 

Fredbear didn’t rush him. “Come on, Evan, calm down. Don’t stutter. Breathe with me. You’re okay.” 

Evan gave a sad, almost sarcastic laugh, wiping his eyes. “You can’t breathe... you’re a stuffed bear.” 

Fredbear forced a laugh back, though it didn’t hide the edge of concern. “Right, silly me... but seriously, what happened?” 

Evan’s eyes darted nervously. His chest tightened again. “We had... w... we had to draw a fox and... I... I drew Nightmare Foxy without even thinking. I’m so fucking stupid!” 

Fredbear’s tone shifted, a little more serious now. “Language, Evan. Who saw it?” 

“Gabriel... and... wait... I forgot it in class!” Evan’s panic skyrocketed. He ran his hands through his hair, trembling. 

Fredbear sighed, though it wasn’t a harsh one. More like a sigh of disappointment mixed with understanding. “Evan, Evan, Evan... how could you... screw that up so much?” 

Evan’s lips quivered as his fear overtook him. “Please... please tell me how to fix it. I don’t want to get bullied... I can’t... please...” His voice cracked again, the tears flowing freely now. 

“Okay, okay,” Fredbear said, a calm yet firm tone cutting through the storm. “First, shut the f... I mean... calm down. Breathe. Then, do you trust me, Evan?” 

Evan nodded frantically, clutching Fredbear even tighter, his voice almost a whisper. “W... With m... my life, Fredbear. I trust you.” 

Fredbear’s voice softened, but it was still filled with certainty. “Then maybe you can make them forget... forget that sad little episode. To your friends, at least.” 

Evan paused, the possibility slowly sinking in. “Wait... really?” 

“Yeah, really. Isn’t your birthday in two weeks, Evan? Why don’t you invite them all? Ask your dad to throw the biggest party ever?” 

Evan’s face lit up, his eyes widening in a way that hadn’t happened for weeks. “That’s... awesome, Fredbear! Wow... I... I can’t even...” He started pacing, his mind already working through the idea, trying to picture it. “Wait... last time I had a party at the restaurant I—” 

Fredbear cut him off, his tone a little sharper now. “And that’s why I told you to make sure your brother knows you’re not his pushover anymore. See? I always plan ahead.” 

Evan’s face softened, a genuine smile breaking through the panic. He hugged Fredbear close to his chest, holding him tight. “You’re the best.” 

Chapter Text

October 2nd, 1985 – A quiet park on the edge of the Afton neighborhood  

Everything around him felt empty, the fog hanging heavy, making the world seem even more distant. It was the kind of day meant for staying inside—watching TV, sipping hot chocolate, curled up on the couch, staring out the window at nothing. No kid would want to be alone in the cold, would they? But there he was—just one boy sitting still on the swing, his head lowered, lost in his own thoughts. 

He didn’t even hold his teddy bear anymore. His arms were empty. 

Today wasn’t a day for happiness... Today was... special, but in a way that hurt. And Evan promised he’d never forget. Michael promised too, but somehow, he had forgotten. Their dad... he never made any promise at all. And their mom? She was long gone from their lives, like she never cared. So, Evan was the only one left, carrying the weight of it all on his own. 

Despite his bond with his plush, Evan never really liked the color yellow. It was way too bright. It didn’t fit him... But she made him a yellow one anyway, believing that maybe it would make him less mopy. He had been a good brother and accepted it. But now? He didn’t even know how to feel about the color anymore. 

A sharp bark broke the silence, jolting Evan out of his thoughts. Before he even had time to react, something shot past him, brushing against his legs at full speed. His body tensed, his heart racing as the swing jolted wildly beneath him. He nearly toppled forward, face-first onto the hard ground, his hands gripping the chains in panic. 

But just as he braced for impact, the swing stopped abruptly. So did his heart. His breath came in shallow gasps as he tried to steady himself, the world spinning for a moment. It was only after a few seconds, as his chest heaved, that he noticed her—a girl standing right in front of him, holding the swing steady. She had caught it, stopping him from embarrassing himself completely. 

She smiled softly, a faint flush creeping across her cheeks, while Evan just stared into her bright blue eyes. He didn’t look angry, just surprised—and maybe a little dazed. 

“Sorry, my dog, he... well…” she started awkwardly, trailing off as her gaze shifted to the dog darting around the park. She didn’t bother chasing after it, though, her attention lingering on Evan instead. 

Evan’s eyes followed the dog for a moment. Normally, he was afraid of anything with sharp teeth—dogs included—but this one seemed different. It didn’t bark aggressively or lunge. It just ran, full of energy, like it didn’t have a care in the world. 

“What’s his name?” Evan mumbled, his voice barely audible. 

The girl blinked in surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to speak. But then her lips curled into a smile, warm and genuine. 

“Sparky,” she said, giggling a little. 

Evan’s lips twitched into a faint smile too, though it wasn’t quite happy—more bittersweet, like something heavy still lingered in his chest. He looked down quickly, his fingers gripping the chains of the swing. That day was still weighing on him, making it hard to push past his shyness, his fear, to talk to… this girl. 

“I only come when I’m sure there’s... no one around,” she admitted softly, her voice breaking the stillness of the park. “Because... well... I don’t think dogs are really allowed here, but, you know... as long as no one sees me...” She smiled, a little sheepish, her gaze flicking to the dog that sat by her feet. 

Evan nodded, unsure how to respond. God, why was he so bad at this? Talking to girls wasn’t something he did. Ever. Except for Liz, of course, but that didn’t count. He tried to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry, and words just... didn’t come. 

“But I... I didn’t think anyone else would actually be here,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. Then, without hesitation, she lowered herself onto the swing beside him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d known each other for years. 

Evan’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he stared down at his scuffed shoes. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he hoped to God she didn’t notice. After a few moments of silence, she leaned forward, reaching down for something on the ground. 

“Is this yours?” she asked, holding up a yellow bracelet, her head tilted in curiosity. 

Evan’s stomach dropped. His eyes widened as he stared at it. Oh no. Oh god, this was so embarrassing. Bracelets were for girls, weren’t they? What was she going to think of him? He could already feel the panic bubbling under his skin, his face burning as if it were on fire. 

“N-no, it’s not mine,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He locked his gaze back on his shoes, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. 

The girl turned the bracelet over in her hands, inspecting it. “It looks like mine,” she murmured, her voice tinged with a distant sadness. “Except mine’s pink. My... huh... my best friend made it for me.” 

Evan’s breath caught. He lifted his head slightly, just enough to glance at her. His chest felt tight, like his heart was clawing its way up his throat. This couldn’t be real. Could it? 

“Y-your best friend?” he asked, his voice trembling. 

She smiled faintly, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “Yeah... she had this phase where she loved making bracelets for everyone. Even for her brothers,” she said with a quiet laugh, though it sounded hollow. “It only lasted a week, though. After that, she got obsessed with... well, some creepy clown animatronic or something.” 

Evan froze. The pieces were falling into place, and it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. This wasn’t just any girl. This was Susie—his sister’s best friend. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and he had to fight to keep his breathing steady. Act normal, Evan. Act normal. 

But he couldn’t stop himself. There was something he had to know. 

“How... how were her brothers?” he asked hesitantly, his voice barely audible. 

Susie’s expression shifted, her brow furrowing slightly as she thought. “One of them...” She paused, biting her lip. “Well, he wasn’t really nice,” she admitted carefully. 

Evan’s stomach churned. Of course. She hated him. She probably thought he was weak, pathetic, useless. Just like everyone else did. 

“But her little brother,” Susie continued, her voice softening, “from what Liz used to say... he was kind. Sweet. Quiet. As if he was the best little brother in the whole world.” 

Evan felt his throat close up. The tears he’d been holding back blurred his vision. She didn’t know. She didn’t realize she was talking about him. But hearing her words, hearing what his sister had thought of him, it broke something inside him. The tears spilled over, and he couldn’t stop them. 

Not anymore. 

Susie’s eyes widened for a moment, her fingers hovering just above his wrist. She had expected something, but not this. She studied him closely, confusion and concern flickering across her face. The air between them felt heavy, like something important was about to break free, but neither of them knew what to say. 

Evan swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing, and wiped at his eyes, doing his best to control the sudden flood of emotions. He had spent so long hiding, trying to move on, pretending everything was fine. But right now, with Susie looking at him with those eyes—soft, understanding, yet confused—he couldn’t keep up the act any longer. He was too tired.

“The... the bracelet, it’s... it... it’s mine...” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His breath hitched, and he sniffled, the words feeling like they were ripping him open. "It was hers... It’s... it’s from Elizabeth." 

Susie’s expression softened instantly, and she took a small step back, her hand now gently offering the bracelet to him. The weight of her sympathy stung, but it also felt comforting in a way that almost made him want to break down right then and there. 

Evan hesitated. He had imagined this moment in so many ways, but never like this. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, how to make this right, how to make her understand. He didn’t even know if he could. 

But before he could even decide what to do, Susie took the bracelet from her hand and, without a word, slipped it onto his wrist. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and it felt like something inside him shifted, something both familiar and heartbreaking. He looked down at the yellow bracelet—his sister’s gift—and something in his chest broke wide open. 

"You... knew Elizabeth?" she asked softly, her voice quieter now, as she kept her gaze on his wrist. 

Evan felt his throat tighten again. How could he even explain? How could he tell her what it felt like to watch his sister slip away, to lose her and then live with the silence she left behind? How could he say all the things he had buried for so long, when she was the last person, he thought would ask? 

He wanted to scoff, to tell her how he used to see her every day, how he missed her, how... but he couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat, too heavy to speak. 

Instead, he sighed deeply. 

 “I... I’m Evan... Evan Afton...”. 

Chapter Text

October 3rd , 1985 – Fitzgerald household...  

Michael was somewhat silent, while his friends were talking in Jeremy’s room. His mother gladly allowed them to get over, as she was now baking cookies. Jeremy got a little embarrassed, when about it, since his mom still sometimes treat him like a child, even at sixteen... but Michael didn’t mind. Mark and Simon neither... in fact, they had something else in mind.  

“You guys really don’t have any idea...?” Mark asked, his voice tinged with disappointment. 

Jeremy shrugged, while Simon fell quiet, thinking. 

“I mean... he’s still scared of those stupid machines, right, Michael?” 

Michael knew exactly where this conversation was going. He couldn't say he wasn’t curious, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea. It was just different—last time, he’d been the one pushing for it, but now, he was just along for the ride. Still, as Mark grinned, Michael could feel a tightness in his chest. Something told him they were about to go further than they should. 

“Come on, man, is he scared or not?” Mark pressed. 

Michael rolled his eyes, leaning forward as he spoke with more conviction. 

“Of course, he’s scared. What the hell do you think?” he snapped, his voice sharper than before. “I mean, he’s still a fucking baby.” 

Mark’s eyes lit up, and he nodded thoughtfully. 

“We really need to scare the crap out of him. This’ll be the best birthday ever for him...” Simon said, his laugh edged with something darker. 

“Yeah, right, Michael?” Jeremy added, nudging his best friend, as if waiting for a response. 

Michael shot him a glance, the hesitation gone from his voice now. 

“Sure. Whatever,” he said with a quick, half-smirk, shrugging it off. “If that’s what you want, let’s do it.” 

Michael knew he shouldn’t. He knew Evan didn’t deserve whatever they were planning. But God, he was still pissed at his brother for talking back to him. Right now, he couldn’t bring himself to feel sympathy. He just wanted to show Evan who was in control, even though deep down, he knew it could end bad for him, with a broken nose, because fuck William. 

“We could... lock him in after hours,” Jeremy suggested, his voice low. 

Mark shook his head, dismissing the idea. 

“Nah, plus we won’t even get his real reactions. And the machines are probably off. The little shit will just cry himself to sleep under a table,” he said, chuckling at the thought. 

Michael’s gaze sharpened at the insult toward Evan. It cut deeper than he expected. Even though he was angry, something about hearing it from Mark made him uncomfortable. 

“Yeah... well, if that Fredbear robot is in storage, we could bring him in with the others,” Simon suggested, his grin widening. “I mean, Afton made others, right? Which one does Evan like best?” 

Before Michael could answer, Mark cut in, his tone dark and taunting. 

“Maybe the little man could take a trip to good ol’ Pirate’s Cove,” he said, his voice laced with mockery. 

Michael’s stomach churned at the thought. The fear it would cause... he’d seen Evan’s terrified face before. But this time, it wasn’t about that. It was about proving something. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. 

He sighed heavily. He wasn’t even sure anymore. The plan felt more like a blur—wrong, but somehow right, and it felt like he didn’t have the choice to back out now. He didn’t want to be the one to stop it. He didn’t want to be called weak. He could tell himself a thousand reasons why it was a bad idea, but the idea of standing down made him feel smaller than Evan ever had. 

“Okay, I’m in,” Michael muttered, his voice uncertain, though he tried to hide it behind a forced confidence.  

This was it—the last confirmation. There was no backing out now. Michael could see it in their faces: the glint in Mark’s eyes, Simon’s crooked grin, Jeremy’s silent but eager nod. They were all in, and that meant he was, too. It didn’t matter that his stomach churned with doubt or that the words he’d just said felt like splinters in his throat. He had committed. 

Their grins widened, smug and full of anticipation, and Michael felt like he was sinking. Bloody hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this unsure. William’s blows—the bruises, the stinging pain—those didn’t even matter anymore. He was used to that by now. What twisted the knife was knowing he’d hurt Evan again, knowing it was his choice to do it. 

Would Evan hate him for this? Probably. Who was he kidding? Evan already hated him. Michael knew he deserved it. He’d been a terrible brother, and nothing he did seemed to change that. Two years ago, he’d scared Evan so badly the kid had barely functioned for months afterward, shaking and jumping at shadows like a skittish animal. And here he was, about to make it worse. Did he care? 

Maybe. Maybe not. He couldn’t even tell anymore. 

“Alright... I’m gonna get some air,” Michael muttered, standing abruptly. 

He didn’t wait for their response. He couldn’t stand to be in the room a second longer, the weight of their stares pressing down on him like a stone slab. He headed downstairs, his feet moving faster than his thoughts, the air thick and stifling as he descended. 

But as he reached the bottom step, he stopped dead in his tracks. Mrs. Fitzgerald stood there, a tray of freshly baked cookies in her hands. Great. Just great. Of all the people he could run into, it had to be her. 

Michael forced a faint smile, but it felt like a grimace. Without Jeremy or the others around to fill the silence, the awkwardness clung to him like a second skin. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping she wouldn’t notice the tension in his face. 

She noticed. Of course, she did. 

Her brows knit together, her head tilting slightly as she studied him. “You okay, Michael?” she asked, her voice soft, careful. 

The question hit him like a punch to the chest. Michael hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. That tone—gentle, warm—it cut through him in a way he didn’t expect. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him like that, like they cared. Like a mom would. 

God, he missed that. He missed having someone who cared, someone who made him feel like more than a screw-up. But his own mom had decided they weren’t good enough for her. She was gone, and he’d stopped waiting for her to come back a long time ago. 

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he shuffled awkwardly. “J-just wanted to... get some air,” he mumbled. The words came out haltingly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Mrs. Fitzgerald’s frown deepened, but she didn’t push. She simply nodded, her concern lingering in her eyes as she watched him. Michael couldn’t take it. He slipped past her, ending the conversation before it could begin.  

... 

The school playground was loud— too loud. It always was. The place felt far too small for so many kids crammed into it. Most didn’t seem to care—except for the teachers, of course—but today, Evan really wished it could all just stop. His head throbbed, and the noise made it worse. All he wanted was some peace, maybe even a nap. But real sleep? A full night of it? That wasn’t going to happen. Not today. Not ever. 

He’d stopped hoping for that a long time ago. Still, enduring it was getting harder. He forced himself to keep going, as he always did—putting on a fake smile, drinking coffee he didn’t even like, and willing himself to push through. Just a few more days, he told himself. If he could hold out until the weekend, he could sleep for hours—maybe even all day. 

Right now, the other kids were playing tag. Fritz had come up with the idea, of course. Evan liked him well enough, but sometimes he wished Fritz could just sit still . With a shaky sigh, Evan stood up. 

“Y-yeah, let’s play,” he said, stifling a yawn. 

Gabriel frowned, giving him a skeptical look. “You sure? You don’t look so great.” 

Jeremy, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Do you even sleep at night?” he asked, clearly worried. 

Evan sat back down almost immediately. His vision blurred, and his thoughts felt jumbled. He couldn’t even think straight anymore. If he wasn’t careful, he might blurt out something he shouldn’t. 

Fritz stopped running around and glanced over, his usual playful tone replaced with unease. “D-do you really get nightmares about... uh... monsters?” 

Evan opened his mouth to answer, but another yawn overtook him. Before he could say anything, something in the distance caught his attention. His eyes snapped open. His friends looked at him, confused, but he didn’t care—his gaze was locked on something far off. 

“Evan?” Gabriel asked, waving a hand in front of his face. 

They followed his line of sight and saw what had him so distracted—a group of girls. Then, they glanced back at Evan, whose face was already turning red. Fritz smirked knowingly, but Jeremy shot him a glare, silently warning him to keep it to himself. 

Evan, however, couldn’t tear his gaze away, especially from one girl in particular. Susie. He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but she crossed his mind more often than he wanted to admit. Maybe it was because she reminded him of his sister—her kindness, her laugh. Or maybe it was something else entirely, though he’d never let himself go there. 

Then it happened. Her bright blue eyes caught his, and Evan’s heart skipped a beat. He panicked, quickly looking away as if it would erase what just happened. His cheeks burned, and he cursed himself silently. Why was he always the one to screw up like this? 

Of course, his friends didn’t miss a thing. Fritz’s smirk grew wider, and Evan could feel the teasing coming, but for once, Jeremy kept him in check. Still, Evan slouched in embarrassment, wishing the ground would just swallow him up. 

“So... who’s the lucky girl?” Fritz asked, grinning slyly. 

“Huh... what do you mean?” Evan frowned, his voice defensive. 

“Well... you know what I mean,” Fritz teased, nudging him lightly. 

“She was my sister’s friend... I... I just find her nice, I guess,” Evan muttered, turning his gaze away to avoid their eyes. 

“Nice, you say? But what else...” Fritz pressed, his smirk growing. 

“Fritz, for god’s sake, knock it off. You’re making it even more awkward for him,” Jeremy snapped, crossing his arms. 

Gabriel chimed in, his tone softer. “Yeah, I mean... if you like her, you should talk to her. But... uh... maybe get some sleep first. You’ll sound a little silly if you’re half-asleep.” 

Evan yawned in response, a long, tired sigh escaping him. His body was giving up on him, no matter how much he tried to push through. He slumped slightly, rubbing his eyes. Yep, he was done. His exhaustion had won, and at this point, there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

... 

After a while, they had to head back to class, and all Evan could do was watch Susie from a distance, too shy to say anything. Did she know about the bullying he went through last year? If she did, would she still want to talk to him? He didn’t want to upset her, but at the same time... 

His heart told him to speak up. 

He was unsure, as always. Lately, whenever he felt this way, he’d retreat to some quiet place to think... but this time... 

“Where are you going?” Gabriel asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Huh... I need to grab something from my locker,” Evan mumbled before quickly walking off. 

He was probably going to be late, but he didn’t really care. Once he reached his locker, he made sure no one was around, then pulled Fredbear out of his bag. 

“F... Fredbear?” 

The bear took a moment to respond, almost as if it was still asleep. 

“What do you need, Evan?” Fredbear asked, his voice slow and tired. 

Evan blushed. “I... I need to ask you something.” 

Fredbear’s dark eyes locked on him, waiting for him to speak, but he didn’t rush him. 

“So... there’s this girl, and...” Evan began, his voice unsure. 

“A girl? What the... You really did it, Evan?” Fredbear whispered-shouted, sounding surprised. 

“Wha... No! Of course not... did what?” 

“Get a girlfriend,” Fredbear said casually. 

Evan’s eyes widened. It was the first time either of them had ever said that. He was pretty sure it wasn’t like that, though. 

“Fredbear! I... I don’t say stuff like that!” Evan said, flustered. 

“Fine, fine. So, what do you want to know?” 

“Should I... talk to her? I mean, I... had some kids picking on me last year. What if she doesn’t want to...” 

“Evan, Evan, Evan, you’re overthinking again...” Fredbear said gently. 

“I am?” 

“Yeah, you are. Have you talked to her yet?” 

“Y... yeah...” Evan mumbled. 

“Did she seem to hate you?” 

“No, but...” 

“Then go ahead. Be proud of yourself. If you succeed, you might get one before Michael does,” Fredbear teased, almost smirking. 

Evan couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“How do you know?” he asked, smiling. 

“I...” 

Before Evan could respond, a hand grabbed his plush, snapping him back to reality. Despite his exhaustion, his senses sharpened, and his body tensed with fear. It was Andrew, of course—the kid who seemed to enjoy making Evan feel small. 

“Wow, didn’t know the little weirdo talked to his plush,” Andrew sneered. 

Evan’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I… shut up, and give it back,” he demanded, his voice shaky. 

Andrew stepped closer, towering over him, his confidence radiating. Evan, on the other hand, was a mess of nerves and exhaustion, barely holding it together with caffeine. Andrew glanced at the plush, as if deciding something, then smirked. 

“You even got the rare Fredbear plush. How much did it cost? Over a thousand tickets? Jeez, why would I give it back?” Andrew taunted. 

“Because it’s mine!” Evan almost screamed, his desperation rising. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Fredbear. 

Andrew raised an eyebrow and chuckled, amused by Evan’s distress. “Cry about it.” 

Evan lunged forward, but Andrew shoved him against the locker, trapping him. “No, you don’t,” he said, his voice low and threatening. 

“Get the hell off me, you… you son of a bitch!” Evan shouted, struggling to free himself. 

Andrew’s grin faltered, but he held his ground, not even flinching. “You clearly need to learn your place, you little shit. You don’t get to talk to—” 

Suddenly, Evan did something he didn’t expect. Without thinking, he bit down hard on Andrew’s forearm. 

Andrew recoiled, surprised by the sharp pain. “What the hell—” 

Evan instantly regretted it, but it was too late to take it back. His hands trembled as he backed away, his eyes fixed on Fredbear. 

“Please… no,” Evan mumbled, his voice cracking with guilt and fear. 

Andrew, now furious, smirked cruelly and tossed Fredbear to the ground. But before he could stomp on it, something strange happened. Fredbear’s voice rang out, clear and sharp in the air. 

“You shouldn’t do that, Andrew,” the plush said, its eyes fixed on the bully. 

Andrew froze, a frown spreading across his face. “Did… did it just—” 

“Yes. I did,” Fredbear’s voice answered, calm but menacing. “Now get out of here before your toys start hunting you down. You remember what happened to the last kid who messed with Evan?” 

“I… I don’t—” Andrew stammered, unsure of what was happening. 

“His parents found his mangled body the next day,” Fredbear continued, the voice unshakable. 

“Wha… What?” Andrew’s face drained of color. 

“Yeah. That’s right,” Fredbear replied. “Now get the fuck out of my sight.” 

At the sound of those final words, Andrew turned and ran, leaving Evan and his plush in the hallway, alone. 

Chapter Text

October 3rd , 1985 – Fritz's front yard  

Fredbear had been calling all the shots for the past few days, but Evan didn’t mind. It felt good, like he wasn’t completely lost anymore. Fredbear had made good choices so far, so why disobey today? Why drag everyone to Freddy’s? Because they had to have fun there. They had to appreciate the place—and him, the kid who owned the damn place. They had to like it. 

But they didn’t. And Evan didn’t complain. Deep down, though, he hated it too. But he had to do it. He had to prove that he cared, that he wanted them to stay. If they left, what was left? He was already the weird one. He’d end up sitting by himself, with no one but an empty chair in class. 

As these stupid thoughts swirled in his head, they finally reached their destination. Evan glanced away, trying not to focus on Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza across the street. 

Before he could dwell on it, he heard fingers snapping in front of him. 

“Y-yeah?” His eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, tried to focus on the figure in front of him. It was Fritz, grinning like he was about to spill the world’s most important secret. 

Jeremy, looking suspicious, gave him a deadpan stare. Gabriel, though, kept his grin. 

“So, I told you about the surprise, right?” Fritz asked, his grin widening. 

They nodded, barely remembering what he’d said, but they remembered the surprise part. Evan, of course, was silent as always, his mind foggy from exhaustion. But the silence dragged on until Jeremy sighed. 

“Are you gonna tell us or not?” he asked, exasperated. 

“Nah, nah, Bonnie boy, lemme think for a sec,” Fritz interrupted, holding a finger up like he was making a big decision. 

Jeremy rolled his eyes, clearly irritated by the nickname. He hated it. Ever since he admitted that Bonnie was the reason he’d always lowkey liked guitar, Fritz never let him live it down. But Jeremy was stuck with it now. It was just how things were. Besides, Bonnie was cool. Jeremy loved how sarcastic he was, always making things way funnier than they should be, unlike Freddy, who was always thinking with his ass. Or Chica, who was way too oblivious. And Foxy... well, Foxy was the villain, and they all loved him for it. 

“Oh, I know what it is. The surprise is in here,” Fritz said, dragging out the mystery. 

They all looked around. The yard was empty. Nothing special. Just a typical front yard. 

“Where?” Gabriel asked, clearly confused. 

“Well,” Fritz continued, “let’s say a pirate isn’t one without his ship.” 

The group fell into stunned silence. 

“No way,” Jeremy said, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t buy a ship with your parents' cash.” 

“Haha, maybe,” Fritz teased, barely holding back his laughter. 

“No,” Jeremy insisted. “There’s no water here, and you said the surprise was right here. I don’t buy it.” 

“Remember Foxy’s flying boat?” Fritz shot back with a grin. 

"Yeah, no sh... I mean... sure.” 

“Just look up,” Fritz said. 

They all looked up, and then... 

“Wait, you mean your treehouse?” Gabriel asked, sounding more confused than impressed. 

Fritz giggled. It was the answer, and Evan couldn’t help but smile. It was so stupid. 

“Yeah, see? My own ship!” Fritz said proudly. 

“It’s not even a surprise. I’ve already been there,” Jeremy stated, unimpressed. 

“You have?” Evan asked, his voice no longer wavering at the end. 

Jeremy immediately regretted it. It was weird to seem annoyed when, honestly, he was the only one who knew about the treehouse... for months now. 

“Whatever,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. 

... 

The treehouse was... small. Cozy, even. It wasn’t much, but at least it was warmer than the biting cold outside. Still, it felt unsettling, like the whole thing might give out beneath their feet. How had it lasted this long? Evan’s legs trembled as he glanced at the gaps in the wooden planks. The ground seemed so far below. 

“Built it with my own two hands,” Fritz announced proudly, puffing out his chest. 

No way. Evan didn’t buy it, and neither did Jeremy, who snorted under his breath. Gabriel, ever polite, just nodded, pretending to believe him. 

The place felt like a little cabin—quiet except for the occasional bird call and the creak of the boards beneath their weight. It was nothing like a real ship. No swaying, no movement, just the occasional icy breeze slipping through the cracks. Evan wandered to the window and peered out. From up here, he could see pieces of his own neighborhood scattered in the distance, shrouded in the dimming light of late afternoon. 

“So... who’s the enemy?” Gabriel broke the silence, a grin spreading across his face. 

Fritz rummaged through a pile of junk in the corner and pulled out a wooden sword. It was so corny it was almost embarrassing. 

“A real jerk,” Fritz said. 

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “What, you mean you?” 

“Shut up. Worse than me. Way worse. He’s all gold and has this smug, stupid grin every time he screws people over.” Fritz’s voice dipped lower. 

Evan frowned. “Fredbear?” 

“Nah, Fredbear’s cool,” Fritz said with a shrug. “I’m talking about him .” 

He turned and pointed at the wall. Pinned to it was a target with a crude drawing of Springbonnie in the center, riddled with tiny arrows. 

Evan stared at it. The goofy paper figure looked harmless enough, but something about it made his stomach churn.  

“Why does he have purple eyes?” Gabriel asked, squinting at the target like it might reveal some hidden meaning. 

Fritz shrugged, leaning casually against the wall. “You remember the cartoon, right? When he betrayed Fredbear to steal all his money, and Foxy helped Fredbear get back the booty? Well... he had purple eyes when he said "I ALWAYS COME BACK". I know, it’s weird, but villains are supposed to be weird, I guess.” 

“He had purple eyes?” Evan asked, his voice quiet but skeptical. He knew Springbonnie wasn’t always the nicest character, but this?

“Maybe he’s a zombie!” Fritz suggested, “Or... a magician. Or... huh... a serial killer !” 

Jeremy burst out laughing. “A serial killer? Him?” 

The others chuckled, but Evan stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the paper target. It was just a joke. Of course, it was just a joke... right? 

“I thought Foxy was doing battleships with Mangle,” Gabriel said, twirling Fritz’s wooden sword absentmindedly, as if testing its balance. 

Fritz nodded, rummaging through some old props. “Yeah, but it’s just for fun. They don’t actually try to sink each other’s ships.” 

“They’re kinda lovers, though, right?” Evan asked, hesitantly. He remembered nearly every episode of the cartoon. It wasn’t a coincidence that Foxy and Mangle never actually destroyed the other when they had the chance. There was even that one episode where Foxy’s ship sank, and Mangle saved him—only to lock him in a cage and mock him the whole time. 

Fritz snorted, laughing at the memory. His grin widened as he looked at Evan, who immediately regretted saying anything. He should’ve just the hell shut up. 

“Speaking of lovers...” Fritz started, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

Evan’s heart skipped a beat. No fucking way were they heading into that kind of conversation. He had to change the subject fast. His brain scrambled, trying to come up with something… anything. But everything was a blur, just a jumbled mess of thoughts. 

“Yeah, so… uh, wanna come to my birthday party?” he blurted out, trying to sound casual, cutting Fritz off mid-sentence. 

Silence. Evan’s mind raced, but he kept that same tired, forced smile plastered on his face. How the hell had he gotten this awkward? He was the son of the creator of Freddy Fazbear’s goddamn entertainment firm. He should’ve given them an invite card or something, made it sound like a big deal. Not just tossed it out like he was talking about the weather. 

"Sure, when is it?" Gabriel asked, his voice surprisingly light, like he wasn’t about to burst out laughing. 

Evan almost couldn’t believe it. They weren’t pissed. But Fredbear’s voice in the back of his head was still nagging him, reminding him that he had to earn their acceptance. He couldn’t let it slip away now. 

“Uh... I’ll do it at F... Freddy’s. It’s on the 14th,” Evan managed, the words feeling thick and forced as they scraped out of his throat. He tried to sound confident, but it was a struggle. 

The moment they started chatting about how cool it was gonna be, Evan realized there was no going back now... 

"But I thought you didn’t like the place…” Fritz said suddenly, his tone a little more serious. 

Evan, who had been zoning out and barely paying attention to the conversation, snapped back to reality. He looked up from where he’d been slumped in his chair, his head down. He really should remind himself to act more confident, especially when he felt this terrified and miserable. 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Jeremy and Gabriel had noticed long ago, but neither of them was as blunt as Fritz. And Fritz? Well, Fritz didn’t understand the concept of awkwardness. Great... 

"Y-You don’t wanna come?" Evan asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual. His voice pitched higher than usual at the end. 

Fritz shook his head, a slight frown crossing his face. 

“No, but…” He sighed, his usual playful expression vanishing. Or maybe it had all been an act. Evan didn’t trust him enough to know for sure. No normal kid would want to hear the ugly truth. 

“…It’s just that you seem to force yourself. Do you really like this place?” Jeremy asked instead. 

Evan hesitated, glancing at both of them, a knot of confusion and frustration tightening in his stomach. 

“Do you like it?” he asked instead, his voice surprisingly serious. 

Both Jeremy and Fritz looked at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. It was as if Evan had suddenly become someone else—someone on a mission, not someone having fun. 

Evan quickly masked his vulnerability with a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“No, really… you like it, right? Freddy’s is fun, right?” he repeated, trying to cover his discomfort with a layer of forced confidence. 

But neither of them smiled back. Of course they didn’t. They weren’t that clueless. He was so obvious, like a bad comedian trying too hard. Then, a yawn escaped his mouth, and with it, all his tiredness rushed in. His eyes felt heavy, and his head was starting to droop. Every muscle in his body felt weak, and it was a struggle just to stay awake. He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open, but he forced himself to, even though his mind was a blurry mess. 

He then felt a hand on his shoulder, and couldn’t even snap back to reality, as his head was seriously hurting. 

“You’re not okay, Evan...” Fritz said. 

There weren’t enough fucking words to describe the chaos in Evan’s head right now. It wasn’t just the sentence—it wasn’t like he didn’t already know. No shit, of course he wasn’t okay. Everyone could see that he wasn’t the happiest kid in the room. But hearing it out loud, like that, from his friend? It hit harder than he expected, like a punch to the gut. 

The familiar sting burned at his eyes, and panic set in. He had to move, had to get the fuck out of there before he... 

But his body betrayed him as his throat cracked with a broken sob, and just like that, every wall he had thrown up to keep himself together came crashing down. Tears spilled freely, trailing down his cheeks as he stood there, completely exposed. 

When he was about to pull away, something held him in place. It wasn’t tight, but it was warm, and he couldn’t move. He was stuck. His face buried into the shoulder, and the tears started to fall, slowly at first, then faster. His body shook, but the arms around him didn’t let go. They were stronger than his, holding him close. 

And that’s when he realized, this was the first hug he’d gotten in years. The first time anyone had held him like this. He cried harder. The sadness was so heavy, it felt like it would never end. He hadn’t known how much he needed it, how much he missed being held. But now, with the tears coming out and the warmth wrapping around him, it was too much. It was everything he had been missing, and it hurt to feel it all at once. 

“I... It’s okay...” Fritz said, holding Evan tighter. 

“N... no, sorry, I... I shouldn’t...” Evan choked out, his body trembling as he tried to pull away. 

“Just tell us what’s wrong... if that helps,” Jeremy’s voice was soft, but there was a tension in his words. 

“B... but we’re not forcing you,” Gabriel added, his hand gentle on Evan’s shoulder, like he was afraid to break him further. 

Evan felt his heart pounding, that heavy knot twisting tighter in his chest. Choices. Fucking choices. He hated them. He hated how, in this moment, he was expected to choose between being real with them, or pretending everything was fine. When Fredbear wasn’t there to tell him what to do, it felt like the whole world was crumbling around him. No answers, no comfort, just... nothing. He couldn’t keep lying.

But should he tell them? Could he? 

“Y... you were right... Fritz, I... I’m not...” he stammered, the words falling apart before he could finish. He stopped himself. He couldn’t let his voice break. It felt like it would shatter everything. 

Fritz’s grip tightened, more insistent now. “What’s happening, who’s... bothering you? Your brother?” 

Evan clenched his teeth, biting back more tears. Michael... yeah, of course he played a part in it. But Evan didn’t want to talk about him. Didn’t want to acknowledge him. It was easier if he just stayed out of his brother’s way... because that’s what Michael wanted, right? To be left alone. 

Another tear slipped down Evan’s cheek, because he kinda loved Michael... 

“N... no... at least... not completely...” he whispered, voice breaking, and for a moment, he felt the weight of all the words he couldn’t say. 

“Is it the restaurant then? You don’t have to throw a party there... you know?” Gabriel asked gently, his tone like he was trying to ease Evan out of his panic. 

“Y... Yeah, but you like the...” Evan mumbled; the words heavy with guilt. 

“Don’t even start with that bullshit,” Jeremy snapped, cutting him off. “It’s not about us, Evan. We won’t set foot there if you hate it. You don’t have to pretend for us.” 

“B... but my dad... he already planned everything... it’ll happen anyway...” Evan’s voice was barely audible. He felt sick. Sick of being stuck in something he couldn’t change. The disappointment in his chest twisted. 

Gabriel sighed. 

“Fine... we’ll go. But just this one time,” he said, putting an arm around Evan’s shoulder. “And if... you wanna sneak out...” He paused, looking Evan dead in the eyes, a silent promise between them. 

“You can count on us. Right?” Gabriel said, his voice steady and sure. 

Evan nodded, though his eyes stayed locked on the ground. He couldn’t stop the weight in his chest. The suffocating pressure. But just as he thought it was over... 

“T... there’s one last thing...” 

They all turned to him, their expressions softening. They were there, waiting, expecting... but Evan wasn’t sure he could go through with it. What if they laughed? What if they thought he was crazy? 

“Yeah?” Fritz asked, his voice quiet, a little concerned now. 

Evan swallowed hard; eyes focused on his shoes. His heart hammered in his chest. This wasn’t going to make sense. It never did. It was stupid... but he had to say it. 

“W... well, I think at night, there’s... they try to get me...” 

“They?” Jeremy asked, his voice a little sharper, almost scared. 

Evan’s breath caught in his throat. This was the first time he’d said it aloud. His nightmare was real, and it wasn’t something that could be fixed with a hug or a kind word. This was a fucking monster he couldn’t outrun. 

“I... I wanna... I can’t say it... please don’t make me...” His voice cracked as he felt his chest tighten, threatening to tear apart. Tears welled up and spilled over, no longer something he could hide. 

Gabriel gently pulled out a drawing from his bag and handed it to Evan. “I... Is this about... this?” he asked, his voice unsure. 

Evan froze, his gaze locking onto the paper in his hands. The picture was so familiar it hit him like a punch in the stomach. He had forgotten how real the fucking thing looked. Foxy, covered in blood, the claws dripping. His hand trembled, almost reaching to lift his shirt, to show them the marks... but he stopped. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

“I... I get nightmares...” he whispered, his voice barely audible, trying to lie, trying to convince them it wasn’t real. 

Fritz frowned. “Foxy’s not that scary, you... you even made blood on his claws.” 

“I... I lied,” Evan said quickly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. “They’re just nightmares.” 

But they weren’t. He knew it. They were real. They tried to kill him every night. They weren’t just in his head. 

“Really? About... Foxy?” Fritz’s voice dropped, as if realizing something darker was behind Evan’s words. 

Evan nodded, barely able to keep his composure. 

“Yeah... Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica too... they... they try to get in my r... room... to kill me...” His voice broke, the tears coming faster now, and the words tasted like poison. 

“The same one? For how long...?” Gabriel asked, voice filled with concern, but also disbelief. 

“A... a little before my seventh birthday...” Evan’s voice wavered as he spoke the truth. It was hard to say, harder still to know how long this had been going on. How long it had haunted him, swallowing him up in darkness. 

“Two years?!” Jeremy nearly shouted, disbelief in his eyes. 

“A... at least they’re not real...” Fritz tried to lighten the mood, but Evan could feel the weight of his words crushing him further. 

But Evan couldn’t pretend. He couldn’t ignore the truth. 

“I... I guess... I just wish it stopped...” Evan said quietly, his heart sinking with every word. He had nothing left. No hope. Nothing. 

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. 

Gabriel’s voice broke through the tension. “You wanna sleep at my place for... some night? We could have a sleepover, you know? My parents won’t mind.” 

Evan’s heart skipped a beat. A sleepover? It was a mundain offer. But to him, it felt like the first real escape. If he could just be somewhere else, maybe the nightmares wouldn’t follow him. 

“Really?” Evan whispered, hope and fear swirling inside him. 

Gabriel nodded, a small smile on his face. Without warning, Evan threw his arms around him in a tight hug. 

Chapter Text

October 7th, 1985 – Afton household 

Michael yawned, rubbing his tired eyes as he glanced at the clock. Great. School started in twenty minutes, and he couldn’t say he was thrilled about it. Honestly, he wasn’t even looking forward to seeing his friends—they had just been annoying him lately. Especially when they talked about how "fun" it would be to prank his little brother on his birthday next week. 

The thought made Michael’s irritation bubble up. As if Evan didn’t already hate him enough. 

Speaking of the crybaby... 

The teen stood up, hastily pulling on his clothes and slinging his backpack over one shoulder without bothering to check if he’d packed everything. Michael walked out of his messy room, running a hand through his unkempt hair as he strode quickly down the hall. He stopped in front of his brother’s door, hesitating for a moment. 

Lately, he hadn’t bothered waking Evan up—his dad didn’t mind, so why should he care? But something felt... off. Michael couldn’t shake the strange emptiness in the house. For years, Evan had always been in his shadow, tagging along whether Michael liked it or not. Not having the little bean around as much anymore felt unfamiliar. Not bad, exactly... just weird. 

So, Michael knocked on the door. 

“You up?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically free of teasing. 

The door clicked open, and Michael was greeted by the sight of his brother’s pale, startled face. God, those eyebags—had they gotten even darker? Michael shifted awkwardly; pity written all over his face despite his best efforts to hide it. 

“W-We gotta go to school,” he mumbled, the words some of the few he’d spoken to Evan in weeks. 

Evan’s expression hardened instantly. 

“I know,” he replied flatly, his tone cold as he began to close the door. 

But Michael stopped him, holding it open just enough to keep the conversation alive. 

“Come on, Ev...” 

Evan turned to glare at him, anger flashing in his tired eyes. Yeah, Michael thought, he hasn’t forgiven me. Not even close. 

“What?” Evan asked curtly as he shoved books and papers into his bag. 

Michael’s gaze flickered to the flashlight on Evan’s desk—the same one he clutched like a lifeline every time he pulled an all-nighter. He wanted to say something, to ask why, but the words caught in his throat. What would it even matter? 

Instead, he sighed. “Don’t talk back to me...” The frustration in his voice betrayed how much the distance between them was starting to wear on him. 

Evan didn’t rise to the bait. He just looked away, brushing past Michael without a word. But this time, Michael didn’t let him leave. He stepped into the doorway, blocking his path. 

“Come on! I’m gonna be late...” he snapped, though the tension in his voice was less about school and more about everything else. 

Michael’s anger flared uncontrollably, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed Evan by the collar. 

“Listen here, you little—” 

“Let me go!” Evan shouted, pushing his brother with all his strength. 

The force of the shove sent both brothers tumbling—Michael crashed against the wall, while Evan’s head hit the side of the door. 

Michael pushed himself off the wall, his rage growing. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he snapped. 

But as he turned to face his brother, his fury faltered. Evan stood there, blood trickling from a cut on his temple, and the sight of a single tear rolling down his cheek made Michael freeze. 

Evan didn’t flinch, didn’t whimper. He simply stood, his expression cold, as if the pain didn’t matter. 

“Shit...” Michael muttered, his anger quickly turning into guilt. His heart lurched as he saw how his brother was breathing heavily, but Evan didn’t want his help. 

As Michael took a step forward, Evan flinched away, his body stiffening. 

“Don’t touch me! Y-You fuck everything up...” he choked out, his voice breaking before he turned and walked away. He didn’t let another tear fall. 

Michael stood there, paralyzed, the sting of his brother’s words sinking into him. 

He watched as Evan disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Michael’s throat tightened, and he felt the sudden burn of tears threatening to spill. He had always been the one messing thing up. 

His hands balled into fists, the weight of his failure pressing on him harder than anything else. His brother was right. 

“You know what? Fine! I... I don’t want you around either!” Michael shouted; his voice sharp with frustration. He was ready to leave, but then something made him stop. His anger turned into worry as he heard his brother moving around in the bathroom. 

He thought Evan was just cleaning up his temple, but when he opened the door, his stomach dropped. Evan was shirtless, the blood from his wound staining his favorite shirt. Michael hadn’t realized the shirt was ruined, and it hit him harder than he expected. But it wasn’t the shirt that made him freeze—it was the way Evan was holding it against his chest, like it was his only protection. 

When Evan turned around, his face was pale, his eyes wide with something Michael couldn’t place—fear. 

“C... Can you go?” Evan’s voice trembled, and he pressed the shirt tighter against his chest, trying to hide. 

Michael stepped back, about to leave, when something caught his eye—a flash of red beneath the fabric. A cold, tight feeling settled in his chest. 

“What’s that?” he asked quietly. 

Evan’s whole body shook as tears spilled down his face. He didn’t answer, just whispered, “Leave... please... I…” 

Michael felt his heart break, but he couldn’t leave. Not now. 

Without thinking, he reached out, grabbing the shirt from Evan’s hands. What he saw underneath made his stomach churn. Four deep, jagged red marks ran across Evan’s chest, like claws had raked through his skin. Michael’s breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t from a person. Not from anything human. 

Evan quickly turned away, trying to hide the marks. But Michael couldn’t look away. His brother was trembling, the tears falling freely now, but Evan didn’t make a sound. He just… stood there, as if the pain was something he had to bear alone. 

Michael could feel the weight of his brother’s suffering, but he didn’t know what to do. He could stay, try to comfort him, be the brother he should be. But the sight of those marks—of the raw pain in Evan’s eyes—was too much. His chest tightened, and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to help. 

Instead, Michael turned and left, his feet heavy on the floor. The walk to school felt longer than ever. His vision blurred with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn’t deal with this. Not today. 

As he walked, a part of him kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, that maybe he’d imagined it. But deep down, he knew the truth—and that truth hurt more than anything. 

... 

Evan walked down the cold street, alone. Michael’s old jacket hung loosely over his shoulder, but it didn’t bring him any comfort anymore. At first, it used to make him feel a little warmer, a little less empty, like it mattered that Michael cared. But now, it felt like nothing. His temple was patched up, a faint reminder of the times he’d had to clean his own wounds. He’d gotten used to it after all the years of dealing with the deadly animatronics. He’d survived worse. But it didn’t feel like survival anymore. 

Gabriel’s sleepover had made him drop his guard for the first time in years. It was the first full night of sleep he’d had in what felt like forever. For once, he had been able to rest without the constant fear of the Nightmares. But the moment he woke up and had to scramble around his room, fighting them off again, he was slow, clumsy. Freddy almost had him, he was way too focused on Bonnie and Chica.  

He sighed heavily, staring at the pavement. 

Why the hell did he have to deal with this? Why him? 

There was no answer. There never was. 

... 

Evan’s focus wasn’t on school. It never was. School was just a place to catch fragments of sleep when he couldn’t do it anywhere else. Falling asleep in class was safer than falling asleep there . But even then, his sleep wasn’t restful. It never would be. 

He stared at the exam paper, his vision blurring as his brain refused to cooperate. When did the Roman Empire start? He didn’t know. A long time ago? Yesterday? Who cared? His history copybook was empty, anyway. 

Each question he read felt like another reminder that he was drowning. Nothing made sense, and he didn’t even know where to start. He was so far behind he’d never catch up. He wasn’t just failing this test—he was failing everything.  

The room felt too quiet, the ticking clock like a countdown to another humiliating F. His heart twisted in his chest, and his grip on the pen tightened until his knuckles turned white. Gabriel wasn’t even here today. Maybe he was sick? No, Gabriel would have told him. He always did. But still, the empty desk next to him only made everything worse. Gabriel was the only reason Evan hadn’t stopped coming to school entirely. Now, skipping class felt like an open invitation, one he wasn’t sure he’d turn down next time. 

Evan clenched his teeth, frustration bubbling into something darker. He felt the crack of his pen before he realized he was squeezing it too hard. His breath hitched, and the tears came before he could stop them, dripping onto the blank test paper. His chest ached, his throat tightening as he struggled to hold it together. 

He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. 

What’s the point? The thought hit him harder than the tears did. He buried his face in his hands, trembling as he tried to muffle his sobs. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his body refusing to calm down no matter how much he begged it to. 

But he had to calm down—he had to. Drawing attention to himself wasn’t an option. How could he even begin to explain what was really wrong? He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. This wasn’t the worst thing he’d been through, not by a long shot, so why was a stupid grade making him fall apart like this? 

“Evan, are you alright?” 

The voice made him freeze. His head jerked up, teary eyes locking with his teacher’s concerned gaze. His heart sank. Only then did he notice the mess in front of him—the ink pooling across the test paper, staining his hands, seeping into the desk. It was everywhere. Damn it... damn it... fuck! He couldn’t even bring himself to look at it. 

The teacher’s expression softened the moment she saw his face. Quietly, she approached his desk, careful not to disturb the rest of the class. Whispers began to ripple through the room—some about him, he was sure, and others swapping answers under the teacher’s distracted watch. He shrank into himself, trying to disappear as she knelt in front of him. 

“I... I wanna... I…” His voice broke, a shaky whisper barely audibles over the blood pounding in his ears. His sniffles betrayed him, and he felt like a crybaby. 

Her concern deepened. “Evan... maybe you should go see the nurse,” she said gently. “I’ll speak with your father about this, okay?” 

Her words struck him like a slap. His stomach twisted with panic. No. No, no, no. That would send him straight to the graveyard. He wanted to scream, to beg her to leave his father out of it, but the words caught in his throat. His fists clenched tightly under the desk. He just nodded, and left, without causing a scene. 

... 

The hallways of his school were silent, every sound swallowed by the emptiness. Everyone was in class by now, and Evan let his tears pour freely. No one was there to see, no one to judge. But each time he passed a classroom with the door wide open; he had to speed up, ducking his head to avoid the chance of being noticed. The hum of distant voices and the occasional scrape of a chair only heightened the stillness. 

Despite everything, it felt... quiet. Too quiet. 

Finally, he stood in front of the white door. His hand hovered over the handle as he furiously wiped at his cheeks, trying to erase the streaks of salt and shame. His breathing was uneven, his chest tight. How could he make this convincing? He needed to feel sick enough to justify being here, but not so bad that they’d call his parents. 

It was time to bullshit them, again... he knocked. 

The door opened, and there she was. She seemed nice—too nice. But Evan could almost immediately see it: the pity in her eyes. Of course, she’d react that way. Who wouldn’t, looking at him? He probably looked like crap after two whole years of relentless sleep deprivation. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked softly, kneeling down to his level. 

Her tone was gentle, almost disarming. Evan immediately felt the urge to run. Harsh people? He could handle them. Their sharpness gave him something to brace against. But kind ones? Kindness made him feel raw, like it peeled away whatever thin layer of protection he had left. It made him feel vulnerable, and he hated it. 

He swallowed hard, willing himself not to fall apart. He was almost ten, for God’s sake. Crying like a little kid wasn’t going to help. 

“I... uh... m-my tummy hurts a little... but it’s not that bad...” he lied, his voice shaky. 

He knew how pathetic it sounded. She could see right through his crap—her eyes lingering on the dark circles beneath his own told him that much. His excuse was so flimsy it was almost laughable, like someone with a broken leg complaining about a paper cut. But she didn’t call him out on it. 

Instead, she nodded, her expression still warm and understanding. “S... sure... come here,” she said gently, motioning him inside. 

And just like that, the lump in his throat grew ten times heavier. 

... 

The waiting room seemed empty, but as Evan’s gaze withdrew from the floor, he was met with... 

Oh God. Was it a cosmic joke? 

His mind stopped as his body heat increased. What was she doing here? Why? How? When? What the fuck? But Evan managed to put a small smile on his face, though it was strained and forced. She was too... but then his stomach twisted. Was she sick? 

He couldn’t make sense of it, but before he could spiral further, the nurse placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll bring you something for your stomach, just... wait here a bit. Be right back.” 

With that, the nurse left him alone in the waiting room with her . Evan hesitantly walked over to a chair, unsure of what to do next, his mind racing, forcing himself to not walk as if he had a broom in his ass. 

“You okay, Evan?” she asked gently. 

The boy nodded slightly but didn’t answer. He knew how much his voice could betray him, especially when he felt awkward, scared, and hopeless all at once. He would sound like a kicked puppy. 

Evan felt she understood and didn’t press further, instead sighing. God, he was so bad at this. He knew he had to talk—it was even more embarrassing not to. She used to be the best friend of his sister, and they had spoken before, but now... 

“I... just have a little... pain in my tummy,” he said, his voice quiet, avoiding her gaze. “What about you?” 

He looked into her blue eyes, and she smiled sadly at him. 

“I... I hope you get better... S... so, about me...” she started, struggling to find her words. 

Evan noticed the hesitation, the lack of the usual confidence she had when he first met her. He knew that feeling—struggling to speak, worrying about judgment. 

“It’s okay... you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I won’t mind,” he said, offering a small, soft smile. 

And there it was—pitying her like a hypocrite. He understood exactly how this feeling could push someone to tears. For a moment, Susie’s eyes were glassy, but she quickly blinked them away. 

“Thanks...” she mumbled. 

Then, the room fell into silence. Neither of them spoke, both of them silently suffering, but neither willing to break that stubborn quiet. Evan hated it. It pissed him off because he felt bad for her. This seemed like a big deal. Was she hurt? Sick? Had she lost someone? Was she heartbroken? He wanted to know, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him. 

And then the realization hit him. 

She wouldn’t let him, because he didn’t let anyone see his own pain. If he wanted her to trust him, maybe he had to trust her first. But how the hell was he supposed to do that? Could he just blurt it out? Talk about it like it was some random topic in the news? Or could he...? Maybe he just had to be honest, for once. 

But just as he was about to speak, the nurse came back, interrupting his thoughts. She handed him a pill and a glass of water. 

“Here... this should help with the pain... I’ve gotta deal with someone real quick in my office. You can stay here as long as you need, alright? If you want me, I’m just down the hall,” she said, glancing at both of them. 

Evan nodded shyly but didn’t take the pill, just stared at it, the glass of water still in his hands. After a few seconds, he drank the water, but didn’t touch the pill. 

“Y... you know you have to swallow it, right?” Susie asked, looking at him like he was a bit of a freak. 

Evan stared at the floor, his eyes fixed on his shoes, as always. 

“My tummy doesn’t actually hurt... I... I got sent here because... I cried in class,” he muttered, his face flushing in embarrassment. 

He didn’t dwell on it, though. He met Susie’s eyes, the words tumbling out. 

“I... I guess... it wasn’t about the test. It was about... everything,” he said, his voice flat but honest. 

“Everything?” Susie repeated, her voice soft, her eyes searching his, but now more at ease. “What’s... happening?” she asked, a little less unsure. 

Evan cleared his throat, his mind racing. 

“Well... how the hell do I even begin...” he said, his voice cracking slightly, but still, he forced himself to go on. 

And with that, he spilled it all out. The dark shit he’d been holding inside. No sugarcoating. No hiding. Just pure, raw honesty. His tone wasn’t shaky anymore. It wasn’t trying to cover itself up. It was just the truth. His voice was neutral, but his words cut deep. He told her everything: his brother’s bullying, his father’s neglect and violence... the sleepless nights. The emptiness of never having a mother. All of it. The words spilled out like a dam breaking, leaving no part of him hidden. 

He didn’t even care anymore. It felt good to speak up for once. To be heard. To let someone listen without judging. And as he finished, the weight of all that pain hanging in the air, he found that for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel so alone. 

The boy sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging as he leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of his own words settle on him. 

“Now you know... I guess...” His voice was soft, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears, making it all too real. 

Susie’s gaze softened. “Evan, you... you really...” Her voice trembled, but her heart was heavy with something more. 

Evan’s breath hitched, his lips trembling as he forced himself to ask, “Do you think I’m broken?” 

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and when she saw the vulnerability in his eyes—the way they begged for something, for understanding—she knew she had the power to shatter him with a single “yes,” but she wouldn’t dare. Not now. Not ever. 

“O... of course not... I’m sorry, I... you should’ve never had to go through all that,” she whispered, her voice a soft breeze, but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you’ve kept going... You’re... really brave.” Her smile was small, but genuine. 

Evan blushed, his chest tightening. It almost felt like she might reach for him, might pull him in close, but then she stopped. Was he imagining it? His heart fluttered at the thought, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. 

“You know?” she said quietly, voice cracking. “I... I got sent here because I cried too...” Her words hung between them, a fragile confession that made his heart ache. 

Evan’s expression softened. Slowly, he turned his full attention to her, giving her the same quiet understanding she had given him. 

“I... I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes heavy with empathy. “I know how it sucks to cry there... everyone stares at you like... like you’re some kind of freak show...” His words were gentle, a soft offering of solidarity. 

Susie nodded, a sad smile pulling at her lips, but there was something in her eyes—a quiet strength that wasn’t there before. “Yeah... but when I hear what you’ve been through... I don’t even know if I have a real reason to... feel that way...” She hesitated, unsure, her voice trailing off. 

Evan’s hand moved without thinking, reaching out and gently taking hers. “Don’t say that,” he said softly, his voice steady. “I... it’s not the same thing... I’m sure it is a big deal... Whatever you’re feeling, it’s real.” 

Susie didn’t pull her hand away, her eyes glistening with tears, as she looked at him. 

“I... I lost... Sparky...” She sniffled, her voice breaking in the middle of the name. “I... I...” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, before the sobs overtook her, shaking her fragile frame. 

Evan froze. His chest tightened painfully as he watched her unravel before him, the rawness of her grief almost unbearable. He knew that feeling all too well—the desperate need to hide, to escape, but at the same time, that unspoken craving for someone, anyone, to just be there. To not let him fall apart alone. 

Without thinking, he moved closer, wrapping his arms around her in a tight, protective hug. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t forced. It was just the simple act of holding someone when they needed it the most. 

“I’m sure you’ll find him...”  

Chapter Text

October 13th , 1985 – William’s office  

Just as he was minding his own business, the office phone rang, dragging him out of his thoughts. William let out a frustrated sigh as he grabbed the small device. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the Afton residence,” he said, forcing out the words with all the politeness he could muster, though it was clearly fake. 

“Hi, Will...” 

Of course, it was Henry. It was always him. William dropped his guard, a mix of annoyance and familiarity settling in. 

“Fredbear? W... What are you... talking about?” came the small, confused voice. 

Right there, William’s face went deathly pale. He realized just how badly he’d fucked up. His gaze snapped to the camera monitor—Evan was sitting there, staring at his plush with that odd, confused look. And of course, the mic had just picked up something so out of place it felt like the awkward silence was suffocating. 

But it could expose everything. 

William’s heart skipped a beat as he quickly turned off the mic, the worst-case scenario flashing in his mind. 

“Was that Evan?” Henry asked, voice tight with concern. 

“He's about to play with his friends,” William said, his voice flat, emotionless. 

“No, just... let me speak to him for a moment. I need to know something.” Henry’s tone had shifted now, almost pleading. 

William rolled his eyes, a snarl barely contained. 

“He just left,” he lied smoothly, barely masking the frustration. “Now, tell me why the hell you called.” 

Henry cleared his throat, his voice quieter now. 

“Alright... I’m worried about Evan.” 

“When aren’t you worried about everyone?” William muttered under his breath. 

Then it hit him. Henry had been like this ever since he lost Charlie. He cared about everyone. This was fucking pathetic.

“It’s just... you know how Evan dealt with his last birthday at Fredbear’s,” Henry continued, his voice a little more strained now. “I... I want him to enjoy this one. I don’t want him to force himself.” 

William’s grip tightened around the phone, his knuckles white as he clenched his fist, barely holding himself together. The audacity of Henry, talking as if Evan was his son.

“Why aren’t you answering me? Please, I... I need you...” 

The boy’s voice rang out from the camera monitor, loud and clear through the unmuted mic. William’s blood ran cold. 

“Evan? What’s wrong?” Henry’s voice came through the speaker, worry creeping in. 

William’s hand shot toward the screen, nearly slamming into it with a violent punch. Instead, he simply turned it off with a sharp click, the growing frustration eating away at him. Now there was another problem—he needed a new lie. 

Taking a deep breath, William forced himself to sound as childlike as possible. His voice rasped as he tried to mimic Evan’s stutter. 

“I... it’s nothing... bye, Uncle Henry...” he said, his words awkward. 

“Evan, are you okay?” Henry asked, his voice still laced with concern. 

William's throat tightened, the rasp only making the lie more obvious. 

“He’s fine, Henry. Everything’s fine. Is everything ready?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“Then see you tomorrow. I’ve got paperwork to do.” He didn’t wait for a response before hanging up, slamming the phone down in frustration. 

William’s focused on the camera monitor, where he could see his son’s weirded look through the screen. He sipped his cup of coffee, preparing himself to talk again... to take the role of Evan’s best friend. He found it annoying, but he had to, in order to get what he wanted. He then unmuted the mic. 

“Sorry, I spaced out a bit... what were we talking about, again?” William said, in a friendly voice.  

Evan’s face lit up again, ignoring completely the weird stuff his stuffed bear just said. God, this kid was so much gullible. He was now laying on his bed, hugging his pillow, probably enjoying the softness of it... he looked tired too, as always.

“Alright... huh... I asked you if... you think my dad’s gonna get mad at me”, Evan said. 

The man almost scoffed, so the bear stayed silent.  

“Evan, Evan, Evan, tomorrow is your birthday, right?” 

“Yeah but...” 

“See? You really think your father would ruin the mood?” Fredbear said, trying to not sound mocking. 

Evan went quiet for some times, he buried his tiny head on his pillow, as he thought. Many would find this endearing, but William stayed emotionless. After a few moments, he clutched Fredbear. 

“Sometimes he... he’s scary...” 

“Scary?” said William, although it obviously fitted with his cold demeanor. 

Evan nodded, still unsure to find his words. William’s patience was very little when he had to deal with his whiny son, but he could only tell him to hurry the fuck up, when he was in front of him.  

“What do you mean, scary? Did he do something?” 

William was pretty sure he never was physical with Evan. 

“N... no but... I don’t know... I get a bad feeling when... when he’s here. I don’t feel safe with him”, admitted Evan, forcing the words out. “Don’t tell him... okay? P... please don’t...” 

The man chuckled. 

“I’m only talking to you, my dear child. Don’t worry, everything’s safe with me. You can trust me...”, William said with a dark smile  

Evan smiled softly; a smile William only could saw through a camera monitor. It was another reminder that his children were distancing themselves from him, the same way he did with them. Years ago, it would piss him off... but now, he didn’t care. He was far from having a functionable family anyway.  

As William was spacing out, he only noticed late that Evan was hugging his plush, like when he was seven, he used to bury Fredbear’s face in the crook of his neck, and stroked his fur gently. His father never understood why he was so soft when he definitely grew in a hostile environment. He didn’t feel bad for him though... it was just an interesting fact. A pathetic one, though. 

“Now tell me, my friend... why would Daddy be mad at you?” William asked, his voice laced with frustration as if he were growing increasingly fed up with his son’s innocent kindness. 

Evan tensed immediately, breaking the hug and pulling his friend to sit beside him. His gaze was distant, staring through the window at the shifting colors of the autumn sky. His blue eyes seemed far away, lost in thought. William frowned, observing his son’s expression—then zoomed in on his face. His cheeks were red. Oh... right. 

“Was it about Susie?” Fredbear asked softly, his voice gentle. 

Evan let out a nervous, shaky laugh. “How could you even know that?” He poked Fredbear’s nose with his small hand, a playful but unsure gesture. 

William smirked, leaning into the game. “I know you too well, my dear child... but tell me, what happened? Did she kiss you?” 

Evan’s eyes widened, and he let out a loud, awkward cough. “What the—hey! We’re... not lovers or anything! What are you talking about? We’re just f... friends... that’s it,” he insisted, his voice a mix of defensiveness and embarrassment. His face had turned bright red. 

Fredbear giggled in response, the sound light and teasing. “Yeah, sure... so, what happened with your friend?” 

Evan sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. “W... We just... spent the afternoon... searching for Sparky.” 

William perked up at that, his curiosity fully engaged. This was far too interesting to ignore. 

“What do you mean, searching? Who’s that?” he asked, his voice sharp and probing. 

Evan kept staring through the window at the sinking autumn sun, his expression distant again. “Her doggy went missing... it made her really sad. I... I don’t like when people are sad, Fredbear... especially when they’re close to me,” he admitted naively. 

Most parents might find something like that endearing, a sweet reflection of a child’s empathy. William, however, only smiled, though his smile was tinged with something darker. 

“A dog, you said...? So, Susie lost her dog... is that it?” William pressed, voice steady. 

Evan nodded solemnly. “No need to repeat it, Fredbear... it’s not... a happy thought, is it?” 

William shook his head, forcing himself to stay composed. “No... of course not. It’s... actually devastating. Where did you look?” 

Evan pulled Fredbear up to the window and pointed toward the horizon. “Near her neighborhood. You see? There,” he said, gesturing at a distant street as Fredbear’s camera zoomed and scanned the area. 

William observed intently, taking careful notes. He knew that street very well. 

“Just her neighborhood?” he asked, narrowing his gaze. 

“We went a little farther too... put up some posters, so if anyone finds him...” Evan trailed off as he sat down on the couch and let out a heavy sigh. “Poor doggy,” he murmured. 

William’s smile lingered, cold and detached. He didn’t care about the missing dog. His thoughts were elsewhere, far more interested in something else entirely. 

“Did you invite Susie to your birthday party?” he asked casually. 

Evan froze, his mind racing as he struggled with the question. His hesitation lingered as he thought about how to respond. 

“Y... Yes... they’re coming. Gabriel, Jeremy, Fritz, and Susie, they’re... all coming,” Evan said, his voice hesitant but trusting enough to share the information with Fredbear. 

William felt something in his throat, something heavy, like a stone pressing on his chest. He had to press his hand against his mouth, but he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He quickly turned off his mic and let it out. 

A cold, chilling laugh escaped his lips. He remembered the last time he let out one like that. 

... 

January 31st, 1983 – Hurricane’s rainy streets...  

Henry’s voice replayed in his foggy mind as his car tore through the stormy night. Business was going fine, so why the hell did this man have to ruin everything? William had always focused on real work—the kind of shit that brought in money. Henry, though? He was focused on his daughter. 

And William was sick of it. Sick of his selfishness. Sick of the little brat, too. 

It was always about Charlie... how could her precious daddy keep her safe while actually handling responsibilities? A security puppet, of course. That’s how Henry spent his time, trying to piece that thing together, while William had to deal with all the real problems. 

And now Henry blamed him because Evan got sick and he couldn’t take care of the crybaby? How fucking ironic... 

William slammed his hand on the steering wheel. 

“FUCK YOU, HENRY... Y... You hear me... I fucking hate you... do you fucking hear me...” he growled, his breath reeking of booze. 

His nerves twitched, and his thoughts drifted elsewhere. He knew he should head home, but his gut was telling him otherwise. His instinct was pulling him toward Fredbear’s. So that’s what he did. 

There was a rule, clear as day, about the safety of the children. It forbids drunk fucks from going near the building. William had signed that rule without even reading the damn papers, just doing it to get it out of the way. But now? He didn’t give a shit. 

His purple car parked roughly near the restaurant. The sound of the rain slamming down, the pitch-black night—everything about it brought a strange calm to his anger. 

His rage cooled into something colder, darker. His lips twisted into a smirk as he saw someone in the distance. That little bitch... 

His mind wasn’t right anymore, clouded and twisted. His eyes locked onto that small figure—Charlie Emily. 

Oh god, he knew he could do anything... His mind was already in dark, dangerous places, but he didn’t care. Not one bit. 

Chapter Text

October 14th , 1983 – Afton Household  

Evan wanted to sleep and never wake up. He just turned eight at that time. His life went to shit since the beginning of the year. First came the death of his cousin, then his sister disappearing without a trace, and finally... Michael. His brother hated him now, with every bit of venom he could muster. 

His small body trembled under the covers. It had become a habit, shivering in his bed at night, ever since the big scary monsters started to chase him when the lights went out. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t think. His mind felt broken. 

He wasn’t living anymore. He was just surviving. 

A loud knock on the door made him jump, his heart slamming into his ribs. 

“Wakey, little man. It’s your birthday, remember?” Michael’s voice rang out, sharp and mocking. 

Evan froze. His entire body wanted to shut down. He didn’t want to wake up. Sleeping felt like the only thing left that wouldn’t hurt. He just wanted to stay buried in his blanket, to stay alone... to stop being hurt. 

But the door creaked open, and Michael’s hand grabbed at the blanket. 

“What did I say? Dad’s already in the car waiting. Wake up... or do you want me to tell him you don’t care about the party he made for you? Huh?” Michael said coldly, his voice cutting like a blade. 

Evan’s chest ached. Tears stung his eyes. 

“I... I... I don’t care about my birthday!” he managed to say, voice trembling, trying to sound stronger, angrier. 

There was a pause. Michael hesitated for a moment, surprised by his brother talking back. But that hesitation was gone in an instant, replaced by cruel amusement. 

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t care’? You don’t care about your party? You wanna make Henry sad? You know how much effort he put into this, how much it cost to put all that crap together for you?” Michael spat, his words sharp and loud. 

Evan’s face was wet now, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“It’s never about what I want... I wanna stay in my room, okay? Please, Michael... please... I beg you, I don’t wanna go... I’m scared, okay? Scared of...” he tried, his voice breaking, but he couldn’t finish. 

His voice wavered with desperation. He hoped Michael might hear the fear, the loneliness in his words. 

Michael’s face softened for just a brief second. But it didn’t last. His hand gripped Evan’s collar tightly, and he yanked him out of bed. 

“Don’t push me, Ev. Don’t force me to give you a real reason to be scared,” he said, voice icy, his words more dangerous than any monster hiding in the closet. 

Evan’s eyes flickered to Michael’s Foxy mask. The sight of it sent a wave of terror through his chest. A cruel reminder of Nightmare Foxy who had come so close to killing him two nights ago. 

His breathing grew fast and uneven. Michael’s gaze darted to his little brother, thinking he was guilt tripping him. He scoffed and turned away. 

“Get dressed. I’m coming back in five minutes. If you’re not ready by then, Foxy’s gonna come and eat your ass,” he said coldly, leaving his brother. 

The door shut behind him. 

Evan stared at the closed door, his body shaking. 

What kind of birthday was this? No guests, no friends, just a cruel brother who seemed to take joy in making his life worse and a father who was likely throwing this party only to maintain his own public image. Nobody cared—most of them were probably just here for the free food. Evan closed his eyes for a moment, a dull ache settling in his chest. He tried to hold onto hope that the next years would be different, that things would get better... but it felt so far away. 

Two years later – Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza...  

“Happy birthday to you, Evan!” the guests sang, their voices cheerful as Evan swung his small legs happily under the table. 

His face was already glowing with joy, but the flickering light of the candle made it even brighter, dancing across his cheeks. The candle proudly marked that Evan had turned ten. The big ten. He was a big boy now... or at least he was supposed to be. His mind tried to push away thoughts of how much he’d already had to grow up, how much he’d already endured, but not today. Today, he could let himself be happy. 

His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the smiling faces, all of them looking at him, all of them wishing him happiness in unison. It felt strange, in a good way. It felt warm. It was the first time he wasn’t hiding under a table or crying alone during his birthday, afraid. 

But just like that, the moment passed. 

“Make a wish! Make a wish!” Fritz said with excitement, bouncing in his seat. 

Evan giggled and nodded, a little unsure. 

“Sure... huh... how, I mean...” 

“Just close your eyes and when you’re done, blow out the candle,” Susie said, her voice soft and kind as she smiled at him. 

Evan closed his eyes, his heart fluttering. A wish? What should he wish for? He imagined the usual things—new toys, more attention, maybe even a superpower. But none of those things felt right. His heart ached with the weight of his thoughts, and he knew what he truly wanted. 

“I wish the Nightmares could leave me alone...” he whispered, his voice shaky and small, his throat tight. 

He had wished this so many times before. Two years of them, the shadows, the fear, the nights that felt endless. It wasn’t just a bad dream. It was a broken record, a cruel reminder that safety felt so far away. 

His tears spilled as he opened his eyes, looking at the candle one last time. He blew out the flame, the tiny puff of smoke rising into the air, carrying his silent, aching wish with it. 

“Evan? Are you okay?” Gabriel asked, his eyes fixed on the tears streaking down Evan’s face. 

Evan quickly forced a smile, brushing his hand across his cheek. 

“Yeah, I... I’m just... so happy not to be alone this year...” he said, his voice small and shaky, pretending the tears were tears of joy. 

And he was happy, in a way. His heart felt warm sitting here with his friends, surrounded by laughter and smiles. But it wasn’t happiness that made him cry. It was something deeper, something harder. It felt bittersweet, like warmth mixed with an ache. He realized now that being surrounded by these friends felt fragile. Without them, he wondered if he would have any reason to keep going. 

He had been lucky to find them, and now he hoped his luck wouldn’t turn the other way. 

“Now time for cake, right?” Fritz said, his eyes already fixed on the chocolate cake sitting on the table. 

Evan nodded, even though he wasn’t much of a chocolate fan. But he wouldn’t complain. He wasn’t picky, and besides, bitter things didn’t bother him anymore. His stomach had grown used to bitter mornings and half-empty coffee cups. 

“We should probably get someone to cut it, right?” Jeremy said, glancing toward their parents, who were busy chatting at another table. 

Fritz shook his head and grabbed the knife with a confident grin. 

“You gotta learn how to use a knife, matey... in case you ever find yourself in a tough situation...” he said, with a silly pirate voice. 

Susie giggled, “Seriously? What kind of tough situation?” 

Fritz shrugged, still grinning. 

“Anyway, I’m great at cutting cake, right Jeremy?” 

Jeremy raised an eyebrow and shook his head, “Nah, you ruined my birthday cake last time, dumb-head.” 

Fritz snorted. Jeremy laughed to, before taking the knife from his friend's hand and cut into the cake with careful hands, slicing it almost perfectly. 

Soon enough, each of their plastic plates had a slice of chocolate cake on them. It was sweet, smooth, and yet... Evan couldn’t shake the taste of bitter in the back of his throat. 

But he didn’t say a word. He took his plate, looked at his cake, and tried to push away the ache. 

They all laughed and joked as they ate. And for a moment, Evan allowed himself to believe that it would be alright.  

Right? 

... 

It was starting to be late afternoon, the sky glowing orange as the autumn sunlight spilled through the air. Despite the season, the day felt unusually bright, as though it was meant to be a happy one. Evan stayed seated alone at the table, his yellow birthday hat still perched on his head. His mind drifted, tangled in thoughts he couldn't shake. He knew he should be running, laughing, playing arcade games, teasing his friends, or just being a kid. But instead, his head was heavy, his thoughts a whirl of emotions he couldn't place—too much happiness, too unfamiliar, and yet so intense. 

“You okay, birthday boy?” Fredbear asked, his voice soft and comforting. 

Evan almost forgot the bear was there. He picked it up from the table, the familiar worn fur grounding him for a moment. 

“Yeah... it’s... definitely a better birthday than last time at Fredbear’s,” he said with a faint yawn. 

“Your friends are good people, huh?” 

Evan nodded slowly. 

“Yeah... and I made it. They don’t think I’m weird anymore. I... I won’t lose them, right, Fredbear?” His voice was fragile, tinged with hope. 

Fredbear chuckled warmly. 

“Of course not. Your bond is strong, Evan. You’ve made it. You’re not alone anymore.” 

Evan managed a weak smile. 

“Thanks, Fredbear. I... I don’t know what I would do without you,” he murmured, yawning again. 

Fredbear’s eyes were deep, searching into Evan’s, full of care. 

“You’re so tired, aren’t you, Ev? What happened? Did they come again?” 

Evan nodded, his body trembling faintly. 

“Yeah... this time it was... Nightmare Fredbear. I... I almost forgot how to deal with him. It felt... scary. But not like it used to. It felt... different, like I’m... used to this... to being like this...” His voice drifted, and his third yawn came unbidden. 

Fredbear’s voice was gentle, soothing. 

“I know, Evan... it must be hard.” 

“He stayed longer this time... I couldn’t even... get an hour of...” His voice cracked. 

Fredbear’s smile seemed to soften further. 

“Don’t worry, Ev. None of this is your fault. You have every right to feel tired... just close your eyes, okay? Just for me.” 

Evan shook his head weakly, his eyes still open. 

“I... It’s not... polite to... sleep when I have guests...” 

“I know you want to, Ev. You can’t force yourself, right?” Fredbear said, his voice firm now. 

“B... But...” 

“Alright... I understand. You don’t want to, and that’s okay. I’m just worried about you. It’s not healthy to push yourself like this, you know?” 

Evan gave a sleepy nod, his head heavy. His mind was fighting against the pull of sleep, but his eyes were focused on the tablecloth. God, how nice it would feel to just lie down for a moment... to give in. 

Fredbear’s distant voice began to drift into his mind, soft and melodic, as he was singing him a lullaby. 

Unknown Time – Evan's Dreamland...  

“We were playing in the sand...” 

Evan almost felt relaxed. He didn’t feel the fear that usually gripped him when he closed his eyes. It was peace—soft and warm and distant, like the sound of the sea. Was this a dream? Probably. But everything felt so soft... so unfamiliar. 

“And you found a little band...”  

Was it summer? He could feel warmth—not just from the sun but in his heart too. His cheeks flushed as he saw a girl with blond hair in a pink dress in the distance. He hesitated, stepping closer, his heart pounding. When she looked up at him, she smiled—and his heart swelled. He smiled to... this one came from his tiny heart. 

“You told me you fell in love with it...”  

The boy looked down at the sand. His heart burned, his face red, his thoughts swirling. Could he deny it? Did she feel the same? 

“Hadn't gone as I’d planned...”  

He focused on his bare feet, his breaths shaky. And then, he felt something soft on his cheek. His breath hitched. His heart froze did she just... 

“When you had to bid adieu... ooh... ooh... ohh...”  

His head snapped up. She was gone. Or was she? He wasn’t sure. His cheeks were burning red now, his breath quickened. What had just happened? 

“Said you’d never love anew... ooh... ooh... ohh...”  

Despair gripped him. Where was she? Where was Susie? His chest ached as he looked around, desperate. It felt horribly confusing. 

“I wondered if I could hold it...”  

His lips trembled as he began running, his steps frantic. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stumbled in the sand, his legs clumsy, his breathing ragged. 

“And fall in love with it too...”  

He stepped on something. It was wet. Sticky. His breath caught. His heart sank. His eyes darted downward—and then he saw the red puddle. 

... 

Susie noticed Evan sleeping at the table in the distance. Just as she was about to wake him, an eerie shadow began to stretch across her, growing larger and darker. It wasn’t the shadow of an adult. 

Confused, she turned around—and froze. Her heart skipped as she looked up at the towering figure before her. It was... massive. Her brow furrowed as she took in the outline. The figure appeared to be... Bonnie? But all yellow. 

“Hello there... my friend,” the deep voice rumbled in a friendly tone. 

Susie froze, staring at him. Despite his size and imposing presence, he didn’t seem hostile. His voice was calm, inviting even. 

“W... Who are you?” she asked, her voice hesitant. 

The bunny let out a low chuckle, his voice carrying warmth. 

“Me? Call me Springbonnie. I’m everyone’s buddy, including yours...” 

“Oh... huh... hi then... and bye,” she muttered, starting to turn back toward Evan. 

But before she could move, she felt a gentle metal hand rest lightly on her shoulder. Her body tensed. 

“Hey...” a soft voice whispered. 

She turned back, frowning, unsure. 

“Yeah?” she said cautiously. 

“You want me to tell you a secret?” Springbonnie said, his voice dropping as he knelt down, meeting her gaze. 

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she nodded carefully. 

“Your dog... he’s not gone, Susie. Your dog’s here. Safe and sound.” 

Susie’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened as his words sunk in, replacing her hesitation with a spark of hope. 

“Really?!” she nearly shouted, her voice breaking with emotion. 

Springbonnie glanced over his shoulder, looking toward the adult nearby for a moment, before turning back to her with a warm smile. 

“Yeah... and I’m sure your buddy Evan would love to see it, right? He’ll be so happy to see you happy... right?” he said gently. 

Susie nodded quickly, the excitement and hope swelling in her chest. 

“W... Where is he?” she managed to ask. 

The yellow bunny stood up smoothly, reaching out to take her hand in his own—his grip surprisingly gentle. 

“Follow me...”  

... 

Fritz scanned the dim, cluttered room, his eyes darting across the shadows. His smile lingered, though now it carried a mocking edge. He kicked a nearby box absentmindedly. 

“Wow... this Springbonnie guy could really clean up his mess, huh?” he muttered, his voice carrying through the stale, cold air. 

Gabriel shuddered as he stared at the mold clinging to the walls and the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. His face twisted in disgust. Meanwhile, Jeremy stood back, his usual calm demeanor replaced with a flicker of unease. 

“You sure this was a good idea?” Jeremy asked quietly, glancing at the dark corners of the room. “Our parents are probably worried, and the party’s over now. It’s getting late.” 

Fritz rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. 

“Come on, man... I got a crappy gift for Ev, and you didn’t even bother to get him one!” 

“I... I thought I could win something at the prize counter,” Jeremy admitted, his voice carrying a hint of guilt. 

“Well, you messed up, didn’t you?” Fritz said with a smirk. “Now Evan’s gonna think we don’t care about him. But hey, maybe Springbonnie will hook us up with something really awesome...” 

“Didn’t you say Springbonnie was a villain?” Jeremy questioned; his voice cautious. 

Fritz shrugged, waving him off. 

“We’re not in a show, Bonnie-boy. This is real life.” 

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything... he’s just an animatronic, right? He shouldn’t be alive,” Jeremy countered, a touch of dread creeping into his voice. 

His friends exchanged uncertain glances. 

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” said Fritz, trying to stay calm. “What could he do? Mess with us? Foxy would NEVER let that happen.” He proudly brandished his wooden sword he always kept in his belt, holding it in the air as if that would protect him. 

“Fritz, can you please be serious for two seconds?!” Jeremy snapped, frustration breaking through his voice. 

The smile disappeared from Fritz’s face as irritation took its place. 

“What now? You scared, Jeremy? You pissing yourself or something?” Fritz shouted, his voice wavering slightly as if he were trying to convince himself more than anyone else. 

Gabriel stepped between the two, hands raised. 

“Alright, alright! Let’s all calm down,” he said, his voice attempting to smooth things over. “It’s Evan’s birthday. Let’s just see if the bunny actually has something and then get out of here.” 

Jeremy shook his head as he moved toward the heavy metal door. His voice had an edge of worry that hadn’t been there before. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” he said, his tone low and shaky. “I... I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

He tried to pull open the metal door, but it wouldn’t budge. He frowned. What the fuck? Before he could try again, the door unlocked with a metallic groan and swung open. 

There they were—Susie and... the big bunny.  

Jeremy stumbled backward, panic clawing at his chest. His friends stood behind him, all smiles, but the smiles felt far too wide, far too wrong. Jeremy’s heart pounded in his chest as they turned toward him. 

Susie looked around the shadowy room, her smile bright and unnervingly calm. 

“So, where’s my dog?” she asked, hopeful. 

“And where’s Evan’s gift?” Fritz chimed in; his grin equally wide. 

Springbonnie stood beside her, his yellow fur gleaming faintly in the low light as he peeked into a nearby box. His voice was smooth, casual, and cold as he spoke. 

“Right... time for the surprise .” 

... 

Evan jolted awake, his breath sharp and ragged as he scanned the dimly lit surroundings. No... this couldn’t be real, could it? His mind raced. Was this all a dream? Was Susie really gone? No... he was still in the restaurant, still here, and not at the beach, not with that... red puddle. His heart ached as relief washed over him, a desperate hope that his friends would be close by. There were kids nearby, but they weren’t his friends. 

“Look at that, the baby boy finally woke up from his beauty sleep...” A cruel voice cut through the quiet. Evan’s eyes snapped open, locking onto the figure in a Bonnie mask, its smile wicked and cold. 

His body froze. Shit... was this some twisted memory? The memories of his nightmares clung to him, but this felt real. Too real. 

“He’s not a baby anymore... look! He’s all big now... see?” A voice—mocking, sharp—spoke again as the figure wearing a Chica mask jabbed at his nose. Evan winced, the pain sharp, and instinctively brought a hand to his face. 

His lips trembled as he tried to stay quiet, but his mind swam. Did Michael really... did his brother really go along with this? The thought gnawed at him. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Had his brother made the same mistake that haunted Evan’s nightmares? 

“P... Please stop...” Evan stammered, his voice frail and unsure. 

He knew he should fight back—should yell, shove, and demand they leave him alone. But his throat felt like it was closing in on itself, and his voice cracked under the weight of his exhaustion, his loneliness, his grief. His tears threatened to spill, and it hurt. God, it hurt.  

“Aww... look, he’s gonna cry...” another voice chimed in, cruel and teasing. This time it came from the figure wearing a Freddy mask, their laughter slicing into Evan like cold steel. 

“Yeah... maybe we should give him his surprise, right, Mi—I mean... Foxy?” The Bonnie-masked figure grinned and looked at his partner, eyes gleaming in the dim light. 

Evan’s gaze locked with Michael’s for a split second, and his heart froze. Their eyes met . His brother’s gaze was sharp, unyielding, and cold. Every time their eyes met; a hollow thought slithered into his mind: They had the same eyes... they were brothers... they were supposed to care for each other. But Michael didn’t feel like a brother anymore. Not really. He never would protect Evan.  

That thought gnawed at him again, stronger this time, sharp and relentless. Michael’s gaze wasn’t filled with love—it was distant. It was cruel. 

“Yeah... let’s give him his surprise .” 

Chapter Text

October 14 th 1985 – Staff Room at Freddy’s  

The only light in the dark storage room was their smile. The door creaked shut, and the last sliver of light disappeared. They glanced around, wide-eyed and curious, like children always are. Expecting something. Believing they deserved it. Thinking that their hopeful little visit would make the world bend to their wants. 

Springbonnie’s empty eyes stared at them, his frozen plastic smile stretching unnaturally. His massive shadow loomed over the room, swallowing what little light remained. The gloom was heavy, pressing down even on the other kids. Their smiles wavered, uneasy. All except the ginger-haired boy. 

“You seriously live in this dump, Springbonnie? Jeez... I bet you and Fredbear really got screwed after... you know...” he said, smirking as he picked through the rusty tools scattered on the metal table. 

Gabriel stayed quiet, forcing a smile, though something felt wrong. Cold. The air was heavy and unfriendly. 

“Where’s my dog? Sparky? Hey, Sparky! Come here!” Susie called, her voice bright with excitement as she looked around, hopeful. 

Nothing. No bark. No sound. Just silence. And Springbonnie, standing there with something hidden behind his back. 

The tension thickened. Even Fritz’s grin faded. Something was very, very wrong. 

“Dude... what’s going on? You’ve got a surprise for us, right? For Evan... right?” Fritz asked, his tone sharp, trying to mask the unease creeping in. 

Springbonnie chuckled softly. It might’ve sounded friendly if not for the suffocating darkness. Instead, it felt twisted. 

“It’d be scary, wouldn’t it? Being locked in a place like this. No way out. Defenseless.” 

A faint click echoed. The door. Did it just—? 

Susie’s eyes widened, her voice small and shaky. “C... Can you open the door? It’s... making us nervous...” 

Springbonnie knelt slowly, his lifeless eyes meeting hers. “Of course, Susie. But first, let me tell you a secret,” he whispered, his tone low and sickly sweet. 

Susie hesitated but leaned in, curiosity mixed with fear. Jeremy’s hand shot out, stopping her. His gaze burned through the rabbit. 

“Why did you bring us here?” Jeremy asked, his voice barely steady. 

“To give you a surprise,” Springbonnie replied, his tone dark. 

“Y... You’re bluffing. You don’t have shit,” Fritz said, forcing a smirk, his confidence cracking. 

“Maybe. But I do have this.” 

With a swift motion, he revealed a gleaming knife, its edge catching what little light remained. 

The room plunged into suffocating silence.  

Everyone’s eyes locked on the bunny’s hand, frozen in place, the air thick with tension. Slowly, they began to inch backward, but it wasn’t enough. Fritz could hear his best friend’s breath faltering, rapid and shallow, the panic setting in. This wasn’t just a bad day, a poor grade. This was something darker. Something they had never felt before. The fear of death. 

“I... I swear to God; nobody ever listens to me!” Jeremy snapped, glaring at Fritz. 

They were both scared out of their minds, but Jeremy couldn’t shake that feeling—the feeling that he'd been right all along. He’d warned them. He hoped he’d been wrong, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t. He was never wrong. 

Fritz had thought he was overreacting... but now, as the air grew colder, and the shadow of the killer loomed closer, he stopped arguing. He just lowered his head, his heart pounding. 

“Now, no need to be all worked up, little bunny...” came the low, dark voice. 

Jeremy spun around, his eyes darting toward the door. Desperation drove him forward. He walked toward the figure, his voice shaking as he tried to sound confident. 

“Our parents are outside. We’re Evan Afton’s friends. If you touch us, he'll tell his dad and...” 

A sickening crack cut him off. His world blurred as pain exploded in his skull. He tried to scream, but it came out as a gurgle. Something sharp was lodged deep in his head, and he could feel warm blood running down his face, soaking into his favorite blue shirt. But it wasn’t blue anymore. It was red. 

“Your parents never told you not to approach someone with a knife?” Springbonnie’s voice was cruel as he twisted the blade, the sickening sound of flesh parting filling the air. 

Jeremy’s legs gave out, and he collapsed, vision fading. The last thing he saw was Springbonnie’s hollow eyes staring at him. 

“You... you’ve made a huge mistake,” he gasped, trying to get the words out. "Evan... he's..." 

“I am Evan’s father.” William said, as he left him die on the floor.  

Fritz didn’t hear Gabriel’s gasp or Susie’s choked sobs. His mind was numb, his body frozen in place. He couldn’t process what had just happened. How? Why? What the actual fuck was going on? 

Jeremy was... gone . Dead. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real. And yet, the agony was raw. His vision blurred with red, as anger and disbelief surged through him. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked, the pain of it almost welcome compared to the emptiness gnawing at his chest. 

“Why would you do that?! He didn’t deserve this! He... he had nothing to do with any of this!” Fritz screamed, his voice raw with grief and fury. 

“F... Fritz, stay back...” Gabriel’s voice was strained, desperate, trying to shield another friend from the nightmare unfolding. 

But it was too late. Fritz didn’t care. Rage coursed through him like wildfire, and he lunged forward, ready to strike the killer with everything he had. 

In an instant, a cold, metallic fist slammed into his cheek, the force of it sending him crashing to the floor. His vision spun, the world tilting and blurring as pain exploded in his head. 

“You kids really should think before acting,” Springbonnie said, his voice cold, as he looked down at the blood dripping from the blade. 

He turned toward Gabriel and Susie, leaving the others lying broken and bleeding on the cold floor. His right arm was soaked in crimson, his footsteps leaving bloody prints, and his empty gaze seemed to pierce through everything. It was as if he felt nothing. 

Gabriel stepped forward, trembling. His mind raced, trying to find a way to save his friends—trying to figure out how to save himself. But the truth was too heavy. Jeremy was gone, and they were probably next. 

“Why would you do this…? Why would you hurt your own son like this?” Gabriel asked, his voice breaking as he tried to push the image of Jeremy’s lifeless eyes from his mind. 

William didn’t flinch. Blood dripped steadily from his knife. 

“Evan is lonely,” the boy said, his voice desperate. “We’re the only ones he has.” 

Gabriel backed up, pressing against the cold, unforgiving wall. 

“You think I care about my son, Gabriel?” William's voice was low and sharp. “You think I give a damn about what he feels?” 

“Please... just listen,” Gabriel pleaded, his voice trembling. “We can talk about this… r—” 

Before Gabriel could finish, his words were silenced. The first stab came so quickly, it took him by surprise. The second followed almost instantly. The third cut through his stomach with a sickening finality... he then did it, again, again and again. The pain was unbearable, but strangely, it felt distant, like he wasn’t even in his body anymore. Blood poured from his mouth as he struggled to stay on his feet, desperate to protect her—because that’s what Evan would have done. But his legs gave out, and he collapsed, his body hitting the cold floor with a heavy thud.  

... 

The room was suffocating. Susie’s breath came in shallow gasps, her heart hammering in her chest. Horror movies never felt this real. Not even close. When she saw Gabriel’s lifeless face, her scream was torn from her throat, raw and desperate. She stumbled backward, her legs shaking so violently she could have melted into the wall behind her. But then, her eyes locked onto the blade. The blood on it was dry now, crusted and dark. It gleamed in the dim light, promising nothing but pain. 

Her body froze, but then—movement. A gap. An escape. 

With every ounce of courage she had left, she darted between Springbonnie’s legs. Her heart beat faster than ever as she made a break for the door, her hands trembling with fear. She couldn’t stop now. She had to get out. But then she realized something. He wasn’t chasing her. 

Confusion washed over her as she reached the door, yanked the handle. Nothing. It was locked. She pulled again, harder, but it refused to open. Her breath hitched, and her hope cracked. It was slipping away. She couldn’t hear him, but the air grew colder. A voice, chilling and full of mockery, broke the silence. 

“Well, well, well... seems like the door’s not working,” William's laugh echoed, too cheerful, too cruel. 

Susie’s hand slowly slipped from the handle. Tears blurred her vision. She tried to keep it together, but it was impossible. Her body trembled, a sob wracking her chest. 

“Evan! E... Evan... help me... h...” she choked out, her voice broken. The sound of metallic footsteps behind her made her blood run cold. 

“I won’t lie... it was cute to see you together,” William continued, his voice dripping with something sickening. “Right? You could’ve been my stepdaughter... but I guess that won’t happen now, huh?” 

The words hit like a punch. Susie could barely breathe, her tears falling faster. She turned, but there was nowhere to go. He was closer now. 

“Evan... I... I’m scared... please... please don’t hurt me... don’t... please...” Her voice trembled, the fear choking her words. 

A cold metal finger lifted her chin, and her eyes met his—those bloodied, empty eyes. She could see the face of the man underneath the mask, silver eyes glinting with dark amusement. 

“Shh... just close your eyes for me,” he whispered, voice like gravel. 

“I... I don’t wanna die...” she whispered, her words broken, pleading. 

“I’ll make the pain go away,” he said softly, like he was offering a kindness, but the lie was too obvious. 

Her body went numb as she closed her eyes, the weight of the truth sinking in. She knew what was coming. 

... 

Fritz’s cheek throbbed, the sting of the punch still fresh, but he couldn’t focus on the pain. Not now. Not when his friend was lying there, motionless. He shook his friend’s shoulder, his hands trembling. “Come on, Jeremy... wake up,” he urged, his voice desperate. But nothing happened. 

He couldn’t bear to look at him—not yet. Not when the reality was so brutal, so final. Instead, Fritz crumpled forward, burying his face in Jeremy's chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry... please wake up...” His words were broken, desperate. 

The weight of the silence around him pressed in harder than any punch. 

With a shaky breath, Fritz gathered what little strength he had left. He pulled himself away, finally lifting his gaze. His friend—his best friend —lay there, his glasses fallen to the side, cracked and useless. Without them, Jeremy always looked kinda... silly. It was a part of him. But now, with his face twisted in a lifeless stillness, there were no shits and giggles anymore. 

No more stupid jokes. No more laughter. Just the haunting absence of it all. 

Fritz’s heart clenched, a cold, unfamiliar ache spreading through his chest. He’d never thought he’d have to say goodbye like this. Never thought he’d have to feel so... empty. 

The sickening sound of Susie's throat being slit rang in Fritz's ears, snapping him back to the horrific reality unfolding before him. The warmth in his chest turned to ice, his breath shallow, his mind racing. He was the last one. He hadn't protected them. He hadn't been their captain, their shield. He was nothing but a failure. Tears, hot and stinging, blurred his vision, but he didn’t wipe them away. They were deserved. He couldn’t save them. He had failed them. 

But vengeance... vengeance was all he had left. 

Fritz gripped his wooden sword. It wasn’t a toy anymore. It wasn’t for pretend battles in the backyard. It was his weapon now. The only thing between him and the nightmare in front of him. 

William’s laugh cut through the air, mocking. “Wow... one of you is actually going to try to fight back?” 

Fritz didn’t reply. He lunged forward, sword raised. The blow barely scratched Springbonnie’s metal frame before the weapon slipped from his blood-soaked hands. Useless. Just like him. 

Pain flared through his side, sharp and brutal, pulling a strangled cry from his throat. Blood seeped down his arm, and the world spun, but he didn’t care. His hand shot out for something—anything. A wrench. A hammer. Something to fight with. 

William was on him again. The sharp pain of another cut sent him crashing to the floor. His hand flew to his shoulder, feeling the warm trickle of blood. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet. 

He forced himself up, shaking, his body screaming, his legs unsteady. His fingers wrapped around the tool, and he swung it with everything he had. The hit was weak, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was fighting back.  

William’s cold laughter echoed as he slashed Fritz’s shoulder, sending him spiraling into agony. But Fritz gritted his teeth, refusing to fall. He rose again, fists clenched. Blood stained his clothes, soaked into the floor beneath him. The pain was unbearable, but he didn’t care . 

“I HATE YOU!!” he screamed through gritted teeth, charging forward once more. He didn’t even know where the words came from. But they burned in his chest like fire, desperate and raw. 

Then, the blade pierced his heart. 

He gasped, falling to his knees, unable to breathe, the world tilting as darkness closed in around him. But he didn’t fall. Not yet. He forced himself back to his feet, gritting his teeth against the burning agony. All he wanted was to hit him. Just one more time. 

But William had other plans. He threw Fritz to the ground with ease. As Fritz struggled to rise, William stepped forward, a knife raised at his eye. 

“You want to be a real pirate, Fritz? Just like... Foxy?” 

For the first time, the boy’s left green eye showed real fear. 

Chapter Text

October 14th, 1985 – Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza’s – Party Room 

The party was supposed to be for him. But now, with everything happening, Evan could hardly think about his birthday at all. His body was jerking, kicking, and his breath came in sharp gasps, his arms pinned tightly by the bullies. They dragged him toward the purple curtains of Pirate’s Cove, and every step felt like it was tearing him apart. His armpits burned with pain from how they held him, but that hurt was nothing compared to the cold fear gnawing at his stomach. 

It felt like he was reliving the worst day of his life. 

“Please… I’ll do anything... please…” Evan begged, his voice broken and raw from crying. His throat felt like it was on fire, but the words just kept spilling out, desperate, pleading. 

They didn’t care. Just like last time. 

“I bet the crybaby’s dying to meet the real Foxy,” the Bonnie mask sneered, its voice mocking as it turned to Michael, laughing. 

Evan’s heart sank. His brother’s grip on his arms loosened for just a moment, and Evan’s eyes met Michael’s. For a brief, painful second, there was a flicker of hope in his brother’s eyes. A flicker that quickly died. 

“Fuck yeah,” Michael said with a grin, the words like a slap in the face. 

That was it. Whatever hope Evan had left shattered. His body went limp, the fight drained out of him. He stopped begging. There was no point. He looked around, his heart pounding in his chest. Where were his friends? Jeremy? Fritz? Gabriel? Susie? Why weren’t they here? Were they in the arcade? At the counter? Were they laughing without him? Had they left him behind? Was he all alone? 

His heart felt like it was being crushed. Every piece of it had been slowly put back together since he met Gabriel, but now, it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, ready to destroy everything he had tried to fix. 

If they were really gone, what was there even left to fight for? But they couldn’t be gone, right? He had to keep going, just for them... right? What would Fritz have done? He would’ve fought back, cursed at them, stood tall. Even Susie would’ve found a way to fight. But Evan? He couldn’t even make a threat without his voice shaking, without his fear betraying him. His weakness just made it worse. 

But he took a shaky breath, forcing himself to calm down. Slowly, his lips stopped quivering, and his racing thoughts quieted. He had to do this. For his friends. For himself. He knew the robots were dangerous, but he didn’t want to let them win. He couldn’t die and disappoint them—not like this. 

“Michael?” he said, his voice surprisingly steady, a quiet determination replacing his fear. 

Michael chuckled, but there was something off about it, something forced. “What? You’re done crying now?” 

The tone in Michael’s voice shifted, like he felt a shift in Evan—like something had changed. 

Evan met his brother’s gaze, and without hesitation, he spoke, his voice cold and controlled. 

“You’re no better than Dad.” 

This one hit deep. Evan knew their dad had always been a little off, but William had never been this cruel to him. Michael... he never really noticed how much he let their father’s darkness affect him. But now, Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe Michael deserved this. Was this payback? Was he angry, bitter, and looking for revenge? 

Shit... no, he shouldn’t be thinking that way. 

But it was too late. He saw the way Michael’s grip tightened, felt it like a vise around his arms. Michael didn’t say anything, but Evan could feel it—the tension, the discomfort. His brother didn’t even speak anymore, and the Foxy mask hid his face, making it even harder for Evan to read him. But Evan could tell. He hit a nerve. 

But Evan was done being the scared little brother. 

“Actually, you’re worse than him,” Evan said, keeping his voice steady, despite the bitterness that crept in. It felt like a release—like he was finally saying what he needed to. 

The laugh from the Bonnie mask came, but Michael didn’t laugh. His breath hitched for a second, almost like he couldn’t decide what to do with the words. Evan could almost feel the conflict rolling off him. 

"As if he cares about the opinion of a retard kid like you," Mark laughed, the words sharp and cruel. 

Evan didn’t flinch. He’d heard it all before. At some point, the insults didn’t sting anymore. He didn’t care what they thought—he was done worrying about their opinions. But Michael... Michael tensed. He didn’t flinch, but Evan saw it—the slight tightening of his shoulders, the way his body stiffened at Mark’s words. It wasn’t much, but it was there. And it made Evan feel like maybe, just maybe, his brother was realizing something. 

But Michael didn’t stop. He just grabbed him harder, and with one swift motion, shoved Evan inside the purple curtains. Evan’s heart sank. He knew what was waiting for him—those huge animatronics. Foxy, in particular, was always the worst. Evan could almost still feel the sharp pain where Nightmare Foxy had left his mark last year, the way the animatronic’s bite had made him bleed. 

But when he entered, it was... empty. 

There was no Foxy. No animatronics anywhere. 

What the...? 

Evan blinked in disbelief, his chest easing for a moment. His heart skipped. He didn’t know if it was luck or if something had gone wrong, but for the first time, he felt a sliver of hope. 

“Are they... out of order or something?” Simon asked, looking around at the empty stage, confused. 

The others were gone too. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica—nothing. Just emptiness. 

Evan let out a quiet breath of relief, his body feeling lighter for a moment as the knot in his stomach loosened. He was saved... right? Or was this just another cruel twist of fate? Every time he was close to death, the world seemed to pull him back, not to protect him, but to watch him suffer more. 

“They’re probably in the maintenance room,” Simon shrugged, barely paying attention. 

Mark nudged Michael, a grin on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“You have the key, right? Like we told you, in case plan A didn’t work.” 

Evan’s smile faded instantly. Plan A? So this was all planned? For what? To see him suffer? How could they be so cruel, to torture a ten-year-old like this? His stomach twisted again. 

Michael pulled out the keyring, flashing it in front of Evan’s face. 

“Maybe... my dad had two of them anyway. He won’t notice,” Michael laughed, but it was forced, fake. 

Evan could hear it. Normally, when Michael laughed, it was wicked, twisted... real. But this? This was just an act, and only Evan could see through it. It made his stomach churn even more. But before he could even process it, they were dragging him out, fast—like they couldn’t wait to get him away from whatever small shred of hope had managed to surface. 

As they pulled him through the dark, Evan’s eyes caught something—no, someone—in the main room. A purple figure, just barely visible. His heart skipped a beat. 

“Dad! Dad, please help me!” Evan shouted, desperate, his voice rising with a new burst of hope. 

His mind raced. He’s here. He’ll save me. Like last time. He’ll scare them away. He’ll be a father—finally, he’ll be a father.  

“Dad! DAD!!!” Evan screamed, pushing the words out with all the energy he had left. 

“Will you shut up?!” Michael snapped, his grip tightening painfully on Evan’s arm. 

Evan could almost hear his shoulder crack, but he didn’t care. His body went limp, but his voice didn’t stop. 

“Dad... please... help me...” His words were quieter now, desperate and broken. 

Then, for a moment, he saw it—the glimmer of silver. His dad’s eyes, cold and distant. Evan’s chest tightened with a surge of hope. He saw me! He’s looking at me!  

But then... William’s gaze flicked away, and he turned his back. 

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just walked away. Left Evan to the darkness. Abandoned him. 

Evan’s heart shattered into pieces. What the hell? Why? He couldn’t understand. Did he upset his dad somehow? Had he done something wrong? Was that why his father couldn’t even look at him? 

Tears blurred his vision, but he didn’t even try to wipe them away. He had no one. No one to protect him. 

His body trembled. He couldn’t fight anymore. He couldn’t even make himself struggle. He let them drag him, silent now, the weight of the world pressing down on his chest. His eyes were full of pain, his lips quivering, but no more screams came out. He was empty, just a child being pulled deeper into the dark. And if his friends had really abandoned him too, he knew, in that moment, he would have nothing left. No hope.  

And he had the feeling that luck wouldn’t be on his side, this time.  

... 

The cold corridors of the staff area made Evan’s shiver worse. The sound of the bullies’ footsteps echoed around him, their laughter filling the air. All of them were giggling, except Michael. 

“Looks like the crybaby finally stopped throwing his tantrum,” Simon sneered. 

Evan didn’t respond. His head stayed down, his eyes staring at the floor. He knew how pathetic he looked, but what did it matter? He was pathetic. A disgrace to his family, to everyone. 

The others noticed how obedient he was becoming, and it seemed to annoy them. 

“Come on… we’re taking you to a really dark place. Aren’t you scared?” Mark said, his voice dripping with mockery. 

“Yeah… I wouldn’t say it’s that fun down there,” Jeremy added, his tone more neutral. 

Evan ignored them. 

“Hey, answer me, idiot. I’m talking to you,” Bonnie-mask growled, shoving him hard. 

Evan stumbled, nearly falling face-first to the ground. But then, a hand gripped his wrist, stopping him from hitting the floor. He looked up, his heart lurching. It was Michael. Michael... had just helped him? No, that couldn’t be right. It had to be something else—probably just a way to avoid getting in trouble with William. 

And then it hit him. Why was Michael even doing this? He knew now that William didn’t care about either of them. So why help him? It didn’t make sense. But even though it confused him, it didn’t change how he felt. His brother was still cruel. He was still a piece of shit, just like William. 

Michael’s friends looked at each other, surprised by the gesture, but none of them said anything. They just moved on. 

“Anyway, let’s go,” Mark said, stepping forward to grab Evan’s hand. 

But Michael was quicker. He snatched Evan’s hand before Mark could, pulling him along. Michael wasn’t as rough as his friends, but his grip still felt cold and distant. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Michael muttered, his voice a little softer now, but it wasn’t enough to make Evan feel anything. 

Evan glanced up, almost able to see the confusion in Mark’s eyes behind the Bonnie mask. But Mark said nothing. The group continued walking in silence as they neared the staff room. 

... 

The door loomed ahead, huge and metallic, its surface cold and unwelcoming. It felt nothing like the colorful main room. The checkered tiles had vanished, replaced by a hard, dirty floor, coated with dust and shadows. Evan trembled, but he didn’t speak. He knew they were trying to provoke him, to squeeze some reaction out of him. 

He wouldn’t give them that. Not now. 

“I’m sure it’s all sunshine and rainbows behind this door... right, little man?” Mark teased, his voice distorted as he mimicked Bonnie’s growl. 

Evan barely lifted his gaze. 

“I don’t wanna go,” he muttered, his voice flat and drained. 

Mark smirked, his expression twisting into something mean. 

“Sure you do... Michael, open the door.” 

Michael pulled out the key, but didn’t move right away. He just stood there, holding it, staring at the door as if lost in thought. Evan’s heart quickened. Was Michael stalling? Was this some cruel trick to give him hope only to crush it? 

Simon huffed and snatched the key from Michael’s hand. Without a word, he unlocked the door and swung it open. A cold draft rushed out, chilling Evan to his core. And the smell—thick, metallic, sharp—hit him like a punch. 

Evan’s stomach churned. It couldn’t be... no. That smell couldn’t be blood. Could it? But it was familiar. It smelled just like the times the Nightmares had cut him, a sickening scent that made his skin crawl. Panic bubbled up in his chest. 

“N-no... I don’t wanna go,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I—” 

Mark grabbed his arm, yanking him forward. 

“Come on!” 

Evan dug in his heels, every muscle in his small body straining to pull away. He couldn’t go in there. He wouldn’t. He fought with everything he had, clawing and twisting, but it was useless. Mark’s grip was like iron. All Evan could see was Nightmare Bonnie, waiting to drag him into the darkness and end him. 

Desperation flared. He remembered his only defense. He always had his flashlight in his pocket. With a surge of adrenaline, Evan swung it hard, smashing it into Mark’s knee. 

Mark shouted, stumbling back, his face twisting in pain and fury. 

“You little fuck!” 

Mark’s fist clenched, his knuckles going white as he drew back to punch. Evan braced himself, gripping the flashlight tighter, but before he could swing again, Mark’s punch connected. The blow slammed Evan’s head into the cold concrete wall. Pain exploded through his skull, and blood poured from his nose. 

“That’s what you get,” Mark spat, sneering. “You need to learn your place, you little—” 

“Enough.” 

Michael’s voice cut through the tension, low and sharp. He grabbed Mark’s shoulder and pulled him back. 

“What do you mean, enough?” Mark snapped. “The little shit hit me! He has to pay for that. You know it, Michael.” 

Evan, dizzy and clutching his bleeding nose, looked up at his brother. Michael stared at Mark; his expression unreadable behind the Foxy mask. 

“I said, that’s enough,” Michael repeated, his voice tighter now. “We’re supposed to scare him, not beat the crap out of him.” 

Mark glared, his jaw tightening. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re defending him? Since when do you give a damn?” 

“Since now.” 

Before Mark could take his brother’s wrist, Michael shoved him hard against the wall. The sound echoed in the narrow hallway. 

“If you ever touch my brother again,” Michael growled, his voice low and venomous, “I’ll fucking kill you. Got it?” 

Mark froze; his eyes wide behind the Bonnie mask. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mark hissed, shoving Michael back. 

Michael didn’t flinch. His eyes darkened, his tone dropping to something cold and commanding. He pushed his “friend” harder, almost making his bones crack.  

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

It was a voice Evan had only ever heard from their father. The same icy finality. Even Mark seemed rattled by it. He backed off, muttering under his breath, but he didn’t push further. 

Michael bent down, his mask hanging loosely now, and reached for Evan’s hand. 

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go home.” 

Evan blinked, dazed, but nodded. He let Michael pull him up. His big brother turned, shutting the staff room door behind them, sealing in the awful smell of blood. 

Evan stumbled after him, glancing back at the door one last time. 

What was that smell?

Chapter Text

October 19 th , 1985 – Hurricane TV Broadcast  

“We are standing outside the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza restaurant, where the four missing children were last seen,” the journalist reported, the large sign of the pizzeria flickering ominously in the background.  

Behind her, police officers moved about methodically, their presence dominating the scene. Yellow police tape stretched across the building’s entrance, cordoning off the restaurant like an active crime scene. Parents and bystanders huddled nearby, their murmurs mixing with the occasional crackle of a police radio.  

“At this time, authorities have yet to uncover any significant leads. There’s no confirmation as to whether the children are alive or dead, but as of today, it’s been a few days since their disappearance.”  

The journalist gestured to her left as the camera panned to reveal a tall man stepping forward. His dark purple suit clung tightly to his lean frame, and exhaustion was etched into his face, accentuated by deep, shadowed eye bags. His piercing silver eyes seemed cold, unreadable.  

“Joining us now is Mr. Afton, one of the co-owners of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. Mr. Afton, how do you feel about this tragedy?”  

Afton’s chest rose and fell with a deep sigh, his demeanor calm, yet detached, almost practiced.  

“It’s... devastating,” he began, his voice low and deliberate. “I’ve already suffered the loss of my own daughter. I understand the pain these parents are going through. No one should have to endure something like this.”  

For a moment, Afton’s eyes darted toward the restaurant, his gaze lingering on the darkened windows as if lost in thought. Then he looked back at the camera, his expression softening slightly.  

“We’re cooperating fully with the authorities to ensure we get answers as soon as possible.”  

The journalist nodded, her tone shifting to a blend of sympathy and professionalism. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Afton. We’ll continue to follow this story as it develops... If you see these children, please report it to the police.”  

...  

5PM...  

Michael quickly switched the channel as soon as he heard the soft footsteps of his little brother. The news had been showing pictures of his missing friends, and Michael couldn’t stand to let Evan see it. The kid had been riding an emotional rollercoaster for days, bouncing between fear, despair, loneliness, and numbness.  

Michael glanced over his shoulder at Evan’s face.  

The boy was crying, quietly—so quietly that the only sound was the soft plink of tears hitting the floor. Evan didn’t want to be heard; Michael knew he hated letting anyone hear him cry. But Evan didn’t sit beside him either. He just stood there, hovering.  

Michael sighed and pretended not to notice. He changed the channel to some teen show, the kind he usually didn’t care for, and kept his eyes forward, not daring to look back.  

In his head, Michael kept repeating the same thought he always did: I’m no good at this big brother stuff.  

...

Today wasn’t a good day. In fact, Evan didn’t even know if he’d ever have a good day again. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten. But it didn’t matter—nothing really mattered anymore. He felt like he wouldn’t be here much longer anyway. Like he’d just disappear, like them.  

Why were they gone? Where did they go? Were they d...  

Evan couldn’t stop the sob that broke free. His chest tightened, and the tears came without warning. Shit. Michael heard him. Evan quickly shut his eyes, wiping his face with his sleeve, before running to his room. He didn’t want to annoy Michael, on top of that.  

The boy went to his room, his hand gripping the door handle, ready to slam it shut. But instead, he just pushed it softly, like he couldn’t bring himself to make any noise. He did what he often did before he met his friends—he fell, head first, into his pillow, burying his face as the sobs came crashing out. The sound was muffled, but at least he could cry here. It made his head hurt more, but somehow, his heart ached less.  

It had been late afternoon for hours, and the night was creeping closer.  

The darkness was coming... 

7PM...  

“I... I’m sorry... please come back... I... I should’ve never done my birthday here...” he cried, his words tangled in his tears.  

Wait a fucking minute... Wasn’t Fredbear the one who told him to do it? Evan’s breath quickened as his eyes slowly moved from his pillow to the unmoving plush sitting on his bed.  

“F... Fredbear?” he whispered, his voice shaking.  

As usual, Fredbear didn’t react, though his eyes remained open, cold and empty. Frustration surged in Evan’s chest, pushing the pain of his grief into a knot that twisted tighter and tighter.  

“Fredbear, why did you tell me to do my birthday here? It wasn’t a good idea! T... They’re gone now!” he pleaded, his voice breaking.  

Silence.  

Evan’s nerves jangled, his eyes desperate and aching as his heart shattered all over again. He reached out and clutched the bear, as if the simple act of holding it could make everything make sense.  

“ANSWER ME!!!” he yelled, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and frustration.  

Fredbear just stared back at him, unblinking, his cold eyes unmoved. Evan wondered if he was losing his mind... Fredbear had talked, right? It wasn’t all in his head, was it? The nightmares were real, weren’t they? What was real anymore? What wasn’t? The questions twisted in his mind, tightening the grip of panic that was suffocating him.  

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF CRAP!!!” he screamed, his anger spilling over in a fit of rage. In one motion, he threw Fredbear across the room with a loud thud against the wall.  

But the bear didn’t respond. It just lay there, unmoving, lifeless.  

Evan didn’t look at the other plush toys scattered across his bed. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy. They weren’t real. They weren’t... Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, and Fritz.  

The room felt colder now, but Evan didn’t move. He didn’t even curl up, didn’t hug his knees like he normally would. He let the chill of the room seep into his bones, shivering as he sat there, head down, broken. His knees were soaked in tears, and he could almost see his reflection in the dampness on his skin. His face was paler than usual, his eyes duller, grayer.  

The darkness was closing in.

9PM...  

It felt like the hundredth time he’d thrown the flashlight across the room, his hand catching it without him even looking. His eyes were blank, staring into nothing. Why was he upset again? He didn’t remember. The thought was too painful to bring back. He just knew one thing: he was a failure. And that was all that mattered now.  

He didn’t try to fight it. He just accepted it.  

Maybe... maybe it would’ve been better if he were with them now, wherever they were. They were the only ones who had ever understood him. The only ones who’d ever cared. Now they were gone, and he was still here—alone.  

His stomach rumbled, but it hurt so badly he almost didn’t notice. Almost. He knew why it hurt. He was punishing himself, and he deserved it.  

The door crashed open, making him flinch. His flashlight slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor. Damn it...  

“Dinner’s ready,” Michael’s voice was flat, distant.  

Evan didn’t even lift his head. After a moment of silence, Michael sighed.  

“Don’t give me that shit again like yesterday. If you don’t eat, I’ll shove it down your throat, okay?” His voice had a sharp edge now.  

Evan didn’t think anymore. Who was he, anyway? Just someone else who made things harder. Someone else who was just... existing to hurt him. He hated himself, and he was sure Michael hated him too.  

“You know what?” Michael muttered, sounding tired, “You can eat in your room. Just stay here. I’ll bring your plate.”  

The door slammed shut. Evan waited for the sound of Michael’s footsteps to fade, then scrambled to his feet, searching frantically under his bed. His heart pounded. Where was it? His flashlight, the only thing that had ever made him feel safe... Without it, he’d have nothing left.  

His fingers brushed against the cold metal. He pulled it out, feeling a rush of relief. He turned it on, hoping for the familiar glow. But the darkness stayed. His heart sank. Was it broken?  

No. No, it couldn’t be...  

He turned it around and saw the battery had fallen out during the fall. He was about to search for it when a wave of exhaustion hit him like a tidal wave. A new thought crept into his mind, cold and dangerous... What if he didn’t search for the battery? What if he just let the darkness swallow him whole?  

Suddenly, Michael was back, holding Evan’s plate. Why was there cake? Why was there cake on his plate?  

“I thought you wouldn’t want the cold pizza,” Michael said, his voice softer than before. “I... I’ll learn to cook, I swear. I mean, Will... I mean, dad’s never even around anymore... But, um... it’s just left over from your birthday cake.”  

Evan didn’t look up. He didn’t care about the cake. He didn’t care about anything. Michael looked down, his eyes landing on Evan’s wet knees. The awkwardness melted into something more painful. Then Evan’s gaze fell to the cake, and something seemed to crack inside him.  

Evan could almost hear their voices. This piece was cut by Jeremy, after Fritz pretended that he knew how to do it... their laugh rang in his ears.  

Oh God, no...  

His stomach churned, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. The memories slammed into him like a freight train. He jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, the sounds of his own ragged breaths the only thing he could hear.

10PM...  

“Will you drink your glass of water?” Michael asked, his voice edged with frustration.  

They sat at the kitchen table, the silence heavy between them. Evan didn’t respond. He just stared at his reflection in the dark window. God, he looked terrible. His face was too thin, the soft roundness of his cheeks long gone, leaving a hollowed-out version of the boy who used to smile so easily. He didn’t look ten anymore. He didn’t look like anything at all.  

“No…” Evan whispered, his voice barely audible.  

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin.  

“Look. You threw up earlier... whatever was left in your stomach. I don’t even know how you’ve done it. You haven’t eaten in days, Evan. How the hell—”  

He stopped himself, exhaling a long, tired breath. The anger melted into something else, something softer, and sadder.  

“Ev… please listen…” Michael’s voice broke, quiet and soft.  

Evan couldn’t meet his eyes. His vision blurred with tears, but he blinked them away, trying not to break. Michael gently took his chin in his hand, turning his head back to face him.  

“I... I know you’re sad, but... don’t give up like this.”  

If it had been any other day, Evan would have smiled. His brother’s smile would have lit up his world, would have made his heart flutter and his cheeks flush. But today, it felt like a ghost, like a memory of something that had once mattered. Today, his heart was empty, his mind distant, numb. He felt nothing, not even the warmth of Michael’s touch.  

Michael’s face twisted with pain as he saw his brother’s blank stare. He cupped Evan’s cheek gently, but the boy flinched away. It hurt more than any words could.  

“Fine…” Michael whispered, looking away. “I’ll leave you alone. But... if you need me, I’m down the hall.”  

Evan nodded; the movement almost automatic. He just wanted him to leave. Michael smiled a little, though it was strained, before getting up to go. As the door clicked shut, Evan’s gaze drifted toward the knife drawer. Why was he looking there? He didn’t know. But something in him stirred, like a dark whisper in the back of his mind.  

“And Evan?” Michael’s voice called softly from the doorway.  

Evan jumped, startled. He thought his brother had already left.  

“Y... yeah?”  

“Don’t do something stupid,” Michael said, his tone both gentle and firm.  

Evan nodded, barely able to breathe.  

“Promise me, Ev.”  

“I... I promise…” Evan forced the words out, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. He promised. But it wasn’t something he could keep, not really.  

When Michael was finally gone, Evan’s eyes slid back to the drawer. Slowly, he stood up and walked toward it. He reached out and opened it. Empty. Of course, it was empty, his brother wouldn’t take any risk. His shoulders slumped as he let out a shaky breath. Why had he even looked? He didn’t need a knife. Did he...?  

The darkness was almost there... 

11PM...  

All the lights were off now. The house was eerily quiet. No dad. No Michael. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, each second stretching into an eternity. Evan lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting. The clock seemed to mock him, its relentless ticking reminding him of the hour he had left—an hour to fix his broken flashlight. He knew what would happen if he didn’t. But his body didn’t move. His hands didn’t reach for it. His mind screamed at him to get up, to do something, but his heart… his heart told him to stay here, in the stillness, and wait.  

It was almost like the waiting was all he could do now. He didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t care. All the things that once mattered, the people who once cared, felt like distant memories. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly felt anything other than this cold, empty ache.  

Would it hurt? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He wasn’t scared anymore.  

He almost felt impatient now, as if the wait had gone on too long. The silence was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the rest of it. He didn’t know who would hurt him. He didn’t care. It almost didn’t matter who it was anymore—he just wanted it to come. The pain. The end. Whatever it was. He deserved it.  

There was nothing left to hold onto, nothing left to hope for. He was ready. Just waiting for it to finally come.  

Chapter Text

December 25 th , 1982 – Six month before Elizabeth’s death...  

Believe it or not, the Afton family used to seem almost normal. To outsiders, William Afton looked like a wealthy, successful man, actually, they thought the family might be happy. At least during Christmas, their house seemed cheerful enough. The front yard was covered in sparkling decorations—but only because Elizabeth had begged and pestered her father until he gave in. She wasn’t above using her “Daddy’s little princess” card to get what she wanted.  

And to everyone’s surprise, William actually did it. He bought the lights, the wreaths, and the ornaments. He grumbled and muttered under his breath when no one was listening, but he still got the job done—and it looked good, too.  

Evan sat alone in his room, his small hands resting on the windowsill as he gazed out at the soft glow of Christmas lights shimmering through the falling snow. The faint sound of laughter and muffled voices from downstairs drifted up, a reminder that his family was together, even if he wasn’t a part of it right now. He was only seven, still innocent and unburdened by the fear that would later grip him—but things weren’t perfect either.  

He smiled a lot back then, especially when his family was watching. He wanted to be good, to do everything right, to never cause trouble. He didn’t want to be like Elizabeth, who always got what she wanted, or like Michael, who seemed angry at the world. He didn’t want to be seen as selfish or difficult.  

Deep down, Evan thought that if he tried hard enough—if he stayed quiet, smiled sweetly, and did everything just so—then maybe, just maybe, they would hate him a little less.  

“Evan, you’re not coming?” a voice called from downstairs.  

Evan flinched at the sound, his gaze snapping to the door. His lips parted as if to say "yes," but the words didn’t come. He didn’t want to go. But who was he to decide such things? He should just go, smile, and pretend to be happy about the "gifts." He didn’t even care about the presents anymore. In fact, he almost hoped they’d give him fewer this year—just enough to keep Michael’s jealousy in check. He didn’t want the attention, the expectations.  

He already had his plush toys, and they were enough. They made him feel safe; a comfort he clung to ever since Michael decided he was too old to share his bed with Evan.  

Evan’s expression soured as frustration bubbled up inside him, his thoughts a mess of guilt and confusion.  

“Just smile...” he whispered to himself, trying to push the heaviness of it all away.  

As he was about to look away from the window, the faint sound of the door creaking reached his ears. Without thinking, the little boy forced a smile, turning around to make his eyes big and wide, a reflex he couldn’t help when he was around any family member… even Michael. But it was his mom. Clara Afton.  

“Hi, Mom...” he greeted, his voice betraying a hint of exhaustion, despite his effort to sound cheerful.  

“Dinner’s ready. You should come down. Uncle Henry and Charlie just arrived. They want to say hello.”  

Evan’s first instinct was to stay in his room, but his head drooped slightly as his smile faltered just a bit.  

“Yeah... I’m coming...” he said flatly, his words emotionless.  

He felt a knot form in his stomach. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that everyone was starting to notice. Without raising his gaze, he felt the bed dip next to him. Looking up, he saw his mom, her brow furrowed with concern.  

“What’s wrong, Evan?” she asked softly.  

Evan’s sad expression quickly morphed into a neutral one, masking the turmoil inside.  

“Wha... huh... nothing. I’m... fine. It’s Christmas, I should be happy, right?” he said, forcing a bright smile, showing the gap in his front teeth—something everyone thought was cute.  

Clara cupped his cheek gently, her worry still evident in her eyes. “Are you sure? You know you can tell me what’s bothering you...”  

Evan’s gaze shifted away, his mind racing, but he didn’t pull away from her touch. The weight of his thoughts pressed on him, but he stayed silent, unsure of what to say.  

“I... huh... I... I can’t...” he stammered, his words stumbling out in hesitation.  

Her expression softened as she watched her youngest son struggle to find the right words.  

“Why? Did someone upset you?” she asked gently, concern edging her voice.  

Evan’s brow furrowed as he struggled internally, his small hands fidgeting in his lap.  

“I don’t wanna be a snitch, okay?” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.  

Clara’s eyes widened, her concern deepening. “What... is this about Michael?” she asked, her voice careful, trying to meet his eyes.  

Evan pulled away slightly, a sigh escaping him as he looked down, his words barely audible.  

“I... I’m... not sure... about him anymore.”  

Evan’s voice cracked, betraying the storm of emotions inside him. He could see how his mother tensed at his words, her concern shifting to confusion as she realized the problem was about Michael. Panic surged in Evan’s chest.  

“No! He didn’t do anything wrong, okay? There’s just...”  

He stopped, his mind racing for the right words, praying she would drop the topic. But she didn’t interrupt, just waited patiently. Evan let out a long sigh, giving up.  

“Last time... I heard him talking on the phone... about wanting... to skate like them... and... so...”  

“Wait... it wasn’t William? I mean, dad?” Clara asked, her brow furrowing.  

Evan quickly shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“No... it was just... I just wanted him to be happy... to stop hating me so much...” His words were soft, almost ashamed, but they were genuine. He knew it sounded like he was trying to guilt-trip, but it wasn’t. Not to him.  

Clara’s heart sank as she realized how deeply her son was feeling the distance between him and Michael.  

“Wait... you went to the store alone? When? H-how did you... pay?”  

Evan shrugged, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  

“I... I hurried to go after school... and I saved up my money. It wasn’t a lot... it’s cheap, but I just... hope it doesn’t break and hurt Michael. He would... he’d hate me even more if he knew it was me...” His voice trailed off, guilt making his chest tighten.  

Clara's heart almost shattered. She reached out and gently cupped his cheek.  

“Sweetie... he doesn’t know?” she asked softly, her voice full of warmth and sadness.  

Evan shook his head and blushed deeper.  

“I... I’ll make him think it’s from Santa. I know... Michael wasn’t... always nice, so... maybe he’ll get coal this year...” He looked up at her with those wide, innocent eyes. “I just wanted to do something nice for him... do you think I should tell him?”  

Clara’s heart twisted as she looked into her son’s hopeful eyes, feeling the weight of his simple, earnest wish.  

"Why are you... so nice to him? I don't think he... deserves a gift from you, you remember how he..."  

"Yeah, I know..."  

He interrupted softly, the memory of making Evan believe there was a monster in his room just last week still fresh in his mind.  

"But I forgave him," he continued quietly. "I don't care about what he did... I know he can change... I believe he will. I just have to wait."  

He crossed his arms, a quiet strength in his voice.  

"And if it takes a hundred years... I’ll wait." His words carried the kind of innocence only a child could possess.  

The moment hung in the air before he felt her arms wrap around him, warm and gentle.  

"You’re too good for your own good... you know?"  

Evan let out a small, sad giggle.  

"I... I just don't wanna be alone..."  

There was a long pause, and then he hesitated, his voice soft and unsure.  

"You’ll never leave me, right? A... and Dad too... even if you, um, argue a lot... you’ll never... ever leave me, right, Mommy?" His voice was so sweet, so filled with hope.  

“Of course, love...”  

A few years later...  

Who could have been the last person on his mind in those final moments? Perhaps it was his friends—the ones he had only just begun to bond with, only to lose them in a single day. Or maybe it was his brother, Michael, whom he had always desperately tried to reconnect with, though he never quite succeeded... even though Michael was now trying, albeit far too late. Or perhaps it was his father, William Afton—his cold, purple-shadowed presence, his menacing gaze, the man who lived under the same roof but was a world apart.  

But in the end, it was none of them.  

As the shadows closed in, and the clock ominously ticked closer to midnight, his flashlight cold and broken, leaving him utterly vulnerable in his bed, there was only one person on his mind.  

His breath hitched; each inhale heavy with the weight of his thoughts. It was her. She had left him—just like everyone else had. He wasn’t good enough for her. He never had been.  

"Thanks, Clara. Thanks a lot," the boy said, his voice bitter and flat.  

His innocence was gone now, replaced by emptiness. The way he used to stutter when he spoke of someone he cared for, the way his cheek would burn with shame—those little things, gone. He used to trust people, once. He used to believe in them...  

Bip. Bip. Bip.  

Evan knew what was coming, and he braced himself for it. He had already lost so much—what more was there to lose? His life? It almost felt like a relief. That was exactly what he had been trying to escape from, what he had wanted to be rid of all along.  

To end it all in a twisted mess of blood and bone, to let the Nightmares feast on his broken soul—he was done. He had nothing left to fight for. His room was suffocating, the darkness closing in tighter with every passing second, as if the shadows themselves were closing in, waiting for the final breath. The memories twisted around him like a vice, the weight of the past pressing down until it felt like he might break.  

The few moments of joy, now drowned in the sea of sorrow. Love and hate, smiles and tears, life and death—all of it mixing into a grotesque blur of pain and regret. The doubt that had haunted him for so long now felt like certainty. He wanted to scream, to fight back, but there was no fight left in him. He was small, so small for this...  

His door creaked open. Evan froze, his breath caught in his throat as he curled tighter into himself, burying his head in his knees. He knew who was there. He knew . The metal claws and twisted grin would be the last thing he’d ever feel, the last thing he’d ever see. His pulse hammered in his ears as he bit down on his lips, bracing himself, trying with every ounce of strength not to scream when the beast's cold, metallic jaw would tear him apart.  

But the silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, dragging on far longer than it should have. The air grew heavier with every passing second, pressing down on him, making it harder to breathe. The monster didn’t move. It didn’t see him. Did it?  

“Just kill me already!” Evan’s voice cracked, raw with bitterness and hurt, as he lifted his head, expecting to see Nightmare Bonnie’s hulking figure towering over him.  

But what he saw froze him solid. Standing in the doorway, bathed in the faint glow of moonlight, was Michael.  

Evan’s blood turned to ice.  

“What did you just say?” Michael’s voice was low, confused, his brows furrowed as he stepped into the room.  

Evan swallowed hard, his heart pounding. “N... Nothing,” he mumbled, looking away. “Go to bed, Michael.”  

But Michael didn’t leave. Of course, he didn’t. He never listened.  

“Are you pulling an all-nighter again?” Michael asked, stepping closer. His voice faltered for a moment, shifting from his usual teasing tone. “Why would you say... I mean... what’s going on with you?”  

Evan trembled, every nerve in his body screaming. The monsters were still there. He could feel them. Watching. Waiting. Their twisted forms looming in the shadows, their glowing eyes locked on the two of them. They were coming closer now.  

He tried to steady his breathing, tried to think, but his panic only grew. He had to get Michael out of here. If his brother stayed, they would kill him. They would kill both of them.  

“You need to leave,” Evan whispered, his voice shaking.  

“What? Why?” Michael’s tone was sharp now, suspicious. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”  

Evan’s fists clenched the blanket beneath him as he fought back tears.  

“Just... just go!” Evan snapped, his voice desperate, almost pleading.  

But Michael stepped closer instead, his shadow stretching across the room.  

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” Michael insisted, his tone a mix of concern and irritation.  

Okay, that was it. Evan was done. He wasn’t proud of what he was about to do, but he didn’t care. There were worse things than death, and dragging Michael into this nightmare would be one of them. Whatever hell Evan was in, he’d face it alone. He refused to be the reason Michael died.  

“Since when do you care, Michael?” Evan spat, his voice sharp and icy, cutting through the suffocating silence like a blade.  

Michael hesitated, then stepped closer. His eyes darted around the room—the bed, the desk, the shadows—like he was searching for some hidden danger. It was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid. He just needed to leave.  

“What do you mean, when do I care? Of course I care, Ev—”  

“No need to bullshit me. I’m not a kid anymore,” Evan cut him off, his voice cold and far too calm.  

Michael flinched. He couldn’t deny it. This wasn’t the same little brother he’d teased and tormented years ago. This version of Evan was hollow, shattered into something beyond repair. It hit Michael like a punch to the gut. His chest tightened, and for the first time, tears burned at the corners of his eyes.  

“I... I’m s—”  

“You opened my eyes, Michael,” Evan interrupted, his voice steady, but there was a storm of raw pain behind every word. “You made me realize I wasn’t worth loving. That nice people are just there to be used. That the weak always die. And you know what, Michael?” He paused, locking eyes with his brother, his gaze cold and unflinching. “You were right.”  

Michael’s tears spilled over, but Evan didn’t care. He didn’t care that it was the first time he’d seen his big brother cry. He didn’t care that Michael looked like he was falling apart.  

“Now leave me alone...” Evan continued, his voice flat, empty. “Go back to bed. And tomorrow, find someone else to break, since that’s all you care about.”  

“Evan... I... are you serious? I—”  

“GET OUTTA HERE!” Evan screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he’d been holding in.  

Michael flinched, startled by the sudden intensity of his brother’s anger. He had never been afraid of Evan before, but in this moment—where everything felt heavy with finality—something deep in his gut told him this was different. This wasn’t just a bad moment; it was a turning point. A voice in his mind whispered that if he didn’t act now, he would regret it forever.  

He could have done what he always did: turned away and left Evan to his misery, pretending not to notice. Just like all the other times he ignored the dark circles under his brother’s bloodshot eyes, the pallor of his face, the exhaustion weighing him down—or even the claw-like scars on his chest. But this time was different. Michael knew that brushing things aside, waiting for a “better time,” wasn’t an option anymore.  

This wasn’t just about a single night. This was about saving what was left of his little brother—or losing him forever.  

Michael’s heart twisted painfully as he stepped forward, his movements slow and cautious. He watched Evan trembling, his eyes darting nervously around the room as though he expected something to emerge from the shadows at any moment. Michael could see it now: his brother wasn’t angry—he was terrified. And beneath the terror, there was something even more crushing.  

Despair.  

Michael knelt down, his heart twisting as he pulled Evan’s trembling, fragile frame into a firm, protective hug. He didn’t give his brother a chance to pull away—or even protest. Evan’s body stiffened immediately, his thin arms pinned awkwardly between them, muscles tense like a coiled spring. Michael could feel him shaking, his small frame so cold it was like he’d been standing in the snow for hours.  

He didn’t say anything at first, just held him tighter, feeling the rapid, uneven breaths against his chest. Then, without a sound, the tears came. Hot and endless, they soaked into Michael’s shirt as Evan clung to him. He cried silently, without sobs or wails, like someone too broken to make a sound. Michael’s throat tightened painfully as he began rubbing his brother’s back in slow, soothing circles.  

“It’s okay, Ev,” Michael murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading. “You can cry... You don’t have to hold it in anymore.”  

Evan hesitated for a moment, then gave the faintest nod, burying his face into the crook of Michael’s neck. His breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps.  

“I... I... I’m scared,” Evan stammered, his voice small and raw. “You should leave... for your sake, Michael. I mean it.”  

Michael froze for a moment, his jaw clenching as he processed his brother’s words. Slowly, he shook his head.  

“Why would I leave you?” Michael said firmly, his tone both tender and unyielding. “How could I leave you when you’re like this? No way. Okay? You know I love you, right?”  

Evan stiffened again, his hands gripping Michael’s shirt tightly. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his breathing still uneven.  

“Yeah... fuck you,” Evan mumbled bitterly, his voice muffled.  

Michael huffed a soft laugh, his lips twitching into a small, sad smile as he pinched Evan’s nose lightly. “Language, little man,” he said teasingly, his tone carrying a hint of warmth.  

A sound escaped Evan’s throat then—a faint, broken giggle, like a tiny crack of light in a suffocating darkness. It was a sound Michael hadn’t heard for what felt in so long it felt almost foreign.  

But the darkness wasn’t gone. Not really. Evan’s shoulders stayed stiff, his small body still trembling as his eyes flickered to the corners of the room. Where were they? The Nightmares? Why weren’t they coming? Were they just waiting, letting him lower his guard?  

It made him angry—angrier than he thought possible. He wanted them to come now, to hurt him and leave Michael alone. He wanted this to end for him, one way or another.  

But here, in Michael’s arms, the crushing weight of the darkness seemed to lift just a little. Not completely—it never would. But enough for Evan to take a breath that didn’t feel like drowning.  

Still, he knew it wouldn’t last. The darkness wasn’t gone. It was waiting, patient and cruel, ready to return worse than before.  

Chapter Text

October 24th , 1985 – Afton Household  

Michael was different now, and it felt strange—for him and for his brother. Something inside him had snapped. He wasn’t cruel anymore, or even distant and indifferent; instead, he seemed... worried. He was consumed with fear, the fear of losing his baby brother. That worry took hold of him so deeply that he began to cling to him without even realizing it.  

The teen walked into his little brother’s room without knocking. It had become a habit these days. Evan flinched at the sudden intrusion.  

“Hey there, little bro,” Michael said with a grin.  

Evan groaned and buried his face in his pillow, ignoring him. Michael rolled his eyes at the dramatic gesture.  

“Leave me alone... I don’t have time for this,” Evan mumbled, his voice muffled.  

Michael scoffed, leaning against the bedpost. “Too busy doing nothing?”  

“No! I... I mean, I’m tired,” Evan retorted, his voice defensive.  

Without waiting for an invitation, Michael sat down beside him.  

“Did you at least do your homework? You got an F on your history test. You know you should at least try , right?”  

Evan lifted his head, raising an eyebrow. “You get Fs too, dumbhead” he said, sticking out his tongue.  

Michael blinked, caught off guard. “You little—how do you even know that? Did you go through my stuff?”  

“Thanks for proving you do,” Evan giggled.  

Michael folded his arms, glaring at the boy. “Okay, fine. You win. You don’t have to do your homework... BUT—”  

“But what?” Evan interrupted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.  

“But you’re sleeping in my room tonight.”  

“Aww, come on!” Evan groaned.  

Michael’s expression turned serious, his grin fading. “As if you have a choice. No way in hell am I leaving you alone after all the crap you said last time.”  

Before Evan could protest, Michael reached over and grabbed him, effortlessly tucking the smaller boy under his arm.  

“Let me go!” Evan squirmed, but Michael just grinned again.  

“Not happening, little bro.”  

...  

Michael’s bed was huge. Evan remembered when he used to sneak onto it, back when the monsters weren’t real, just things his imagination made up. Back when Michael didn’t think of him as just a pain in the ass.  

But now, here he was again, and for completely different reasons. Michael had made him stay, pulling him close with an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder. They were both lying on the bed, and it felt... strange.  

Evan glanced at the clock.  

1 AM.  

This was usually the time he’d be running around the house, flashlight in hand, chasing shadows and trying to scare the monsters away. But now? He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t fighting. The room was quiet, and Michael’s arm made him feel... safe.  

It was weird. But not bad.  

Evan smiled faintly, his head resting against Michael’s chest. Maybe giving up to the darkness wasn’t the only option after all... right?  

“Can’t sleep?” Michael asked, making his brother almost jump.  

The boy’s gaze fell on his big brother’s blue eyes, before shaking his head. He wasn’t used to sleep early, and now, despite not having touched coffee, his eyes were open widely. His internal clock was fucked...  

“No... you shouldn’t worry... just go to...”  

“Why? What’s on your mind?” Michael asked, yawning.  

Evan sighed. He knew his brother wouldn’t brush it off. Sometime his brother missed the distant Michael... it was way easier to say some bullshit like “I’m fine”, and he would just pretend to believe it and move on.  

But he couldn’t outright say that his mind was screaming at him to get up and fight off the monsters that, strangely, weren’t around when his big brother was here. So, he had to made up something. Then, an idea popped in his head...  

“M... Mom...” the boy mumbled quietly.  

To say his big brother tense, was an understatement.  

“Clara? Was she the one who make you feel this way?” his brother said bitterly.  

Evan gulped, sensing how the topic was getting Michael on his mean side.  

“Huh... no... I... I mean... it’s not only about her, but about everyone who left, Michael. Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, Charlie, E... Elizabeth... and Mom. It hurt...”  

Michael sighed.  

“I... I know. But you couldn’t have done anything, could you?”  

Evan shook his head.  

“Maybe if I had canceled my birthday? Or maybe if... I had been a better son... or a better brother...”  

“Don’t even start with that shit...”  

Michael lifted his brother’s chin with his brother, to meet his serious gaze with the child’s guilty look.  

“...you couldn’t have done anything, there’s nothing wrong about... having your birthday somewhere, or existing. And if she left you, it’s on her. She missed having the kindest son a mother could ask for.”  

Evan looked at him, with big blue eyes, as he blushed.  

“You’re silly when you’re tired.”  

“Yeah... you’re worse”, Michael said, going back at his pillow.  

After a few long moments of silence, Evan let out a deep sigh. He knew they wouldn't sleep—not after talking about all these heavy things. Why even try? Who cared about school tomorrow, not after all the mess they’d been through?  

“Do you have any idea how they went missing?” Evan asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Michael blinked, his body stiffening slightly. He turned to face his brother, eyes narrowed in confusion.  

“Who?”  

“My friends... Gabriel and the others...” Evan’s voice trailed off, his words thick with sadness.  

Michael's expression shifted, his face falling as the weight of Evan’s words hit him.  

“Oh... right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sure the police will find them...” But even as he said it, his voice lacked conviction. The chances were slim, he knew that.  

Evan shook his head, his breath shaky. “I’m sure they won’t…”  

“Come on... have some faith in the system,” Michael said with a half-hearted attempt at a joke, but it landed flat. Evan didn’t laugh. There wasn’t anything to laugh about anymore.  

The room felt colder, the silence stretching between them. Evan shifted, scooting closer to his brother. He needed comfort, but even then, it felt like a poor substitute for answers.  

“Why did he... kill them all, except me?” Evan’s voice trembled, the question hanging in the air like a heavy, suffocating cloud.  

Michael’s arms instinctively tightened around him, as if trying to protect him from the fear that clung to Evan’s words. But Michael had no answers, only uncertainty.  

“Because he knew I would rip him apart,” Michael muttered, trying to lighten the moment.  

Evan pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “I’m serious, Mike...”  

Michael sighed, his grip loosening, but he still kept Evan close. “Okay, okay... I don’t know. Maybe they were just... in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His voice was strained, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Evan.  

Evan stared at the ceiling, his mind racing, but his thoughts were too tangled to make sense of. “It’s weird, though... everyone who disappeared was linked to me...” he said, his voice quiet but filled with confusion.  

Michael wanted to argue, wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He knew it was the truth. Either the killer was coming for him next, or he was trying to push everyone close to him away. But there was one question that still hung heavy in the air—one question neither of them had an answer to.  

Who could it be?  

Chapter Text

October 24th , 1985 – Hurrican Elementary School  

The classroom was eerily silent. Evan glanced around, his eyes flitting from one blank face to another. The room felt dull, drained of color, as if the weight of the silence had painted everything grey. Everyone stood stiffly, their expressions flat, emotionless. Evan mirrored them, but his heart was pounding in his chest. He didn’t know why they were standing like this, why the silence pressed down so heavily on them all. His hands shook as he followed his teacher’s command: to stand, to show respect. 

The door creaked open, breaking the silence like a crack in glass. A man stepped in, followed by two police officers. Evan froze. His breath caught in his throat. Shit... 

“Hello, everyone,” the man said, his voice heavy with something unspoken. He paused, then let out a long sigh. 

Silence hung in the air like a weight. Even the teacher, usually the one to fill awkward moments, said nothing. She simply stood off to the side, her gaze lowered, as if bracing herself. 

The only hint of normalcy was the date scrawled on the whiteboard in uneven handwriting, stark against the strangeness of the moment. 

“I’m Hurricane’s mayor,” the man continued, his tone measured but somber. “And these officers are from the police department. We’re here to... talk to you about the tragedy that occurred ten days ago.” 

Evan’s heart dropped like a stone. The words he had been dreading were now out in the open. He clasped his trembling hands together, gripping tightly as if it might somehow anchor him. He didn’t move—his body stiffened, frozen in place. 

One of the officers stepped forward, his boots echoing faintly against the silent floor. 

“Children,” the officer began, his voice carefully steady, though it cracked at the edges. “Just like you... kids your age. One of them was even in this class.” He hesitated, his face tightening before he continued. “They didn’t follow the safety rules. And now... they’re missing. We’re afraid they might be... gone for good. We haven’t found a single lead.” 

Evan bit down hard on his lip, his vision blurring as tears welled up. Not here. Not in front of everyone. He blinked furiously, his chest tightening. Please, not here.  

“They were last seen,” the officer went on, his voice quieter now, “at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. Witnesses say they followed a yellow animatronic into the back room of the restaurant...” His words trailed off into a heavy sigh. 

The classroom felt suffocating; the silence almost alive with tension. Wide eyes stayed glued to the officers, except Evan’s. He stared down at his desk, his heart racing. A yellow animatronic? The words rang in his head like a cruel taunt. Was it one of his Nightmares? Had they come to kill them, too? 

The thought was too much to bear. Far too much. 

Pain churned inside him, a raw and suffocating knot of guilt, fear, and anguish. He clenched his arm tightly, nails digging into his skin, wishing he could disappear. Or die. The thought came unbidden, but it didn’t leave. Michael’s comforting words from before were gone, as if they’d never existed. He was alone—utterly and painfully alone. The realization hit like a truck. 

His grip tightened until he felt something warm trickle across his hand. Blood. Just great. He stared at it for a moment, detached, before shoving his hand under the desk, hiding it from view. 

The officer’s voice droned on, listing safety rules meant to prevent tragedies like this. Evan barely heard them, his head pounding. But then the conversation shifted, sharp and personal, like a knife turning in his gut. 

“Did... any of you know them?” one of the officers asked. 

The air changed, and Evan’s stomach dropped. It was like a silent signal—every head in the room turned toward him.  

Gabriel’s best friend. Jeremy and Fritz’s buddy. The one rumored to have a crush on Susie. 

He was cooked. 

Even the adults seemed to notice. Their eyes followed the stares of the class, landing squarely on him. Evan felt his face drain of all color. The walls seemed to close in, his heart hammering in his chest as his mind screamed for escape. 

“I... I gotta pee!” he stammered, bolting up from his chair. Without waiting for permission, he rushed to the door, not bothering to grab his bag—or even glance back. The stares followed him, burning into his back as he fled, his footsteps echoing down the empty hall. 

... 

Meanwhile – Hurricane High School...  

Michael moved quickly toward his locker, his mind already dreading the day ahead. School was starting in five minutes, and he wasn’t in the mood for his math teacher’s usual annoying remarks. He just wanted to get through the day without dealing with any extra bullshit. 

The past few days had been rough. Normally, he’d prefer school over being home—at least there he wouldn’t have to listen to his little brother whine all day. He could hang with the guys, joke around, forget about everything. But now? Now it felt like everything had flipped. He’d chosen his baby brother over them, and it seemed to have changed everything. 

“Speaking of the devil...” Michael muttered to himself as he rounded the corner and saw Mark standing in front of him, shoving some kid aside. 

The two locked eyes, and Michael couldn’t help but roll his own. This wasn’t going to be a fun morning. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, but he wasn’t going to let Mark think he could push him around either. 

As he turned to walk away, he spotted Simon. Shit. Now he was trapped. 

“Michael, my man... how’s it going?” Mark said, smirking like nothing had happened between them. He completely ignored the tension from the last time they saw each other. 

Michael’s frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of a reaction. 

“Just fine,” Michael replied, his voice flat, stopping himself from saying anything that might escalate things. 

Mark placed a hand on his shoulder, but Michael immediately flinched and stepped back. No way in hell was he letting this asshole get physical with him. 

“Oh yeah? Been having fun with the crybaby, huh?” Simon chimed in, his voice dripping with mockery. 

Michael’s fist clenched. He knew exactly where this was going. He’d made his choice—chose his little brother over them—and now they were going to make him pay for it. 

“None of your business,” Michael snapped, trying to keep his cool. “I have to go now, bye, g—” 

Before he could finish, Mark slammed his hand down on the locker, blocking his way. 

“No fucking way, Afton.” 

Michael was slightly shorter than Mark, and Mark knew it. He used it to his advantage, leaning in so close their noses almost touched. Michael’s fists clenched at his sides, his anger boiling over. 

“Why are you even doing this? Because I didn’t let you beat him up? He’s a fucking kid! ” Michael’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. 

Mark shoved him hard, slamming him against the locker with a loud bang. Heads turned, whispers spreading through the hallway like wildfire. Just perfect. 

“You threatened me, you little shit,” Mark spat, his eyes blazing. “You turned on me out of nowhere—while we were having fun.” 

“ Fun? ” Michael’s voice cracked with fury. “You’re seriously that heartless? You’re a goddamn—” 

Mark’s hand shot out, grabbing Michael by the cheeks, his grip rough and humiliating. 

“You’re the one who tortured him, Michael. We just followed your lead, ” Mark sneered, his grin twisted and cruel. 

The words hit Michael like a punch to the gut. His breath hitched, tears welling in his eyes. He hated how much it hurt; how much he knew it was true. His chest felt like it was caving in, shame and rage battling inside him. 

But he didn’t let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of him.  

Before Mark could say another word, Michael lunged forward, smashing his forehead into Mark’s face with a sickening crack. Mark yelped, stumbling backward and hitting the floor with a thud. 

The hallway went silent, the crowd staring in shock. Michael’s chest heaved as he glared down at Mark, his fists trembling. 

... 

Meanwhile...  

The lunchroom felt suffocating, the noise around Evan a distant hum. He sat alone, staring at the empty seat beside him—the one Gabriel used to claim every day. He could almost imagine his friend there, laughing over some dumb joke, but the seat remained vacant, a stark reminder of what he’d lost. 

Across from him were two more empty chairs, where Fritz and Jeremy used to sit. Fritz always sat beside him as Jeremy rolled his eyes, but never straying far from his best friend. They were inseparable, their banter filling the gaps in Evan’s world. 

And now they were gone. Just like that. 

The emptiness felt unbearable, like a weight pressing on his chest. They’d been ripped away, leaving him stranded with his own thoughts—thoughts that grew darker by the day, clouded with loneliness and fear. 

Fear of being next. 

Evan poked at his food with his fork, not eating, just moving the mushy lumps around his plate. The loud bang of a metallic tray startled him, echoing through the lunchroom. His head snapped up, hope flickering in his eyes. For a split second, he believed it. 

Maybe it was the ginger-haired boy, or the one with glasses. Maybe it was her, with soft blonde hair and kind blue eyes that could make everything feel better. 

But no. 

Instead, sharp blue eyes stared back at him. The blond boy sat across from him with a smirk—mocking, full of fake concern. Evan’s heart pounded in his chest as he silently cursed himself. 

There was something worse than being alone. 

It was this. 

“You okay, Evan? You gave us all such a scare when you ran off...” Andrew’s voice spoke with mock sympathy. 

Evan tensed as more kids slid into the empty chairs around him, boxing him in. They sat where his friends should’ve been. But instead of filling the void, they made it worse. 

“I... I had to pee...” Evan stammered, shrinking under Andrew’s gaze. 

Andrew leaned back, looking him up and down with a smirk that made Evan feel even smaller. 

“Right... it wasn’t to avoid facing the consequences of your actions, was it?” 

Evan’s face turned pale. Eyes were on him now, burning into him. He hated this. 

“What?” he muttered, his voice trembling. 

Andrew’s smirk turned icy. 

“They’re all dead... except you,” he said, his tone sharp and venomous. “What if you killed them?” 

The words hit Evan like a punch. A strange rush surged through him—anger, panic, something else. He shot to his feet, his body tense. For once, he didn’t feel afraid. 

“What did you just say?” His voice quivered but carried a spark of defiance. 

The whispers around them grew louder, but Andrew didn’t flinch. He seemed to revel in the attention. 

“You heard me, Afton.” 

Evan clenched his fists. He hated that name.

“You don’t know shit, Andrew,” Evan spat, his voice cold. 

Andrew chuckled, his smirk growing wider. 

Evan turned, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Who even believes this crap? Why would I kill my friends? How could I kill them?” 

For a moment, the murmurs quieted. A flicker of doubt passed through the crowd. 

But Andrew wasn’t done. 

“You said it yourself, Ev,” Andrew said, his grin cruel. 

There was a soft click . 

A voice— his voice—filled the air. 

“I’m... sorry it’s all my fault... I... I was stupid... I shouldn’t... I...” 

It was raw, full of tears and pain. Evan’s voice. Recorded. 

Evan’s eyes widened as they darted from the recording device in Andrew’s hand to his face. 

“Y... you recorded me? In the bathroom?” Evan whispered, his voice cracking as gasps rippled through the crowd. 

The weight of it all crashed down on him. He didn’t know what hurt more: the betrayal or the way the crowd suddenly looked at him. 

This wasn’t just humiliation. It was something much worse. 

“You can’t lie any—” 

“You liar! You’re lying, you know it!” Evan shouted, his voice cracking, barely holding back tears. His whole body shook with frustration. 

"Look! The killer's crying!" someone jeered. 

“You really are heartless... if you really did it...” Susie’s friend’s voice floated through the crowd, dripping with judgment. 

“Did someone help you? Does the police know?” 

“How did you kill them?” 

“How could you kill them?” 

The words hit Evan like bricks, each one adding more weight to the suffocating pressure on his chest. His heart pounded. The anger burned in his veins. 

That was it. Everything he had been holding in for so long exploded. With a roar, he shoved the table aside, the crash echoing in the lunchroom. In the same breath, his fist flew forward, slamming into Andrew's cheek with a sickening smack. Andrew’s smirk vanished, replaced by a stunned expression as Evan’s fury wiped the fuck out of his grin. 

Chapter Text

October 24th , 1985 – Afton’s neighborhood  

The road stretched out, deserted in the quiet hour, as the two brothers walked side by side. One served detention, while the other... well, he was waiting for his brother after being suspended from school for the day. Two brothers, labeled as violent by the educational system, who deserved a punishment . 

Neither of them said a word, too ashamed to speak as they slowly approached the dreaded house. Evan’s body trembled slightly, unsure if it was the cold or his growing fear. Michael could almost feel it. He ruffled his brother’s hair, smiling softly as he felt the warmth and softness beneath his fingers. 

“Hey... don’t worry, okay? Just... follow my lead,” Michael muttered, spotting their house in the distance. 

“Uh... okay... I trust you, Mike…” 

Great. He had no fucking idea how he was going to handle it, but he had to. And he couldn’t mess up or lose his brother’s trust. Michael swallowed hard, wishing the walk would last forever. But before long, they were at the front door—too soon. 

“Evan... don’t make a sound, okay?” Michael whispered, his fingers trembling as he fumbled for the house key in his pocket. 

His little brother nodded, his face pale in the dim light. Michael drew in a slow, shaky breath and turned the key. The soft click echoed through the silence, making them both freeze. They flinched, knowing they couldn’t take back the sound. 

The door creaked open, and the brothers stepped inside. The air was frigid, colder than the night outside, sending a shiver down their spines. They exchanged a glance, their breath visible in the dark, cold emptiness of the house. The night of October pressed in around them, as if the world outside was holding its breath. 

They moved carefully, scanning the dark corners of the room. No William. No sign of Dad. Their hearts skipped when they saw his shoes were missing from the doorway—no footsteps, no clues. 

They let out a quiet breath of relief. But it didn’t last. 

Without making a sound, they peeled off their jackets. Every movement was deliberate, every step measured. Michael began ascending the stairs, Evan just behind him, their footsteps barely a whisper on the wooden steps. A sense of hope flickered between them, but it felt fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. Everything would be fine... right?  

Yeah, sure. Because guess who was standing in his room, staring out through Michael’s window at the street? 

“It’s a pretty good day to stay inside, isn’t it, Michael?” 

William fucking Afton. Michael’s confidence shattered like glass, his stomach sinking as soon as that asshole’s voice said something so casually mundane. Evan, just behind him, squeezed Michael’s hand—maybe for comfort, or maybe to offer some, though Michael wasn’t sure anymore. They were both scared shitless, after all. 

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” Michael’s voice came out harsher than he expected, the words cutting through the stillness like a knife. 

Before he could curse himself for the slip-up, their father— that bastard —proved yet again how little he cared. He didn’t even flinch, his eyes still locked on the empty street. He took a slow sip of his coffee, the sound of it loud and deliberate. 

“Tell me, who’s paying the rent, Michael?” 

“Uh...” Michael's throat went dry. 

“Y... you?” Evan stammered, barely above a whisper. 

“You’re a smart boy, Evan,” William said, his voice flat, not even sparing them a glance. The way he didn’t even look at them... God , it was fucking creepy. 

“Thanks... but...” 

“What am I doing here? First of all, my house, my rules. Second of all... since you’ve proven yourself to behave so nicely at school today, I thought maybe you deserved a surprise after all...” 

The two brothers exchanged a quick, confused glance. Did he know? Probably. But why wasn’t he screaming at them for getting into trouble? Why was he so calm? That silence, that eerie calm, was even worse. It was like he was playing with them. They could feel it. 

“So, I figured... maybe your room was too cold. Now you’ve got an extra layer on your window,” William said, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. 

Michael’s gaze shot straight to the window. What the hell was he talking about? Their dad’s smile only deepened as he turned and left the room, his face painted with something that wasn’t even close to truthfulness. Michael stood there, frozen, completely thrown off. He had been expecting a black eye or something worse, not... this. 

“Why didn’t he shout?” Evan’s voice, small and shaky, broke the silence. 

“No idea...” Michael mumbled, his mind still reeling. “He’s fucking weird.” 

“What did he mean by ‘extra layer,’ though?” 

“I don’t know... but it pisses me off. Why can’t he just act normal for once and actually get mad like he’s supposed to?” Michael’s anger began to boil beneath the surface, frustration leaking into his words. 

Evan sighed, stepping up to Michael’s bed to reach the window. Extra layer? That didn’t make sense, but... how? Would it make the room warmer? Then something caught his eye—a small lock on the window. His face drained of color. 

“Huh... Mike?” Evan’s voice trembled, his breath catching. 

“What?” 

“D... Do you have... the key?” Evan asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Michael froze, his blood running cold. His eyes followed his brother’s, and suddenly everything clicked. He felt stupid. 

“That son of a bitch...” Michael muttered, his voice tight with a mix of rage and disbelief. 

... 

The atmosphere in the room was suffocating, the walls closing in on them as the realization hit: they were trapped. The only escape they could see was through the locked window, and even that felt like a fragile hope, a fleeting illusion. 

Michael paced restlessly in Evan’s room, his footsteps echoing in the tense silence. Evan was hunched over, trying to force the lock with a needle, his tongue sticking out in concentration. If it were any other time, Michael would have cracked a joke, teased Evan about his silly focus. But not now. Not today. The anger and fear clawed at him, a constant presence in his chest. They weren’t going to force it, not with William’s touch on that lock. If they wanted to get out, they’d have to face him. 

“I’m talking some sense into that prick,” Michael growled, his voice low and vicious. “No way in hell is he trapping us in his shithole.” 

The words hit the air like a slap, and Evan’s hand froze. The needle slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor with a soft clink. He didn’t bother picking it up. His eyes locked with Michael’s, confusion written across his face. 

“What? B-but you’ll anger him, Michael...” Evan stammered, his voice shaky. 

Michael shrugged, trying to hide the nervous tremor in his shoulders. 

“Yeah. At least when he’s angry, we actually know what he plans to do... to hurt us...” His voice hardened. “Now, do you even know what he plans to do? It freaks me out. Does he expect us to flee through the window? We’ve never done that before! He couldn’t know that…” 

Evan let out a long, defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping. 

“Or maybe he’s spying on us... who knows?” His words drifted off, his gaze catching on his plush toy by the bed—he didn’t even know why he was looking at it. 

“He can’t spy on us 24/7, Ev,” Michael muttered, a hint of frustration creeping back into his voice. He turned toward the door, clearly ready to go confront William. “Whatever, just stay here. I won’t be long.” 

“But—” Evan started; his voice thin with worry. 

Michael’s patience snapped again, his frustration bubbling over. He was ready to snap at his brother, to tell him to stay put and stop being so afraid. But then he saw the fear in Evan’s eyes, and it stopped him cold. The last thing he wanted to do was lose his brother’s trust, not now, not after everything they’d been through. 

He sighed deeply, his anger retreating, replaced by a softer resolve. Michael dropped to one knee in front of Evan, forcing his gaze to soften. 

“Hey... listen,” Michael said, his voice quieter now. 

Evan shrank back slightly, his face wracked with the fear of what was to come. “I don’t want dad to hurt you. I know he hurts you... b-but… he won’t hurt me. Maybe I should go instead,” Evan said, the words tumbling out in a rush, his anxiety thick in the air. 

Michael’s heart ached at the desperation in his brother’s voice. He bit his lip, counting to three to keep from saying something too harsh. But the truth needed to come out. He couldn’t just sugarcoat it anymore. 

“Okay... so, first of all, I’ll never let you go near that man alone, Evan. And I swear to you, as long as I’m here, he won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll protect you. And you know... I told you to trust me, right?” 

Evan looked at him with wide eyes, his voice suddenly calmer but filled with a quiet sadness. 

“Michael?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… kinda see through your bullshit, you know?” Evan said, his tone unexpectedly serious. “You don’t need to pretend. You’re saying that to make me feel better, but we both know the truth. Even if you don’t want to admit it, you’ll be glad I’ll be there to clean up your wounds if dad hurts you.” 

The words hit Michael like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath for a moment. How the hell did Evan know that? How could he see through his protective lies so easily? The weight of his brother’s words pressed down on him, and Michael couldn’t find the words to respond. All he could do was sigh, his heart heavy, as he stood up. 

“Stay here,” he said softly, his voice more broken than he intended. “I’ll be back soon.” 

... 

The knock on the door echoed through the room, sharp and loud. As if William didn’t already know who it was. 

He chuckled darkly, turning off the devices that had been quietly recording. 

The door creaked open, revealing Michael standing in the doorway, his face twisted in anger. Perfect. Just what he needed. 

“What do you want, Michael?” William’s voice was cold, void of any warmth. 

“Give me the key.” 

William’s lips curled into a smirk, trying to hold back the irritation that was bubbling up. He couldn’t let it show—not yet. 

“What key?” he asked, his voice low. “Be specific, or…” 

“The key to my window. I don’t like knowing it’s locked. Me or Evan… it’s fucking creepy.” 

William stood up, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto his son. 

“You don’t understand why I did that, do you?” 

Michael's glare never wavered. “Tell me.” 

A sigh escaped William’s lips, the weight of it heavy with disdain. 

“You’re a fucking disgrace, Michael.” 

Michael flinched but didn't look away. He was used to this. He was facing the real William now. The man who had never really been a father. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

The slap hit fast and hard. Michael tasted blood; the sting sharp against his skin. 

“Don’t talk back to me, you little shit,” William snarled, his voice thick with venom. “Or I’ll make you regret being born.” 

Before Michael could react, William grabbed his hair with force, jerking his head back. Michael didn’t fight it. He was used to this by now. 

“So, is that your punishment?” Michael sneered. 

William’s smirk grew wider, crueler. He pulled harder, forcing Michael’s head back. 

“No. You ashamed me again, Michael. After fighting your best friend in school. What kind of retard are you?” 

“Fuck off! He started it...” Michael spat, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. 

The next slap was harder, knocking him off balance, and before he could catch himself, he hit the floor with a thud. 

“Don’t act like you have a reason to bring shame to my name,” William spat, stepping closer. 

A hard kick to Michael’s stomach knocked the wind out of him. He gasped, his body seizing in pain. 

“Don’t”, his dad repeated, this time sharper. 

With a cold stare, William looked down at his son as if he were nothing more than dogshit. Michael couldn’t even get a rise out of him anymore. 

“Leave,” William finally said, his voice flat, void of any emotion. 

Michael coughed again, fighting to breathe, but William didn’t care. He sighed, pulling Michael roughly to his feet. 

“Now get the fuck out of my sight.” 

Chapter Text

October 31st , 1984 – Afton household   

For Evan, holidays never felt like holidays—not the way they seemed to for Michael. His older brother always found ways to stay away from their broken family, and Evan couldn’t really blame him for that. Who would want to stick around here, anyway? 

But this year had been... different. No one shoved his head into Fredbear’s mouth this time. In fact, no one seemed to care about his birthday at all. It was as if it didn’t exist. Two weeks had passed since he turned nine, yet it felt like he was still eight—or worse, like he didn’t matter at all. 

Michael had eased up on the bullying, but at what cost? Now Evan had to make his own breakfast—on the days he didn’t decide to skip eating altogether—and do his own laundry. He walked to school alone, struggled through his homework alone, and came home to the same suffocating loneliness. Not that he complained. What was the point? Being alone was just how things were now. 

And today was Halloween. 

He only knew it was Halloween because it was marked on his calendar—and because Michael was getting ready in the bathroom, likely for a party. Evan sighed. His brother hadn’t acknowledged him all day, or all week, or for what felt like a month. It was like he didn’t even exist to Michael—just like Elizabeth, who was long gone. Maybe, if he shared the candy he’d get tonight, Michael would notice him, maybe even like him more. Hell, maybe if he gave Michael all of it, it would make him smile, say "thanks," and actually look at him. Evan didn’t really care about the candy. Not if it meant making his big brother happy, even for a moment. 

Evan stared out his window, watching the night settle over Hurricane’s streets. His eyes stung with tears as he saw kids his age laughing together, knocking on doors, holding bags ready for candy. He watched them, feeling an ache in his chest. They were happy, together. I should be out there, he thought, but then it hit him—he’d completely forgotten about the costume. Without one, he’d just look... lame. 

He could ask Michael, but... no, he couldn’t. Michael would either snap at him or ignore him. Evan hugged Fredbear tighter, the soft fabric offering little comfort as he glanced at the door. Michael was still in the bathroom, but Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. He might never get another chance. Maybe, just maybe, there was something in Michael’s room, anything. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he stood, frozen with uncertainty. Don’t go. It’s not worth it, his mind whispered. But the longer he stood there, the more the thought gnawed at him. It’s now or never.  

Evan sighed, a breath heavy with both dread and longing. With trembling hands, he quietly crept toward his brother’s door. The silence felt deafening; his footsteps too loud in the dark house. What if Michael caught him? What if he snapped? 

He reached for the doorknob.  

“What the hell are you doing?!” Michael’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding. 

Evan froze. His pulse thundered in his ears. Great. I’m really dead now. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. The fear that Michael might get physical was too real. 

“Huh... nothing...” Evan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as he slowly took a step back, glancing over his shoulder. 

Michael was dressed. Ready to leave. Of course. He was leaving again. Just like always. Not that Evan cared. Not really. But it still hurt. 

“I told you to ask me before going in my room,” Michael’s voice was cold, laced with anger. “And now you just go in there when I’m not even here? What were you even thinking, huh?” 

Evan’s throat tightened. His eyes blurred. “I’m sorry… I just… I wanted to ask you if... if you had a costume... f-for me... because—” 

Michael cut him off, his tone sharp and impatient. “No, Evan. I’m sorry...” 

“But... your Foxy mask? Please, I won’t break it, I swear—” 

“No way in hell I’m letting you borrow that!” Michael’s words were like a slap, biting and final. 

Evan’s heart sank, his chest tightening with a mix of helplessness and frustration. “Michael, come on! Please! I’ll give you the candy—” 

“I gotta go!” Michael snapped, cutting him off once more, locking his own door, and leaving the house. 

Evan stood there for a moment, fists trembling at his sides. He could feel the weight of the rejection crushing him. 

“Dickhead...” he muttered under his breath, his words barely a whisper as he turned away, retreating back to his room. 

A year later...  

The bathroom door was locked, and Michael was carefully painting a spoopy yellow bear face on his little brother for Halloween. It took a lot of pleading, but eventually, Michael agreed to have some Halloween fun together. Because, well, why not? Evan giggled uncontrollably as his brother’s fingers tickled his cheeks. 

“Stop... Dad’s gonna hear us, dumbass...” Michael grumbled, trying to focus. 

“Whatever... what would he even say?” Evan beamed, already imagining the fun they were about to have. His heart fluttered at the thought of spending Halloween with Michael—just the two of them. 

Michael smirked as he pinched Evan’s tiny red nose, “I don’t know... ‘Why is my mopy kid suddenly laughing like an idiot?’” 

Evan’s hands shot up to his mouth, trying to suppress his laughter. His brother always knew how to make him smile; that’s one of the many reasons he loved him so much. 

“Come on... you’re gonna mess up your disguise, don’t touch your face,” Michael said, gently pushing his hand away. 

“You’re making me laugh, stop!” Evan giggled through his words, already fighting the urge to burst into more laughter. 

“Okay... shut up... jeez,” Michael muttered, though a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips, betraying his tough-guy act. 

The teen stood up, carefully pulling on his Foxy mask for Halloween. Evan watched; his smile unwavering. He wasn’t even scared of the mask anymore. He used to be, but that was before. Before Michael became someone he could rely on. Michael had changed—he let him act like a kid again, let him feel safe, and more than anything, he wasn’t alone at night anymore. The Nightmares didn’t seem to haunt him as long as Michael was around. 

Evan’s heart felt light, like his best days were finally here. 

But then the door creaked open, and the chill of the house swept in, making a shiver run down Evan’s spine. It was a reminder, sharp and cold, that their dad still didn’t care enough to fix the heating. That William was still there, unpredictable. 

Michael, noticing the momentary pause in Evan’s demeanor, ruffled his hair to reassure him. He gestured for Evan to stay quiet. It was time to leave the house, to escape, and to have fun. But first, they had to sneak past their dad. Michael’s quiet confidence filled Evan with warmth, the comfort of knowing they could face it together. 

The two brothers crept downstairs, moving quietly through the cold, empty house. Evan’s heart beat a little faster, but it wasn’t out of fear. This time, it was anticipation. 

The door was right there, just within reach. Michael's hand hovered over the doorknob, the tension building in the quiet, still house. Then, out of nowhere, the shrill sound of the doorbell rang through the silence, making both of them jump. Evan’s heart raced in his chest. 

“Shit... Evan, you have something to give them?” Michael whispered urgently, panic rising in his voice. 

Evan shook his head, his body trembling, his mind reeling. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. 

“He... uh... maybe we could just apologize?” Evan suggested weakly, his voice barely a breath. 

Michael scoffed, his words bitter and sharp. “More like tell them to fuck off...” His eyes darted around, scanning the room. He knew what this meant—if their dad heard the bell, he’d come. And that was the last thing they needed right now. 

Evan’s stomach twisted with unease. “Okay... uh... I’m gonna try something, okay? Just... don’t look,” Michael muttered, his hands trembling slightly as he put on his Foxy mask, ready to roar and scare the shit out of them. 

But before he could even say a word, something unexpected happened. A heavy hand pushed Michael aside, and the door swung open with a creak. The suddenness of it made Michael freeze—what the hell was their father doing? 

“Trick or treat!” a group of children shouted in unison, their faces wide with grins. A man in a purple suit stepped into view, his grin unnervingly wide, the darkness in his eyes a stark contrast to the light outside. 

They looked uneasy, but Evan felt something far worse—an icy knot in his gut. The voices... the voices were familiar. 

“Oh my... you’re really scary, are you?” William’s voice was low, menacing, as he stared down at the children with a dark, dangerous edge. 

Michael’s breath hitched in his throat. What the fuck? Why was their father handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, when he couldn’t even stand his own kids? 

Evan inched closer, slipping behind his father to get a better look at the group. And through the slits of his killer disguise, he saw him. Andrew. What the hell? 

"Evan?" Andrew's voice rang out, his tone sharp, but with a mocking smile playing on his lips. 

William paused, his gaze flicking between his son and the other boy. "You know each other?" he asked, the edge of suspicion creeping into his voice. 

Evan’s face drained of color, panic rising in his chest. He was trapped. Completely fucked. 

"Of course we know him," Andrew lied smoothly, his voice almost too casual. "He’s our friend, right, Evan?" 

“No... no...” Evan stammered, trying to make his voice sound convincing. He quickly turned to Michael for help, but before he could reach him, William’s hand shot out, gripping Evan’s arm with a firm, almost possessive force. 

“Oh, that’s awesome...” William mused, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. “But you kids really shouldn’t be out here alone... maybe I should come with you. Right?” 

Michael shot to his feet, fury blazing in his eyes. “No fucking way you’re—” 

But William cut him off, shoving his hand over Michael’s mouth without so much as a glance at him. Michael tried to struggle, but William didn’t even acknowledge him, ignoring his son as though he were invisible. 

“Why?” Andrew chimed in, his voice feigning concern. “We can take care of ourselves.” 

William smiled darkly. “Come on... I’m insisting. Evan, don’t you want to go with your friends here? You’re already dressed up... lucky you.” 

Before Evan could even form a response, William’s hand gripped his shoulder roughly, jerking him toward the door. Evan’s heart slammed against his ribcage, terror rising as he was dragged outside. The door slammed shut behind them with a finality that echoed in the empty house. 

Michael rushed forward, yanking at the door handle, but it was locked. He slammed his fist against the door in frustration, the fury in his chest threatening to explode. 

“Fuck you, William! I hope you FUCKING die and burn in hell , you... piece of... of...” Michael’s voice trembled with fury, the words choking in his throat.  

The anger burned through him like fire, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming, gut-wrenching fear that twisted inside him. He slammed his fists into the door again, his body trembling with the force of each blow. His shoulder hit the wood, his feet kicked out in desperate rage—but the door stood strong, locked tight, as if mocking him. 

No. No, no, no...  

Tears blurred the edges of his vision, stinging the corners of his eyes. He felt a weight, a suffocating sense of helplessness, crushing him. The tears were there now, refusing to be held back. He didn’t care. He punched the door harder, until his knuckles bled, but it was futile. The door would never open. 

Evan...  

His voice broke as he whispered to himself, barely audible. “Please... Evan... please... be safe...” The words tasted like poison, bitter and hollow, but they were the only thing he could say. His chest ached, a hollow pit of worry gnawing at him. 

What the hell was their father doing to him out there? Michael couldn’t stop the fear from crawling through his veins. William... he wasn’t just a man—he was a monster. And now Evan was trapped with him. 

He gripped the doorknob one more time, his hand shaking, hoping for a miracle that would never come. 

But it didn’t come. 

The silence in the house seemed to swallow him whole, leaving him alone in his panic, alone with the weight of his failure. 

He had to get out. No matter what. If he couldn’t force the door, then he had to find something—anything. A key, maybe? But where? His dad had taken the one he used to get in after school. Panic tightened his chest as he realized his options were slipping away. He searched desperately around the house, but there was nothing. Not a thing that could help him. 

The windows were locked too, every single one of them, leaving him trapped in this suffocating house. His mind raced. What else? His heart pounded in his ears as he glanced back at the door—no way out through there. The walls seemed to close in on him, the weight of the situation pressing down harder with each passing second. 

Think, Michael. Think.  

His eyes darted around the room again. And then it hit him. The key— their key. His last shot. If he had to, he would climb out the window, scale the side of the house, and go after his brother, no matter how dangerous. He couldn’t just sit here. Not while Evan was out there, with his dad’s fucked up mind. 

His blood ran cold, but determination flared up in its place. He wasn’t going to let his father have the last word. Not today. 

... 

Michael paused in front of his father’s bedroom door, his pulse quickening. He knew his father was paranoid, always one step away from snapping, but right now, William was nowhere to be found. No danger... not yet, Michael thought, trying to steady his nerves. But the oppressive silence, the weight of the dark house around him, was a constant reminder that this place— this house —was William’s domain. 

With a hesitant breath, Michael pushed the door. His hand shook slightly as he turned the knob, the sound of it creaking under his grip like an ominous warning. For the first time, he was about to step into his father’s space—a place that had always felt off-limits, forbidden. 

The room was dark, the faint light from the hallway casting long shadows across the floor. It wasn’t locked. That in itself was strange. Michael had expected the room to be as tightly controlled as everything else in this house, but there it was, wide open. He stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. 

It was exactly what he’d expected: a typical parent’s room, with a large, unmade bed, a desk piled with papers, and a drawer that looked like it hadn't been opened in years. Old. Bare. Empty. A place that smelled of neglect. He knew his dad often slept at the desk, too obsessed with whatever he was doing to care for the place. 

Michael took a step forward, his eyes scanning for the key. He glanced over the desk, the drawers, the floor… every corner of the room. He couldn’t afford to hesitate now. The clock was ticking, and Evan was out there with their abusive father.  

His heart hammered in his chest as he dug through the desk, every sound in the room amplified, like his own breath was too loud. But when nothing jumped out at him, Michael pushed forward, each movement driven by the sinking feeling that time was running out. 

As Michael rummaged through his father’s clothes, his fingers brushed something cold and jagged. Instantly, a sharp sting shot through his hand. He jerked it back with a hiss of pain, his breath catching. Blood welled up where the cut had opened, dark red against the pale skin of his palm. 

A surge of confusion mixed with unease. He glanced at the small cut, but it was the mystery of what had caused it that kept his heart racing. What the hell was that?  

Carefully, he went back to where his hand had been, cautiously moving his father’s clothes aside. His fingers brushed against something hard and metallic—something that shouldn’t be there. He pulled it out slowly, heart pounding in his chest. 

It was a knife. Not the kind used for cooking, but something far more sinister. Its sleek, dark blade gleamed under the dim light, sharp and unnervingly pristine. Michael’s stomach turned as he realized it was covered in something.  

Dried blood.  

Chapter Text

October 31st , 1985 – Hurricane’s streets  

Evan’s chest tightened with every step he took. The cold Halloween air bit at his skin, but it wasn’t the chill that made him shiver. Around him, children laughed and darted between houses, their bags of candy swinging. But their joy felt miles away. 

Ahead, a group of kids his age walked together They pretended to be his friends, but Evan knew better. At the first chance, they’d turn on him. 

And then there was the shadow behind him. 

It stretched long and dark across the sidewalk, swallowing the light. Purple. Tall. Solid. It moved with a deliberate weight, the opposite of Evan’s soft, small, uncertain steps.  

William Afton didn’t need a costume. His very presence was enough to freeze the blood in Evan’s veins. Danger wasn’t a mask William put on for Halloween. It was who he was. 

“So, Evan... you wanna come with us?” Andrew asked, his voice almost too casual. 

Evan’s gaze snapped up from the ground to Andrew, then quickly flicked toward his father. Everything about this situation screamed danger. The so-called “friends” around him weren’t real—he knew that. And then there was his father, that unsettling smile stretched across William’s face. His father's silent nod felt like an order, not a suggestion. Evan flinched, his nerves buzzing with dread, but before he could hesitate any longer, he bolted toward the group of kids already rushing to the nearest house for candy. 

They waited in silence, watching the group of kids finish their rounds before stepping forward with their own bags. The woman at the door seemed sweet enough, but Evan barely noticed her. His focus was on the house behind her—an old, quiet building. It looked... warm. Safe. Unlike everything he knew. 

“So... who’s next?” the woman asked, her voice kind. 

Evan stiffened when he felt a tap on his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat. 

“Him,” Andrew said, his words clipped. 

Evan’s stomach twisted. Why was he being so... nice? Evan glanced at Andrew, confused and wary. 

“Oh... I’m so sorry, sweetie, but I’ve run out of candy,” the woman said, her tone apologetic. 

Andrew didn’t seem phased. He smiled, just slightly, and glanced at Evan with a strange expression—was it pity? Amusement? 

“It’s okay,” Andrew said easily. “Here.” 

Before Evan could react, Andrew reached into his own bag without asking, then dropped a handful of candy into Evan’s, the weight of it heavier than expected. The woman smiled, watching the exchange, thinking it was nothing more than a nice gesture. 

“Well, that’s sweet of you. Have a good night, dear!” she called, waving as she turned away. 

Evan stood frozen, staring at the candy in his bag. His mind spun in confusion. Why was Andrew, the kid who usually mocked him, the one who hated him the most, being... nice? What the fuck? Was that a joke?

“Hey, Evan?” Andrew asked, his voice cutting through the crowd. 

Evan turned to look, and for a moment, something about their faces felt... familiar. They were the same kids who had always made his life hell. The same ones who laughed at him when he was alone, when he was bullied. It was strange to see them acting... nice. Acting like Gabriel, Jeremy, and Fritz.

“Huh... yeah?” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady, hoping the kindness would last just a little longer. 

Before Andrew could respond, a dark shadow loomed over them. Evan froze. 

It was him. 

His father. 

How could this man be so terrifying, even without a mask? He was just... William Afton. His own father. 

“You done? Took you long enough,” William's voice was cold, eyes fixed on the others, never looking at Evan. “Not many houses left with candy.” 

“Huh... no, we’ll hit another neighborhood,” Andrew said quickly, smiling a little too wide. 

Then Andrew's hand landed on Evan’s shoulder, guiding him away. The grip was gentle, but the pressure, the force behind it... it made Evan’s skin crawl. As they walked, Evan could feel his father’s cold, silver eyes following their every movement, boring into his back like a sharp, silent threat. 

It was like he'll always watch them...

...

After a while of walking, Evan realized this wasn’t about Halloween anymore. The familiar sounds of laughter and footsteps faded, replaced by a chilling silence. They weren’t headed toward more houses, more candy. No, they were moving deeper into darkness, into a place that felt wrong. It felt even wrong, when Evan was finally alone with him, as the other left them, saying goodbye. 

Evan’s stomach twisted. It was as though the night had swallowed them whole. His heart raced, and the ground beneath his feet felt unnaturally still, like something was waiting. He finally came to a stop. 

In the middle of nowhere. A field. Cold. Empty. The kind of place where the air tasted off, where you could feel eyes watching from the shadows. The kind of place where killer clowns were supposed to hide. 

Evan glanced around. There was no one. No William. No Michael. Just him, standing alone in the night with this... kid. His so-called friend. 

His breath hitched. His pulse hammered in his throat. It could end badly. 

“Do you know where we are, Evan?” Andrew asked, his voice cutting through the silence unexpectedly. 

Evan blinked, his eyes darting around the desolate landscape. “Huh... in the middle of... a field?” he answered, unsure. 

Yeah. Fields. Nothing more. A stretch of empty land, with nothing to draw attention—maybe some trees in the distance, some broken fence posts. Just... nothing. He chuckled weakly, trying to mask the unease creeping up his spine. 

Andrew smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’d be boring if that was all there was... but now that your father isn’t here...” His hand slid onto Evan’s shoulder, cold and firm. “Maybe I could tell you. Do you trust me, Evan?” 

Evan’s throat tightened. He gulped, shaking his head, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

Andrew’s smile faltered, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face. It lasted a second before his expression softened, almost too quickly. 

“Okay... look... I’m sorry for last time. I shouldn’t have called you that...” His voice was casual, like it meant nothing. 

Something snapped inside Evan. Every last ounce of patience vanished, burned away in a flash. 

“Say that again,” Evan’s voice was raw, shaky with a mixture of anger and disbelief. 

Andrew’s frown deepened, but his tone remained unsafe. “Come on, Evan...” 

“There’s no ‘come on’... you called me a killer in front of everyone!” Evan’s words were sharp, a desperate crack in the façade. 

Andrew sighed; a sound thick with annoyance. “And you punched me in front of everyone. That makes us even, right?” 

Evan’s jaw tightened. “No. No it doesn’t. Piss off...” 

Andrew ruffled his hair, his fingers brushing the top of Evan’s head—but it wasn’t a comforting gesture. Evan flinched back instinctively, his body stiffening. 

“Don’t be a crybaby,” Andrew chuckled, his voice low, mocking. 

“Don’t touch me,” Evan snapped, backing away, his voice trembling now. “I... I knew you’d just try to be mean.” 

“I’m trying to apologize, idiot,” Andrew said, his tone almost condescending, like Evan was being difficult on purpose. 

“You don’t mean it! You’ll throw me under the bus the second you can!” Evan’s heart raced. He took another step back, his breath shallow, eyes frowning. 

Andrew stopped himself from laughing, his grin lingering. 

“Okay, listen… I won’t, I just... want to show you something.” 

Evan’s patience was wearing thin, but his curiosity flared. He sighed and turned toward him. 

“What?” 

“You wanna know why I brought you here?” Andrew’s grin spread wider, something dark in his eyes. 

Evan’s stomach twisted. He masked his fear with annoyance, trying to hold his ground. 

“Whatever... just... tell me.” 

Andrew chuckled, low and slow. “It’d be better if I showed you.” 

Before Evan could react, Andrew grabbed his hand, pulling him forward. Reluctantly, Evan followed, his heartbeat quickening with every step. 

They moved past the fields, the wind carrying a cold chill. As the landscape changed, Evan’s unease grew. The quiet, open space faded into something different—a decaying building, abandoned, its broken windows staring like hollow eyes. 

Evan froze. 

The name on the sign slapped him across the face like a punch. 

Fredbear’s Family Diner.

His heart sank. He recognized it. The memories, the nightmare they’d once tried to forget… it all came rushing back. 

“Why?” Evan whispered, barely able to choke out the word. 

Evan froze, a cold shiver crawling down his spine as he felt Andrew's arm casually slide around his shoulder. 

"I mean... Halloween's way more fun when you're exploring an old, abandoned building, right?" Andrew's voice dripped with mock enthusiasm. 

He tossed his bag of candy aside, the plastic hitting the ground with a hollow thud. The moment the sound echoed; Evan's heart sank. No. He wasn’t going anywhere near this place. No fucking way.

“Please... I can’t. I—” His voice cracked, the panic rising in his chest. 

Andrew laughed, the sound sharp and unsettling. 

“Scared, huh? There’s nothing here, just you and me.” Andrew’s grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I promise, I won’t bite.” 

Evan backed away, his breath short and erratic. "You don’t understand. It’s dangerous!" 

The grin faltered, replaced by a frown. "Don’t tell me you’re scared of some stupid abandoned place, after everything else?" Andrew’s voice was a taunting sneer. "You’ve got your little murder plushie, and now you're scared of this?" 

Evan’s stomach twisted, his pulse pounding in his ears. He remembered when his friend saved him, by threatening that kid. But still... Evan hated the fact that he was in danger.

Before he could stop it, Andrew snatched Fredbear from his pocket, holding the plushie up with a mocking flourish. Why was Fredbear in his pocket? He didn’t even put him there! 

“Let’s see if the little bastard can talk now, huh? Fredbear? You there?" Andrew shook the bear like a ragdoll, his voice filled with sick amusement. 

Evan lunged forward, his hands desperate, but Andrew was quicker. He shoved Evan back, sending him crashing to the ground with a harsh thud. 

"Give it back, dickhead!"

“Looks like Fredbear’s just dead, huh? Or maybe he was never alive in the first place...” Andrew taunted, crouching down to look Evan in the eyes. 

Evan’s eyes burned with the weight of unshed tears.

“He’s alive!"

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Sure, Evan. Maybe it’s just some stupid microphone inside. Some dumb trick.” 

Before Evan could react, Andrew raised the plushie higher, twisting it like he was about to rip it apart. In a blind panic, Evan shot his arm out, his fingers brushing the fabric of Fredbear's back. But the bear slipped from Andrew’s grasp and flew through the air, crashing into the broken window of the abandoned building with a sickening, glass-shattering sound. 

The two boys stood frozen, eyes locked on the shattered window. Evan's heart raced in his chest, the fear in his throat thick enough to choke on. Andrew, however, grinned like an immature brat.

"I'll be first to catch it!" Andrew shouted, his voice wild with excitement. Without hesitation, he scrambled through the window, disappearing into the darkness beyond. 

“No, don’t go! It’s dangerous!” Evan’s voice cracked, panic clawing at him, but Andrew didn’t hear—or didn’t care. 

Evan’s breath quickened. His best friend, Fredbear, was inside that building, and Andrew was going to ruin it. Tear it apart. But Evan wasn’t about to risk his life for a stupid plush... was he? 

But then something else pulled at him—something deeper. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t just let Andrew go in there alone. The place was cursed. Dangerous. A kid his age could die in there. Evan couldn’t bear that. He wouldn’t. 

Climbing the cold, jagged walls of the old diner, Evan’s fingers scraped against the rough brick, his breath ragged with each pull. His hands slipped, his body ached with every second, but he couldn’t stop. He had to get inside. He had to stop whatever was about to happen. 

His legs dangled, and with one last desperate heave, Evan pulled himself through the broken window. His hand was bleeding from the glass, but he didn’t care. The pain was nothing compared to the terror crawling up his spine. The silence inside the diner felt suffocating, too quiet, too still. He stepped inside, heart hammering, wondering what nightmare awaited them. 

... 

Evan’s breath came in quick, shallow gasps as his eyes darted around the dark, abandoned diner. The silence was suffocating, thick with the weight of something unseen watching him. He gripped the flashlight tighter, its beam trembling in his hand. 

“Andrew!” he called, his voice breaking in the emptiness. 

Still nothing. The shadows seemed to stretch, closing in on him, as if the building itself was holding its breath. His heart pounded harder in his chest, each beat a heavy thud against his ribs. His stomach twisted with a sickening dread. 

Where the hell was he? 

The light flickered as Evan stepped forward, his shoes scuffing against the cold, grimy floor. His surroundings seemed to shift in the corners of his vision, flickers of movement just out of reach. He swung the flashlight around, casting long shadows that seemed to twist unnaturally.

"Where are you?! Come on! It's not funny!"

The air felt thick, suffocating. Evan’s throat tightened, his panic rising with every empty second. He wanted to call out again, but the words stuck in his throat. 

Where is he?  

He moved deeper into the diner, the silence pressing in from all sides. Every creak of the building, every breath he took felt like it echoed a hundred times. Then, the faintest noise—a soft scrape—came from the far corner. 

Evan froze. His pulse spiked. He couldn’t see anything, just the shadows stretching, shifting, but he felt it. Something was there. Watching. 

"Please... it's... it's not... a game anymore..." he whispered.

His hands trembled as he lifted the flashlight toward the sound, the beam cutting through the dark. What he saw made his blood run cold. 

Nothing. 

No Andrew. Just more empty space. 

But that feeling… that thing in the dark, that was still there. 

Evan’s breath hitched in his throat, his chest tight with fear as he spun around. They were here. He had to be fast. The Nightmares were always just a step behind, waiting in the dark. They had taken everyone he loved—his friends, his safety—and now, they were coming for Andrew. 

His flashlight flickered again, weak and unreliable, casting long, trembling shadows that twisted and writhed like something alive. No! No, not now…  

Evan’s hand shook as he clutched the flashlight tighter, desperately trying to keep the beam steady. His heart pounded louder, thundering in his ears as the darkness swallowed him whole. He couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t hear anything except the wild rush of his own blood in his head. 

Was it too late?  

Then came the scream. 

It pierced the silence—sharp, raw, full of pain and terror. Andrew’s voice. Evan’s legs went numb. His blood turned to ice. The scream was a death sentence. It echoed in his mind, sending waves of panic crashing through him. 

His breath ragged, Evan stumbled forward, ignoring the shiver that crawled up his spine. He had to do something—anything. He couldn’t lose him, not like this. Not to those things. 

They were worse than anything he’d faced before.  

The darkness around him thickened, pressing in like a weight, smothering him. The sound of his own breathing seemed to grow louder, suffocating, and yet it was drowned out by the rush of terror flooding his veins. 

“Tell me where are you, I... I'm gonna help you!” Evan’s voice was loud. The scream still rang in his ears, repeating over and over like a broken record. It was louder now, echoing, growing in intensity. His mind was spiraling, slipping between reality and fear. He couldn’t separate the two anymore. 

Another scream, closer this time. 

Evan rushed forward, his legs numb, his heartbeat a frantic drum in his chest. Every shadow seemed to shift, every creak of the building sounding like footsteps behind him. They're closing in. They're going to get him.  

The flashlight beam trembled as Evan rushed through the dark, desperate for any sign of Andrew. His mind raced, heart hammering, terrified of what he might find. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating him, every shadow twisting like something waiting to tear him apart. 

And then, he saw it. 

The room ahead was thick with darkness. His flashlight flickered, but there was no mistaking it. Sitting there, in the corner, against the door—Fredbear. The animatronic. His body was slumped, still, lifeless. But there was blood. So much blood. 

Evan’s stomach churned. He stumbled forward, hands shaking violently, his breath coming in short gasps. The stench of blood filled the air, thick and metallic. His flashlight revealed more than he wanted to see—blood pooled around Fredbear’s mouth, dripping freely from its cavernous jaws. Red splattered across the floor, like some sick painting of death. The bear was motionless, its eyes staring into the void, unblinking. 

The memories flooded back—how close he'd been to that jaw, how Fredbear had almost killed him. But now, it was still. Silent. As if it had been left to rot. 

Evan dropped to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. His breath hitched, tears spilling down his face. He didn't care anymore. He didn’t care about anything. He failed. He failed Andrew. He failed everyone. 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING LISTEN TO ME?!” His voice cracked, full of pain and rage. His hands shook as they reached for the plush on the floor—Fredbear. The one that had comforted him, the one that had been with him through it all. He hugged it tight to his chest, clutching the soft fabric, but it felt wrong. Empty. 

As he looked up at the metal beast, Fredbear’s eyes didn’t blink. The only movement came from the blood, still dripping from the hollowed-out cavities of its mouth. The bear was dead—or it should have been. But Evan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. 

“I… I hate you…” he whispered, his voice thick with grief. “I hate you for making me care… for making me think I could save you…” His words were barely audible, trembling as they left his lips. “Why… why do you have to… run to your death, you asshole? WHY?!” he hit the bear with his shoe, knowing it's dangerous, but he didn't care.

His chest tightened, the weight of his own guilt crushing him. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn’t have let Andrew go in there. He should've tried harder.

“I’m sorry, Andrew… I should’ve kept you away… I hope you’ll forgive me...” Evan mumbled through his sobs, his voice breaking with every word. 

But just as he tried to pull himself together, a single drop of blood slid down Fredbear’s metal cheek...

Like a tear...

Chapter Text

October 9th , 1983 – Five days before the Party...  

Evan didn’t know how many times he had punched the door, but the ache in his fists told him it was too many. He cried nonstop, all day. His head throbbed, his throat raw, but nothing came close to the crushing weight in his chest. He was alone in this. Alone against the brother he had loved so damn much. 

“Michael... please, let me go... I... I can’t...” he begged, voice wrecked, choking on his tears for the tenth time. 

But there was nothing. Nothing but the silence. Nothing but the stuffed animals that sat lifeless on his bed. Evan was still seven—he should be tucked into bed, safe, not sitting on the floor, trembling, crying his heart out, scared of the Nightmares that had wanted to kill him at night. His hand slipped, and he crumpled to the ground, hugging his knees, silent sobs shaking his small body. 

"Help me... I... I’m scared..." he whispered, his voice barely there. 

Michael wouldn’t leave him, would he? He didn’t hate him that much, right? What had Evan even done? Why? Why did Michael hate him so much? His chest tightened, his heart cracking as he started to understand— to really understand.  

He had no one. No parents. No siblings. No friends. Nothing. Just himself. A little kid who couldn’t even speak without stuttering. 

“What did he do this time?” A voice—warm, kind, filled with something that felt like hope. 

Evan froze. What the hell? Was someone actually here? His heart skipped a beat, panic sweeping away the last of his despair. His eyes snapped open, wide with fear. He shakily pushed himself to his feet. 

“Huh... w... who’s there?” he stammered, his grip tightening around the flashlight, his hand trembling. 

He had to blind it. Whatever it was, if it was one of them... he had to. They were scared of the light, right? He had learned that. He had to survive, stay vigilant—paranoid. He’d made it this far by always being ready. 

“WHO’S THERE?!!!” he screamed, his voice cracking as tears spilled from his eyes, splashing to the floor. 

“Calm down, my boy... I’m right here...” 

Evan’s gaze dropped, and he shined the beam of light on his plush. It sat there, unmoving, its blank eyes staring at him. His breath caught in his throat, remembering how the Freddles had come from his Freddy plush. But this one... this one was different. 

“Are you... them?” he whispered, his voice shaking. 

Fredbear chuckled, a sound that filled the room and made Evan’s skin crawl. The plush didn’t move, but the voice came, clear and real. 

“No, I’m your friend, Evan. Your best friend. I’m magic. I can speak, I can understand, I can help you... but most of all, I can love you.” 

Evan lowered the flashlight slowly, his trembling hands unsteady. 

“L... love?” 

“It’s what friends are for, right?” 

Tears welled up in Evan’s eyes, his breath hitching as the impossible warmth spread through his chest. 

“Y... You’ll love me? Like a friend? You sure? Y... You promise? You promise you’ll never... ever... betray me?” he stuttered, his voice breaking, the sound of a desperate child clinging to the first sign of kindness. 

“I will. I swear.” Fredbear’s voice softened, filled with certainty. “Now, tell me... He locked you in your room... again.” 

Two years later...  

Evan's eyes never wavered as he stared at Fredbear, his small hands clenched into fists at his sides. There was an unsettling stillness in the air, as if the room itself was holding its breath. The bear sat lifeless, its black eyes fixed on the boy, its smile unchanged—but Evan could feel something different. Something almost dangerous in the silence between them. 

“You remember the promise you made, Fredbear?” Evan’s voice was quiet, but it carried a weight to it. The question was sharp, calculated. 

The plush didn’t move. Its smile, that eternal, unsettling grin, remained. 

“Of course I do... I still love you, you know? Otherwise, I’d be off in the forest, eating honey,” Fredbear chuckled lightly, as if trying to ease the tension, but the words fell flat. 

Evan didn’t flinch. His face stayed blank, emotionless, as though he were facing an adversary, not a stuffed toy. His stare hardened. 

“No,” Evan said slowly, each word measured. “I told you to always be honest. To never lie to me. To never betray me.” 

The bear’s smile remained plastered to its face, though there was a flicker of something—was its uncertainty? —beneath its glassy eyes. 

“I know, Evan.” Fredbear’s voice softened, but the tone felt rehearsed. “And you know what?... I never lied to you.” 

Evan didn’t blink. His expression remained as cold and sharp as a blade. 

“You sure?” His eyebrow arched slightly, challenging. 

Fredbear’s smile twitched, just barely. “You have my word.” 

Evan’s hands trembled; his breathing uneven as he stood before Fredbear. The room felt colder, smaller, as if the walls were closing in. He stared at the plush, his voice shaking but resolute. 

“You lied to me,” he said, his words sharp and deliberate. “You said my friends would be fine. You said everything would be fine. But they’re gone, Fredbear. They all died. And you—” Evan’s voice cracked, but he pressed on. “You left me. You ignored me for so long. Like I didn’t matter. Like everyone else.” 

Fredbear’s blank eyes stared back, unblinking. Its eternal grin now seemed mocking. 

“Don’t cry, darling... please,” Fredbear said, the voice warm but hollow. 

Evan wiped at his face, sniffling. “I’m not crying,” he muttered, though his tears betrayed him. He steadied himself. “Whatever. I’m not here to talk about that. I need you for something else. One last thing.” 

Fredbear tilted slightly, as if listening. 

“I have to trust you again... one last time. Because you’re the only one who knows,” Evan said, his voice trembling but determined. “What happened at Fredbear’s Family Diner?” 

The room seemed to hold its breath. Fredbear’s smile didn’t waver, but the air grew heavier. 

“What do you mean, Evan?” the bear asked, its tone careful. 

Evan leaned closer; his fists clenched. “You were there with Andrew. You saw it. Who’s the killer, Fredbear? Tell me.” 

A pause. Long. Unsettling. Then Fredbear’s voice changed—lower, darker. 

“You want the truth, Evan? The ugly truth?” 

Evan froze. His stomach twisted, but he nodded. “Yes,” he whispered. “I need it.” 

Fredbear’s smile twisted, the tone in its voice sharper now. “You remember when I said that little shit, I’d kill him if he hurt you again?” 

The words cut through the air like a knife. Evan’s eyes widened, his breath catching. That voice... it wasn’t Fredbear. It was something else. Someone else. 

“F... Fredbear?” Evan stammered, stepping back. “You didn’t—” 

The bear fell silent. Completely still. Its eyes dull, its presence suddenly lifeless. It wasn’t just silence; it was dead. Evan’s heart pounded as his mind raced. 

Then, the realization hit him. 

... 

Michael sat in his room, the door shut tight, his body frozen with the weight of what he’d discovered. He couldn’t bring himself to step outside—not after what he’d found. 

How could he even begin to process it? 

He’d always known William was a sick fuck. The drinking, the violence, the lies—those were a constant. The bruises hadn’t faded, neither did the memories. Yet this? Murder? The thought had lingered in the darkest corners of Michael’s mind, but knowing it for certain? It was unbearable. 

Lying face down on his pillow, Michael’s chest tightened, his breath shaky. He wanted to scream, to let it all out, but no sound came. Only questions. Too many of them, gnawing at him, unanswered. 

What had really happened? Why? How? 

He searched for answers, tearing through the chaos in his mind, but all he found was the knife. Just an ordinary knife. Covered in blood. So much blood. 

What the fuck had happened? 

Had his father defended himself? Or was it revenge? Some twisted punishment? Or worse—was it tied to his business, to something far darker? 

The thought slammed into him, jagged and cruel. The disappearances. All those times William Afton had seemed too interested about Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie and Fritz. 

It made sense. Too much fucking sense. 

Michael’s breath hitched, his hands trembling as the suspicion sunk its claws into him. It wasn’t just fear—it was the horrifying realization that his father might be exactly what he always feared: a true monster. Not an abusive one. One who didn’t even deserve death... But pain. Pain, and eternal hell. 

He couldn’t even go to his father’s office to look for more. Not yet. He’d have to wait. And Michael couldn’t screw this up. Not now. 

Because if he was right—if William was the killer—it wasn’t just an abusive household anymore. 

It was a death sentence. 

... 

Evan had never felt such a storm of emotions all at once—guilt, sadness, hurt, revenge, and a raw, searing rage. 

On one hand, there was Fredbear. The plush he used to trust. The one who made him feel safe, even when the world felt too much. The one he hugged when the darkness crept in, the one who pulled him away from his deepest thoughts. The one who had kept him from completely losing himself... The one who loved him when no one else did. 

But then, in his other hand, there were the scissors. Sharp, cold. The ones his father never bothered to buy him, the ones he had to take from the kitchen. The kind that could cut. They had already made a cut once—across his palm—though Evan couldn't quite remember if it had been on purpose or not. All he remembered was the numbness that came after. 

“You killed everyone, didn’t you? You killed them... my friends... right, Fredbear?” His voice cracked, raw and childlike. 

Silence. Evan didn’t wait. Without hesitation, he pressed the sharp edge to the plush’ soft throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he hissed, his hand trembling, the blade biting into the fabric. 

The tears came, hot and relentless, burning his face. His arm shook, the pressure easing slightly as he waited for the answer, for something—anything—from Fredbear. 

But deep down, he already knew. He didn’t need confirmation. The truth had settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake. Fredbear was the killer. The monster he had once trusted, the one who claimed to love him, was the one responsible for all the death. 

Anger flared in Evan’s chest, hot and suffocating. Fredbear’s eyes—black, empty—stared back at him. No remorse. No guilt. Just cold, hollow stillness. 

“You think it’s a fucking joke?” Evan spat, his voice trembling with rage. 

Still nothing. Just that mocking silence. 

With a growl, Evan’s fist clenched around the handle of the weapon. His heart pounded, the weight of everything crashing down on him. And before he could even stop himself, before he could think through the action, Fredbear’s head was torn from its body, the plush’ lifeless stare meeting the floor with a sickening thud. 

Evan gasped, his breath quick and shallow. But he didn’t apologize like he always did, even for something as small as dropping a plush. This time, it was different. His heart felt like it was shattering, the pain too much to bear. 

He needed Michael. He needed his big brother, more than ever. 

Sobbing, he rushed out of his room, not even noticing the devices hidden inside the stuffed animals. 

... 

A few minutes earlier...  

Michael heard the creak of his father’s office door, and his stomach tightened. The signal. His heart hammered in his chest as he forced himself to take a slow breath, steadying his nerves. The air in his room felt cold, suffocating. Nothing felt familiar anymore. 

He got up, moving quietly, glancing at Evan’s door. Closed. Good. He didn’t want his little brother anywhere near this—no, he couldn’t let Evan know what Michael had uncovered. Not yet. Not ever. 

He crept down the stairs, each step feeling heavier, like the house itself was watching him. This place didn’t feel like home anymore. It was William Afton’s house. 

Michael shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. There wasn’t time for this. He had to stay focused. His face was a mask, emotionless, as he reached his father’s office. He’d been here once before, years ago, when he was just a kid, and it ended with a punch to the face. 

Get it together.  

The door was ajar, and Michael froze. His father was in the kitchen, humming the tune to the Fazbear and Friends theme song. This was so fucking creepy. Without another thought, he slipped inside, leaving the door barely open behind him. 

The room was a mess—papers everywhere, machines, parts of animatronics, blueprints strewn across the floor. It felt like a place where sanity had no place. Michael didn’t stop to take it all in. There was no time for that. 

He rifled through the papers quickly, his hands shaking. Business contracts, engineering plans, just... noise. Nothing useful. His heart pounded louder. Time was running out. 

He turned to the screens. And froze. 

Cameras. Everywhere.  

Michael’s breath caught in his throat. The entire house was under surveillance. 

“What the fuck...?” 

The quiet hum of the cameras was the only sound in the room, and it sent a chill down his spine. His father had been watching them—watching him . His mind raced, but he couldn’t stop now. 

There had to be something more. He scanned the papers again. Then, a dark notebook caught his eye. His fingers hesitated as he picked it up, frowning. 

Before he could open it, the sound of footsteps echoed through the house. 

Michael’s blood ran cold. 

Without thinking, he shoved the notebook under the desk and crouched low, pressing himself into the shadows. His breath caught in his throat; every muscle tensed as he held perfectly still.  

Michael’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat like a drum in his ears. He didn’t dare move, didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly. The only thing he saw were his father’s shoes—dark, polished leather—moving closer with deliberate, slow steps. The tension in the air thickened with every passing second. If his dad saw him, if he looked down even for a second... 

Michael would be completely fucked.  

His muscles screamed for movement, but he stayed frozen, pressed against the wall as if trying to blend into the shadows. It wouldn’t matter though. All William had to do was glance down, and Michael knew he wouldn’t have time to escape. 

Each step of his father’s approach felt like it stretched on forever, dragging Michael deeper into the suffocating silence. 

Does he know I’m here?  

Michael couldn’t tell. His father’s movements were so controlled, so calm. Too calm. Like a predator, circling its prey. The air felt heavier with each of William’s steps, and Michael’s breath quickened, each exhale sharp, desperate. 

The floor creaked beneath William’s weight, each sound amplifying in the tense silence. 

Michael’s body was rigid, paralyzed by the fear that had him pinned in place. The man was so close now. So fucking close.  

And still, Michael couldn’t tell if William was aware of him... or if this was some sick game. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the heat of his father’s presence radiating through the room. The slightest sound—anything—could give him away. 

But the worst part? 

William hadn’t even said a word. 

The soft, timid footsteps were unmistakable—too quiet, too careful. They halted just as William’s attention shifted, his gaze turning. 

“What’s the brat doing?” he muttered under his breath, his voice bitter and low, before he moved to sit in the chair directly in front of Michael’s hiding spot. 

Michael held his breath, barely daring to move. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest. He shifted just enough to peek around the edge, and there, standing in the doorway, was his brother. 

“D... Dad...? Have you seen Michael?” Evan’s voice was small, hesitant—too innocent. 

Michael's stomach sank. Why was Evan trusting him? The realization hit like ice-cold water. Evan had no idea. Evan didn't know anything. 

“No. Why? What happened? Did he bother you?” William’s voice was clipped, casual, but the undertone was dark. 

Evan hesitated, then shook his head, barely whispering, “Huh... no…” 

William sighed, the sound carrying more weight than it should. He stood up, moving away from the chair, and Michael’s chest tightened. For a split second, he thought he might have a chance. 

But then came the command. 

“Talk. Now.” William’s voice dropped lower, colder, more menacing. 

Evan looked down at the floor, his lips trembling. “You won’t believe me...” he murmured. 

Michael’s throat went dry. He knew that tone. That’s when the real terror began. 

“I SAID NOW!!!” William roared, his patience snapping.

Yep... that asshole really went to the kitchen to take a beer.

Evan flinched, his small body visibly shaking under the weight of his father’s wrath. Michael’s fists clenched, but he knew—he couldn’t intervene. He had to stay hidden. Had to wait for the right moment. 

But Evan... Evan didn’t know. Didn’t understand. 

Then it happened. 

In an instant, Evan’s eyes locked on Michael’s hiding place. His face went wide with shock. Michael’s breath caught in his throat. Panic surged through him, but he couldn’t move. Not now.  

His hand shot out, desperately gesturing for Evan to stay quiet. 

Evan’s face softened with understanding, and in the blink of an eye, his gaze darted back to William. 

“What’s wrong?” William asked, turning, just as Michael’s pulse skyrocketed. 

“No!” Evan screamed, his hand snapping out, gripping his father’s arm. 

The world seemed to stop. William’s anger twisted into something darker. He seized Evan by the collar with terrifying ease, lifting him off the ground. 

“What the hell is wrong with you? Have you decided to be retarded all of a sudden? You want me to fix you?” The words were a growl, dripping with venom. 

Evan trembled under the weight of his father’s grip, but then—then something snapped. 

Without a thought, Evan’s knee collided with William’s groin, hard, unforgiving. 

William’s scream of rage echoed through the room, his grip faltering. “YOU LITTLE FUCK!!!” 

For a moment, time slowed. Michael’s pulse pounded in his ears as his father staggered back, clutching himself, and Evan ran. 

It was the chance Michael had been waiting for. 

Evan’s flight was the distraction. The moment William turned to chase his son, Michael shot out from under the desk, bolting for the door. There was no thinking, no hesitation. Just the need to get out. To escape with his father’s journal. 

To know the truth... 

Chapter Text

November 7th , 1985 – Hurricane’s Street  

Michael walked alone toward home, the weight of his bag grinding into his bruised shoulder. This one was fresh—courtesy of his father. Like all the others. People thought the eldest Afton boy was a troublemaker, picking fights and being reckless. But the truth? He wasn’t fighting anyone. He was surviving. Taking the hits meant for himself and his little brother.  

William wasn’t just cold and calculating anymore. He’d turned into something worse—a storm of rage, lashing out without warning. He was no longer just a distant father. He was a violent, unpredictable monster. And Michael was his favorite target.  

But why had he changed? Did his dad know… that Michael knew? The possibility made his chest tighten, his hands tremble. He tried to push the thought away, but it clawed at him, relentless. It was the only explanation that made sense.  

As Michael stepped into the front yard, a cold dread coiled in his gut. Detention had kept him late again—a punishment for standing up to Mark and Simon. They’d been pissing him off ever since he ditched them. Humiliation wasn’t an option, so he fought back. And got in trouble. Again.  

It was only a matter of time before he was expelled. And when that day came, Michael had no idea how William would react. The thought made his bruises ache all over again.  

...  

Michael knocked on the door, since they didn’t have any key anymore. He hoped to see his little brother on the other side, and not this sicko. He hoped deeply...  

The door opened and he was met with the smell of alcohol. Great. The father of the year. He just hoped that his little brother had stayed hidden in his room, like Michael told him, whenever William was... like that.  

“What a great surprise”, he said with a sickening smile.  

Michael’s fists clenched. This man killed them all. His sister, his cousin, his brother’s friends. All children, who didn’t deserve shit. They died. And he didn’t even feel regret. Worse. He fucking liked it. But Michael couldn’t do anything, not yet, at least. He relaxed, looking at the ground.  

“Hello, dad”, he mumbled, before entering.  

Before he could go upstairs, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. Shit.  

“Not so fast, my boy.”  

Michael trembled. He was going to be hit. He was...  

“You really gonna go upstairs with your dirty shoes? You want to clean up the mess?” he said calmly.  

This man was clearly not in his mind.  

“Huh... no...”  

Michael removed them, but William stayed. It was so fucking creepy.  

“Now tell me, Michael, what time is it?”  

The boy glanced at his watch.  

“Huh... 8PM?” he mumbled, trembling.  

William chuckled, before his gaze darkened, but still remained somewhat soft.  

“Oh my... quite late... isn’t he? I was pretty sure school should have ended two hours ago. I must have mistaken myself, haven’t I?”  

Michael was on the verge of breaking right now, just in front of him. He hated this son of a bitch... how could he make something so casual sound so goddamn scary?  

“Huh... y... yeah? Can I go now?” Michael tried, leaning into his game.  

“But honestly, Michael. What school ends at this hour? I’m glad you’re staying to study until late but... it seems too good to be true, right?”  

Michael felt his tears well up. He was so scared. But he couldn’t show vulnerability, not when his dad was reading him like a book, while having whatever amount of alcohol in his blood.  

“Dad... maybe... maybe you should take a nap... you seem...”  

“Now stop being silly, darling”, William said, wiping his tears.  

Before his son could speak, his father cut him.  

“You got in detention again... right?” he said, as if he was talking about the weather.  

“N... no... I just...”  

“Don’t worry, Michael, I won’t be mad...” he said, in a fatherly tone.  

Michael wanted to throw up.  

“Fine... I... I got bullied, so I...” Michael began, tearing up.  

“Shh... everything’s fine. But now, tell me, is violence the solution, Michael?”  

Michael tensed at his word. What kind of fucking hypocrite this was? But he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.  

“No...”  

“You’re right. For now... I’ll let you a pass. You can go. But next time, there will be consequences”, he said, his grip on his son’s shoulder hardening.  

Michael nodded and turned his back. This went... not so bad, after all.  

“And one last thing, Michael...”  

Shit.  

The first punch sent him to the floor, with a bruised cheek.  

“I pay you a FUCKING education with my money, and this is how you thank me?!!!”  

He hit him with his shoe, right in the guts, his son cough. Shit... did this bastard broke his rib? Yeah... why did he even hoped for something different?  

“I... I thought...”  

“You thought that I would let you go freely? Well, consider yourself lucky I didn’t break your arm, you fucking piece of shit”, he said.  

Michael got up and ran shakily upstairs. William didn’t chase him, he just watched him, his gaze filled with hatred.  

...  

The pain was excruciating. The last thing Michael remembered was collapsing onto the hard floor upstairs, too weak to make it to his bed. Now, he felt something sharp, stinging his cheeks in short bursts.  

“Shit... what the hell...”  

He forced himself upright, his ribs screaming in protest. Beside him, wide, innocent blue eyes stared back. Evan. The little angel was kneeling there, carefully cleaning his wounds—just as Michael had taught him.  

“Sorry if it hurts... I... I’m trying my best,” Evan said softly, his voice trembling.  

Michael exhaled shakily, fighting to stay composed. The pain was nearly unbearable, but the sight of Evan trying so hard made his chest ache in a different way.  

“Yeah... it hurts, Evan. It hurts so damn much...” Michael admitted, his voice breaking. He swallowed hard, willing back tears. He couldn’t let himself cry—not in front of his baby brother.  

“But... but Doctor Evan fixed it, right?” Evan asked, his voice hopeful, almost pleading. “I saved you... right, Michael?”  

Michael forced a small smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “You did, little man. You’re really good at this.” He paused, his gaze darkening as he looked away. “But you shouldn’t have to. I should be the one dealing with... all this crap.”  

Evan shook his head stubbornly. “No, Mike. We’re in this together.”  

Michael sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I’m still the big brother, Evan. It’s my job to protect you.”  

“That doesn’t matter!” Evan snapped, his voice rising with uncharacteristic defiance. “You keep saying that like it’s some kind of excuse! But if you keep doing this—if you keep letting him... hurt you like this—you’re gonna end up worse. I don’t want to lose you!”  

Michael’s resolve faltered. “You won’t, okay? I’ll p—”  

“Shut up, Mike!” Evan interrupted, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Stop treating me like I’m some stupid five-year-old!”  

“You are ten!” Michael shot back; his tone harsher than he intended.  

“Whatever,” Evan muttered, turning his back on his brother. “I’ve been through worse shit than you.”  

Michael froze, his heart pounding.  

“What do you mean, Evan? What happened? Did... did dad hurt you?”  

Evan shook his head, his expression distant. His skin was still smooth, untouched by the bruises that was on Michael’s body. Michael was relieved, but a gnawing fear still tightened in his chest.  

“No... he didn’t,” Evan replied, his voice shaky. “The closest he came was when I hit him... in the... well, you know.” He trailed off, still clearly upset. “But I locked myself in the bathroom.”  

Michael nodded slowly, trying to process the words.  

“Okay... so then, who hurt you?” His voice was low, cautious, as if he were afraid of what Evan might say next.  

Evan hesitated; the room thick with tension. Then his gaze hardened.  

“Why should I tell you? You didn’t even tell me what’s in Dad’s j...”  

"Shut up!” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.  

Evan recoiled, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Michael instantly regretted his harshness, the guilt sinking in like a heavy weight.  

“Ev... come on,” Michael’s voice softened, but his brother didn’t seem to hear him.  

“You’re such a dick, Mike,” Evan muttered, standing up from Michael’s bed, turning away.  

Michael reached out, grabbing his brother’s hand.

“Let me explain,” he said, his voice pleading.  

“Let me go!” Evan jerked his arm, trying to free himself.  

Michael’s patience snapped. “Listen to me for TWO FUCKING SECONDS, Evan!” His roar echoed in the silence between them.  

Evan froze. It wasn’t the anger in Michael’s voice that had stopped him. It was the fear. Michael wasn’t angry; he was terrified.  

“You can’t keep saying shit like that, Evan. You don’t get it. The house... there are cameras everywhere. He’s... he’s always watching us.” Michael’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Evan’s ear.  

Evan’s anger faded, replaced by a chilling realization. He nodded slowly; eyes wide.  

“Okay... sorry, Mike...” His voice was small, unsure.  

A few hours later...  

The storm outside rattled the roof, the deafening sound muffled by the walls. Michael finished cooking, as he always did when their dad was in his office. The routine was safe. It kept them hidden.  

Then, the door creaked. Slow footsteps echoed.  

Michael froze.  

“Shit…” he whispered.  

Before he could react, their dad stood in the doorway. His silver eyes gleamed in the dark.  

“You prepared dinner? How sweet. Almost like you’re trying to replace that bitch.”  

The venom in his voice made Michael’s stomach turn. He glanced at Evan, the unspoken message clear.  

Play along. Whatever how fucked up this was.

Evan nodded, his face pale. “Y... You want a plate?” His voice trembled, but he tried to keep it steady.  

William didn’t answer. He just sat. The storm outside raged louder, but it was nothing compared to the silence hanging in the room.  

It wasn’t about dinner. Michael knew that.  

Evan stared at his plate, forcing himself to eat. His stomach churned. Every bite tasted like regret. The tears from his silent sobs mixed with the food, but he didn’t dare show it. Not with William watching.  

William’s cold gaze settled on him, unblinking.  

“Since Michael doesn’t know how to behave at school, tell me, Evan. How was your day? Did you do well?”  

Evan nodded, his hands shaking.  

“You’re such a good boy,” William grinned. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.  

Michael’s heart pounded. The look in William’s eyes—pure hatred for his children. He didn’t need to scream. The silence was worse.  

The thunder crashed, and Evan flinched. Michael’s hand gripped his brother’s under the table. Don’t move. Don’t show weakness. The slightest misstep would set him off.  

Evan’s voice cracked, breaking the tension. “W... What about your day, dad?”  

Michael’s stomach sank. He wanted to scream at Evan to shut the fuck up, but it was too late.  

William’s face darkened. A small, twisted smile tugged at his lips.  

“My day? Doesn’t matter. Your father does boring work. Paperwork. But what really matters… is what happens in my house.”  

The words sent a chill down Michael’s spine. His grip on Evan tightened.  

The room felt smaller. The air grew thick with tension.  

“Do you like Fazbear and Friends , Evan?” William asked, his voice too calm.  

Evan nodded, barely able to keep his voice steady. “Y-yeah…”  

“Remember the episode when Foxy lost his hook?” William’s smile grew wider.  

“Uh... yeah... it was... episode four from season...”  

“Do you know what did it? Was it magic?” William’s voice dropped, his gaze burning into Evan’s.  

“No... it was Mangle when he was sleeping, she—”  

“That’s right, Evan. You’re such a smart boy. Now tell me. Do you think it was magic when... things started to disappear in my office? Do you think it happened… like that?”  

He snapped his fingers.  

Evan’s body went rigid. His breath caught in his throat.  

Michael’s fingers tapped the table three times. The signal.  

Without a word, they bolted upstairs. Thunder roared outside, but it was nothing compared to the pounding of their hearts.  

William didn’t say a word.  

...  

Evan hated the thunder. Every strike made him flinch, his body tensing as the noise rattled through his chest. He buried himself deeper into Michael’s arms, sobbing harder than he ever had before. Michael was crying too, his hand smoothing over Evan's hair, but Evan didn’t notice. He couldn’t focus on anything except the fear crawling up his throat.  

“He knows, Mike... he’ll hurt us... we... we have to... do something,” Evan mumbled, his voice shaking with terror, too scared to even speak clearly.  

“I won’t let him hurt you, Evan... I promised you,” Michael whispered, his words a soft promise that felt like it could snap at any second.  

Evan tensed, the weight of his brother’s words sinking in.  

“You don’t need to say that. We can’t keep pretending, Michael. We can’t deal with this anymore... I’m scared... What if you’re not here anymore?” His voice broke, raw and desperate.  

Michael’s tears came faster then, spilling freely. Evan noticed the wetness against his brother's skin, and something shifted inside him. His grip tightened around Michael, his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t explain.  

“You can’t... pretend like everything is fine anymore. Something happened, Michael. Dad can’t just have changed like this. There’s something. And you need to tell me. For you... and for me.”  

Michael paused, breathing harder, his body trembling as he pulled away slightly to wipe his face. He seemed to hesitate, but the truth was there, clawing at him. He didn’t know if he was ready to say it, but Evan needed to hear it.  

“You sure? You want to know? Really?” Michael’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “It’s not... it’s not something you want to hear, Evan. It’s... it’s horrible.”  

Evan nodded, his heart pounding, but his resolve hardened. He couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay. Not anymore.  

“Yeah,” he said, barely able to get the words out. “Tell me.”  

Michael sighed, the weight of the truth pulling him down.  

“Dad... he’s... he’s a killer, Evan. Dad... he killed... children,” Michael said, the words coming out like they were tearing through his chest. He couldn’t look Evan in the eye, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet his brother’s wide, terrified stare.  

The world seemed to pause for a second. Evan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. The thunder outside felt like it was miles away now. All he could hear was the thundering beat of his own heart, and Michael’s confession hanging heavy in the air.  

And suddenly, the truth was more terrifying than the storm.

“Wait... it was him?” Evan’s voice trembled, unsure, barely a whisper.  

Michael nodded, the truth hanging in the air like a weight he couldn’t escape. Evan’s chest tightened, the anger rising in him, threatening to explode. But before he could say anything, Michael pulled him into an embrace, holding his head gently, trying to calm him down.  

“I don’t wanna stay here anymore...” Evan’s voice cracked, the fear taking over.  

“What are you... talking about?” Michael asked, his own heart heavy, not understanding what his little brother was saying.  

“I’m scared... y... you remember yesterday... when you told me that... we’ll... be rid of this asshole, when we’re older?” Evan’s voice was barely audible, like he was afraid to speak the words out loud.  

“Yeah, we definitely will...” Michael said it with more force, as if the words could give them some kind of power over the darkness. But even he wasn’t sure anymore.  

“What if we left now? Before it’s too late.” Evan’s words were quiet, but they hit Michael like a punch to the gut.  

What if they ran away?  

Chapter Text

4 days before the escape attempt…  

Michael’s head jerked toward his bedroom door as the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed from the kitchen. At first, he dismissed it—probably his father breaking something again. But then came the shouting. And worse, a child’s voice, pleading. 

His heart seized. The man’s journal he’d been reading under the blanket slipped from his hands. Without a second thought, he bolted downstairs. 

The scene was nightmarish. A jagged bottle of alcohol lay shattered on the floor, its contents splattered across the tiles—and on the trembling legs of the small boy standing there, his sobs wracking his fragile frame. His face was red, streaked with tears. But it wasn’t the broken glass or the spilled liquor that twisted Michael’s stomach. 

It was their father. 

William stood ominously still, gripping a knife—not as a threat, but as an offering. He extended it toward Evan, his younger son, with an unnerving calm. 

“Pick it up,” William growled, his voice as cold and sharp as the blade itself. “You broke my bottle. My money, my work, wasted. So, you’re going to pay for it. Cut one of your fingers off. I’m letting you pick which one. Be grateful.” 

Evan shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. “I-I didn’t mean to! Dad, please! It slipped! I just opened the fridge and... and... it fell! I don’t understand... I... didn’t do anything! Please... I... I can’t...” His words crumbled into incoherent sobs. 

Michael’s heart slammed against his ribs, his hands clenching into fists as he stumbled into the kitchen, his voice exploding with panic. “What the fuck is going on here?!” 

William’s dark gaze snapped toward him, his eyes filled with something unhinged. “Teaching this little shit a lesson. He has to learn what happens when you waste what’s mine.” 

Michael’s blood boiled. “You can’t be serious. You’re telling a kid to cut off his own finger ?! Are you fucking insane?!” His voice cracked, rage and desperation tangling in his throat. 

But William didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly turned, pointing the knife at Michael now, the glint of the blade inches from his neck. 

“Watch your mouth,” William hissed, his tone low and venomous. “And listen very carefully . You’re not in charge here. I am. You don’t know what’s good for him— I do. So get back in your room, where you belong. Let’s not escalate thing... right?” 

Michael froze, his breath hitching, his skin crawling under his father’s predatory stare. “He’s ten,” Michael said hoarsely, his voice breaking. “He’s just a child... just... look at him. You really think he could have done it on purpose...? He’s your son, dad, don’t... don’t hurt him, please...” 

William’s grin was a slow, cruel thing. “Oh, I won’t hurt him,” he said, mockingly sweet. “ He’ll hurt himself. Now get the fuck out of my sight.” 

Michael’s head swam, panic and anger warring within him. His instincts screamed to protect Evan, but his father’s presence was suffocating, a shadow that crushed any chance of escape. 

And then, a reckless, desperate thought burst through the haze. 

“Let me do it,” Michael said, his voice trembling but steady enough to stop William in his tracks. 

Evan gasped, his wide eyes darting to his older brother. “N-no! Michael, don’t!” 

William cocked his head, his expression a mixture of curiosity and sadistic amusement. “You? You want to take his punishment?” 

“Yes,” Michael said, barely recognizing his own voice. “Let me take it. Spare him.” 

For a moment, silence hung thick in the air, broken only by Evan’s muffled sobs. 

Finally, William’s lip curled into a smirk. “Fine. The brat can go. For now. ” 

“Evan,” Michael said firmly, not daring to take his eyes off their father. “Go. Now. ” 

Evan hesitated, trembling, but the sharp edge in Michael’s voice jolted him into motion. He bolted upstairs, tears streaming down his face, leaving Michael alone with the monster. 

A few days later...  

Michael woke up early, feeling a dull pain in his index finger. It hurt less than before, but it was still there. Cutting a finger slowly hadn't been one of his best ideas... at least William had let it slide after seeing all the blood. The finger was bandaged, though... by his baby brother. 

Michael’s gaze drifted to Evan, still fast asleep. His heart clenched. He hated that Evan had to deal with this. He was just a kid, far too young for any of this. 

Michael wanted to hold him a little longer, just while he was still asleep. After all, it was only 6 AM. He sighed, knowing he needed to get ready for the day. 

Trying to slip away quietly, Michael gently moved, but Evan tightened his hold, burying his face in Michael's neck. It made Michael smile despite everything. He couldn’t help but think how adorable his little brother was. It made him want to protect him even more...

He smirked and leaned closer to Evan's ear. 

“Today’s the day, Ev...” he whispered. 

Evan’s eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. 

“Yeah, let’s go...” he mumbled, exited, as if he’d been waiting for that moment. 

Michael slowly got out of bed, helping Evan up with him. 

“Okay... uh, Evan, get your school stuff ready, okay? Don’t forget anything...” Michael said, acting like everything was normal for the cameras. 

Evan hesitated for a moment, not willing to admit he was getting too clingy. But to keep things natural, he nodded and went to his room, leaving Michael behind. 

... 

The young boy stood in his cold room again. It wasn’t a big moment, not really. They had to rush, but that didn’t bother him. 

His room had been his childhood. A childhood he’d rather forget. 

The blood stains near the closet were from the cuts Nightmare Foxy gave him, a year ago. The ones on his bedsheets were from Michael, after he took a beating. The toys scattered in the corner were a distant memory—playing with them felt like something from another life. 

He didn’t have anything to take. Just emptied his bag, leaving it empty in case Michael needed space. There was nothing left to care about here. 

He teared up. 

“Fuck you, William,” he muttered, before walking out of his room for the last time. 

... 

Michael’s hand tightened around his father’s journal. The urge to rip it apart, to destroy the horrors that lay within its pages, grew with every word he read. But he forced himself to stay calm. With a deep breath, he dropped it into his bag. 

He would get it to the police eventually. What he wanted was for this man to rot in a cell. Or better yet... the death sentence. 

Michael didn’t pack much—just the essentials for survival, things he could hold onto if he ever felt nostalgic. He moved quickly, not wanting to raise any suspicions. But then, as he passed through the hallway, his eyes caught sight of a photo. 

In the corner, a young boy was held by his grumpy big brother. On the other side, a young girl with ginger hair and green eyes beamed with a smile. In the middle stood a tall man in a purple suit, with his arm around his wife. 

Michael’s heart squeezed, and his eyes stung with tears. All he wanted was to tear the photo to shreds, to take a pair of scissors and cut that man out of it, out of their lives. But he didn’t. Instead, he took a deep breath and carefully placed it into his bag, fighting back the tears. 

... 

As Michael was about to head downstairs, he paused at his brother’s room. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, the room was empty. Evan was in the bathroom. Just as Michael started to follow him, relieved that this was one place William didn’t have cameras, his eyes caught something on the floor. 

Fredbear, his brother's favorite plush, lay discarded under the bed, its face torn off. Michael frowned, his heart tightening. 

Did Evan accidentally pull at it? It was possible—his brother had always loved that plush. It had been years since they first got it, a constant comfort in the chaos of their lives. Michael had hoped to keep it together for him, to preserve a piece of their childhood. He wanted to see Evan smile, to tell him that he’d fix it someday. But time was running out. 

They needed to leave. 

... 

Evan stood at the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth, trying to ignore the unease gnawing at him. It was probably the last time he'd do something so normal in a long while... when a sudden knock on the door froze him in place. 

“Y... yeah?” he stammered, his heart racing. 

It had to be Michael, right? Not their dad. 

“Can I come in?” 

Relief flooded him at the sound of his brother's voice. 

“Sure…” 

As soon as the door opened, Evan rushed to Michael, pulling him into a tight hug. Michael embraced him just as fiercely, holding him close. 

“We’re ready to... to go?” Evan whispered, his voice trembling. 

“Yeah... I’m reporting him to the police. Everything will be fine, okay?” 

Evan pulled back slightly; his gaze uncertain. 

“But... what if... if Dad finds us?” 

Michael sighed; his voice steady despite the fear creeping into his chest. 

“I won’t let him hurt you, remember? I promised. I’ll never let him hurt you.” 

Evan lowered his eyes, biting his lip. 

“I’m scared... What if he... what if he kills us?” The words broke as tears filled his eyes. 

Michael stiffened. It was a terrifying thought—one that he couldn’t deny. What would be worse: seeing Evan die, or the other way around? He couldn’t bear either. 

He shook his head, quickly changing the subject. He needed something to make him feel better... anything. 

“Look... I... I wanted to do something for you, Ev...” 

Evan blinked, his face softening with curiosity. 

“Do you want me to fix Fredbear? I mean... not today, but…” 

Michael reached into his pocket, pulling out Fredbear’s plush, but when Evan saw it, his face drained of color. 

"M... Michael? Why did you..."

“What’s wrong? It's your friend, right?” Michael asked, his confusion deepening as Evan stared in shock. 

Fredbear’s eyes... they gleamed, silver, almost unnatural. Michael froze. 

Then, the plush spoke. 

You lost...  

Michael’s stomach twisted in horror as the voice came from the stuffed animal. Without thinking, he tore open Fredbear, his fingers shaking. Inside, a small, sleek camera—an Afton Robotics device. He couldn’t breathe. 

The truth hit his brother like a wave. 

Had he told his most private secret to his father? Did William used him to... kill them? 

Evan’s legs buckled beneath him, and Michael caught him before he collapsed to the floor. 

“He knows...” Evan said. 

Michael didn’t waste a second. 

“We have to go, NOW!” he shouted, panic flooding his voice. 

... 

The boys moved cautiously down the stairs, their bags in hand. Every step felt like it was taking them further away from the nightmare they had been living, but there was no time to waste. They had to escape before everything came crashing down. 

But as they reached the bottom, they stopped cold. There he was. William. Waiting for them, standing between them and the door to their freedom, his sick smile stretching across his face. 

They were trapped. 

“H... Hi, Dad...” Evan stammered, his voice barely a whisper. 

William's cold eyes flicked over to him, his smile widening in a way that made Evan’s stomach churn. 

“Hello, Evan. Quite a chilly morning, isn’t it? Guess I should fix the heat... someday...” he said, each word dripping with false sweetness. 

The boys flinched, their fear mounting. 

“C... Can we go to... school, Dad?” Michael tried again, his voice trembling. 

William scoffed, the sound thick with mockery. 

“To school...? Of course, Michael. School is important, right? Can’t forget that...” His words were laced with sarcasm. 

Michael felt his pulse quicken. He had known this moment would come, but it still hit like a punch to the gut. They were running out of time. He needed to keep his cool. 

“Y... yeah…” he managed to say, his throat tight. 

“But school at... what? Let me guess... 6AM? You really need to fix your watch, kid. But since you woke up early, why don’t you spend some time with your old man?” William added, his voice so sweet it was almost sickening. 

“No. We need to go,” Michael said, his voice firm despite the panic crawling under his skin. 

William's smile faltered, his face darkening, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. 

“Now, now... no need to speak to me like that, Michael. Tell me... where exactly are you going with... my stuff?” William’s voice became cold, almost sinister. “Where are you going with all this shit I bought with MY money? Hm? After you stole from me?” 

Michael’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped in front of Evan, instinctively shielding him from their father’s sickness. He could feel Evan’s trembling body behind him, but there was no time for weakness now. They had to stand strong. 

“Stealing is a sin, Michael,” William hissed, taking a step forward, his voice low and threatening. “And sins should be punished. You know that, don’t you?” 

Michael’s fists clenched at his sides. He wasn’t going to let William break them. Not today. 

“What about killing children?” Michael spat, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and tears. The words felt like a knife in his throat, but he couldn’t hold them back. 

William didn’t even flinch. His expression remained unchanged, cold and calculated, as though this was a conversation he’d been expecting. 

“That…” William began, his voice low and dangerous. “I wouldn’t call it a sin. More like… a necessary sacrifice.” 

The words hit Michael like a punch in the gut. His knees wobbled, but he held his ground, trying not to show the fear creeping up his spine. He could feel Evan behind him, trembling, but he didn’t dare turn around to look. 

As William took a step closer, the air thickened. A suffocating dread settled over the room, making it impossible to breathe. Something terrible was coming. 

“N… Necessary?!” Evan cried, his voice cracking with the weight of the truth. He took a step back, pushing away from Michael’s protective stance. 

William’s eyes locked onto his youngest son, a look of complete disdain on his face, as if Evan were nothing more than a nuisance. 

“They did nothing wrong, Dad!” Evan shouted, his words a desperate plea. “They… they just wanted to be friends with me! And you… you killed them? You used me to do it? You really don’t care about me, do you? You hate me that much?” His voice broke on the last word, and the tears that had been threatening to fall now spilled freely. 

William’s grin widened; his eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. 

“You’re such a smart boy, Evan.” 

That was it. Michael’s patience snapped. This was no longer about survival—it was about making William pay for everything he had done. With a surge of anger, Michael threw a punch at William’s jaw. The force of it made William’s head jerk to the side, but he barely flinched. 

Michael’s breath came in short bursts as he stormed toward the door, but the cold air didn’t even register. It wasn’t enough to numb the rage coursing through him. 

Before he could step outside, William’s hand grabbed him, dragging him back with terrifying strength. He was thrown to the ground, a sharp kick landing on his face. Pain exploded in his head, but Michael pushed through it, trying to rise. 

But William wasn’t finished. He grabbed Michael by the hair, yanking it hard, forcing his head back. 

“You’re going to pay for this, Michael. I’ll make sure of it.” 

In a reflex, Michael spat at him, his vision blurred with anger and pain. William just grinned, unfazed. 

“Evan, RUN!!” Michael shouted, his voice hoarse, but his warning came too late. 

William was quicker, grabbing Evan by the arm before he could get away. Evan struggled to free himself, but William’s grip was like iron. Michael managed to get to his feet, but before he could move, William’s knee slammed into his face, sending him crashing back to the floor. 

“Let me go, Dad!” Evan cried, his voice shaking with desperation. 

William chuckled darkly. “Now your big brother won’t be the one taking the hits, huh, Evy boy?” 

Evan’s arm was locked in his father’s grasp, and no matter how hard he fought, it was useless. 

“Dad, please… I can’t…” Evan’s voice cracked, his face scrunched in pain. 

William applied more pressure. “Time to pay for everything, Evan.” 

Michael tried to get up, his vision blurry, but the dizziness held him down. “Stop, please… not him…” 

But William didn’t listen. His fist came down hard, making contact with Evan’s face. 

“Stop... Dad…” Michael groaned, struggling to move, but the world spun too fast. 

Evan screamed, his small body shaking with each blow. His cries of “Please, I love you… don’t… don’t hit me more...” echoed in Michael’s ears, tearing at his heart. But William didn’t stop. Another punch landed, and Michael heard his brother’s tooth fall on the ground. 

Evan coughed, blood spilling from his mouth, but William only smiled, as though it meant nothing. 

Michael couldn’t look at his brother anymore—couldn’t recognize the boy he had tried so hard to protect. He was a shell now, beaten down into something unrecognizable. 

And Michael could do nothing but watch. His body refused to listen. 

With a sickening crack, Evan’s body went limp, falling to the floor in a heap. 

Michael froze, his breath catching in his throat. His baby brother—his little brother, the one he had tried so desperately to protect—was motionless. Was he...? His mind couldn’t process it. Evan Afton... was he dead? 

His chest tightened, and panic gripped him as he stared at Evan’s still form. His legs trembled, struggling to stay upright. 

“Pathetic...” 

William’s voice was cold, mocking, as he took Michael’s bag without a second thought. But Michael couldn’t care about that. He could only think of his brother. His heart shattered as he staggered over to Evan, falling to his knees beside him. His body was bruised, blood trickling from the violent blows. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. 

The sight of Evan’s unmoving body was too much. The sobs wracked through Michael’s chest as he pulled his brother close, his arms shaking. 

“Ev... please... no...” he whispered, his voice breaking. 

But William didn’t stop. He rummaged through the bag and pulled out the dark journal Michael had hoped would be his ticket to justice. 

"Wow... you tried to frame me, Michael? Well... look at this," William mocked. 

Michael couldn’t bring himself to look, his gaze fixed solely on Evan. 

But then, he heard it—the unmistakable sound of flames crackling. His head jerked up in shock as he saw the journal ignite in his father’s hand. 

All the evidence. All of Michael’s plans. Gone, in an instant. 

He could do nothing but watch as the fire consumed the pages, the truth slipping through his fingers. 

His breath quickened, heart racing, as the weight of everything crashing down on him nearly suffocated him. His body ached, the pain in his chest overwhelming. 

“Now let’s get this shit over with,” William said, pulling out a gun. 

Michael tried to get up, but William slammed the gun into his cheek, knocking him back down. 

It was either freedom or death. But now, they were just dead. 

“You kids know what Russian Roulette is, right?” William taunted, loading the weapon. 

Michael’s blood ran cold. What the fuck was happening? 

“There’s one bullet in this. Let’s see who’s the lucky one. Who wants to start?” 

Michael’s eyes shot to Evan. The kid was barely conscious, crying—alive, but barely. 

“I... I’ll go first,” Michael said, his voice shaky. 

“I knew you’d say that,” William grinned, pointing the gun at Evan and pulling the trigger. 

Click. 

...

...

Empty. 

“You’re such a lucky boy, Evan... now let’s see if your brother gets the same.” 

William aimed the gun at Michael’s throat, the cold steel pressing against his collarbone. Tears welled up in Michael’s eyes, rage and fear mixing. 

Click. 

...

...

...

...

It was empty. 

Shit... this was terrifying...

But that didn’t mean they were out of danger. The next shot... it was Evan’s turn. His brother would die. At least he will have a quick death... no pain added, for God's sake...

“N... NO... DAD!! Let me take his turn!” Michael screamed, desperation clawing at him. 

William chuckled; his smile sick. 

“Sure.” 

The gun was aimed at Evan now, at his innocent face. At his baby brother. His favorite little dude. His everything. With every ounce of strength left in him, Michael pushed himself up and shoved his father against the wall, making him drop the gun. 

But William was quick, his hand wrapping around Michael’s throat and slamming him down again. 

“You should’ve stayed down, boy,” William said, standing over him.

“Now let's get this shit done, I should’ve done this the second that bitch left.” 

Michael could see the punch coming. This one will break his neck, this one will kill him... He was dead. Fucking dead. Michael wasn't sure what was worse... and now he knew. He hated the fact that Evan will be forced to see him die. He knew this was the end. His eyes closed, bracing for the inevitable. He cried silently, everyone. He was such a dick. He deserved it... but those children, and his sweet little brother. No one did but...

Bang . A gunshot echoed in the room. 

William’s grip loosened. Michael’s heart pounded. Had his father decided to use the gun on him after all? Was he dead? 

His eyes snapped open. 

William staggered, blood pouring from a hole in his chest. He looked confused, trembling. What the hell? Why was he bleeding? 

Michael’s gaze shifted quickly to his brother. Evan. Standing there, gun in hand, pointed at their father. Then Evan dropped the gun and collapsed to the floor. 

Chapter Text

November 8th, 1985 – William Afton’s hellhole 

Michael felt like he wasn’t even in his body anymore. The pain, the sorrow, the guilt—all that shit was gone. Replaced by nothing.  

And nothing wasn’t so bad, really. He didn’t have to think about why his body ached, or who the hell had slammed his knee into his skull hard enough to knock him out cold. He didn’t have to think about the boy he’d sworn to protect at all costs, only to end up beaten to a bloody pulp.  

Michael Afton was at peace. He was at peace because he’d chosen death. What was the fucking point anymore? He had lost. And he didn’t even know why.  

Sure, it was the easiest solution. The one he would’ve taken a few months ago. Just lying there, motionless, ready to rot. Because the pain of moving on was too much to bear. But was it the right one?  

To Michael the bully, the asshole, the one who wasn’t any better than his dad? Yeah, it was.  

But to Michael the big brother—the one who’d sworn to protect his baby bro no matter what, even if it cost him a finger, or a heart? No. No, it fucking wasn’t.  

And for once—hell, for a few weeks now—Michael had decided to be that brother for Evan. Brother of the year, right? At least that’s what he told himself. But god, it was so fucking exhausting. It was so much easier to just... stay here. To give up. To die in peace. Maybe that would even be better for his little brother, who’d already been through so much...  

Wait.  

Wait just a goddamn second.  

Why the fuck was he drowning in his own misery when his little brother had just been beaten half to death?  

Michael’s eyes shot open, and—oh god—it hurt like hell. Every nerve in his body screamed, but he didn’t care. The cold breeze cut through him, making him shiver as birds chirped somewhere in the distance. He pushed himself up, too fast. His legs wobbled, and he nearly hit the ground again. Then he froze.  

Blood. Splattered everywhere.  

So much blood.

Michael’s eyes darted around, landing on the limp body of a man in a purple suit. He was lying nearby, a massive puddle of blood spreading beneath him. Michael felt his stomach churn, bile rising in his throat. What the hell had happened? That sick fuck was dead—and that was all that mattered.  

But he couldn’t remember how. Or when. Hell, he didn’t even know what time it was.  

Just that they had tried to escape. And gotten fucked up along the way.  

He always thought he’d be happy when the bastard died. He’d pictured it so many times: standing over his dad’s grave, laughing, certainly pissing on it. He’d tell him to fucking burn in hell, to rot forever for every crap he’d done. For being a terrible excuse of a human being.

But now...  

Now there was this hollow, selfish part of Michael—a part he hated—that had wanted something else. A dad. A real dad. A home. Somewhere to feel safe. And now, even the possibility of that was gone. Ripped away. Because his daddy was... dead.

He felt tears sting his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?  

But then a darker thought punched through the haze.  

Who did it?  

It wasn’t him. He was sure of that. Which left only one person.  

“Evan?!” Michael’s voice cracked as he shouted.  

How the hell could he cry over this piece of garbage when his little brother could be dying right now?  

It didn’t take long to find Evan. His small body was crumpled on the floor, pale and still. And there, next to him, was a gun. A fucking gun. What the hell...  

Michael’s breath hitched. Panic clawed at his chest.  

Had his baby brother... killed him? Had Evan killed their dad? Did his sweet, innocent brother just...

But then, something else. Somewhere... faint, distant... an echo. Something Michael recognized instantly. Something he’d only ever heard in movies or while walking past some scene of chaos. Never for them. Never for his family.  

Sirens.  

And they were getting closer.  

Michael’s chest tightened. Panic set in.  

He could stay. He could try to explain everything that happened. But then his thoughts snapped to William—his father—and the way that bastard destroyed the evidence, always covered his tracks. Shit. He was so screwed.  

That’s when selfish Michael clawed its way to the surface again.  

Because Evan—Evan was ten years old, for fuck’s sake. No way in hell was he going to prison. Maybe the system would stick him in some foster home, give him a shot at a normal life. But Michael? Juvenile detention wasn’t an option, since he didn't do shit. Not for him. Not ever.  

And even if it somehow meant Evan could live a better life, Michael wouldn’t survive being separated from him. They were brothers. They had to face this shit together.  

“Evan, we gotta go, now!” Michael shouted, shaking him.  

The sirens were louder now. Closer.  

But Evan didn’t stir. The kid was completely out cold.  

Michael groaned. He didn’t have time for this. He knew what he had to do. With a busted shoulder, ankle, knee—hell, practically everything—he bent down and hoisted Evan into his arms. The kid was light. Too light. Evan barely ate these days.  

But the pain was excruciating. Every nerve in Michael’s body screamed as he staggered under the weight, but he pushed through. He didn’t have a choice.  

Before he left, he glanced down.  

The gun.  

It was lying there, clear as day, most likely covered in Evan’s fingerprints. Without thinking, Michael snatched it up and shoved it into his pocket. His heart was pounding as he grabbed their backpacks and bolted for the door.  

The cops were already at the end of the street.  

Michael ran.  

To where? He didn’t fucking know. He just ran.  

They were free now. Free from their father. Free from the house that had been their prison, the place that once kept a roof over their heads but little else. Free from what little scraps of a normal life they’d ever had.  

But everything had to be better than William bloody Afton.  

Right? 

Chapter Text

Hurricane’s streets – A few hours after the Afton brothers left their home...  

Michael was beat, starving, and every inch of his body was hurting like hell. He didn’t bother wiping the blood from his mouth, nor did he give a damn about the red smear staining his shirt. He was shaking—fear, cold, and sheer weakness tearing through him. The icy night air only made it all worse. 

“Just... five minutes,” he muttered, forcing himself to stop. 

They were under a bridge. No one else was around. Evan was out cold. Michael never thought he’d feel like this kid was heavy, but to his battered arms, he sure as hell was. Finally, he set him down. On the fucking concrete. But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was his brother’s state. 

His baby features? Gone. Not that he’d had much of those to begin with, with his dark circles and pale skin but now... now it was bruises. Bruises, pain, and blood. Michael couldn’t bring himself to look too closely, too fucking scared to see just how bad he’d screwed up this time. 

And at last, after endless hours of running, fighting, bleeding, screaming, crying, and worrying, Michael Afton could finally breathe. 

Too bad the air down there smelled like piss and crap. 

Then, a scream. Michael flinched. What the... His brother. His ten-year-old brother was sobbing and screaming right in front of him. 

"Where am I? I... Help me, somebody, help me! PLEASE!!! It hurts! I... It hurts..." Evan cried, panicked. 

Michael had been dreading this moment, even though he was relieved his little brother was awake. Of course. But dealing with a kid in pain? Under some shitty bridge? No. Hell no. 

"Hey... you okay, Ev?" 

His brother clutched at his wounds, sobbing. 

"D... Do I seem okay?!" Evan shouted, frustrated. 

Michael swallowed, cursing himself for asking something so stupid. He approached Evan slowly. 

"Get off!" his brother snapped, backing away. 

The shy, soft voice was gone, replaced with pain and anger. 

Michael stopped, taking a deep breath. He hated this. He fucking hated how his brother was acting right now. But he had to be strong—for both of them. 

"Please, calm down, okay?" 

Evan cried harder. Michael took the chance to pull him into a tight hug, but the boy squirmed, like he thought Michael wanted to hurt him. 

"Hey, please, I... I’m not gonna..." 

"Where are we?! Why did you... bring me here?" 

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"Look... I’m gonna try to figure things out, okay...? I know it looks bad, but..." 

"Did you... did you hurt me? Did you bring me here to... to hurt me? Who did it... who's this... asshole?!" Evan cried, clutching his wounds. 

Michael froze. What the hell? 

"Evan, shut up. Shut the fuck up, OKAY?!!! I'm trying my best here!"

"L... Leave me alone..." Evan whispered more quietly, crying quietly now. 

Michael’s heart broke. He hated himself for getting angry at his brother for being scared and confused. He knelt down, pulling Evan into his arms again. The boy shivered and cried against his chest. 

"W... Who even are you..." Evan mumbled. 

That stopped Michael cold. Was he joking? 

"M... Michael. You didn’t see me?" 

Evan was still hiccuping, his voice broken. 

"You’re not... him. He hates me. He hates me, right? And you don’t," Evan said, studying his brother’s face. 

Michael frowned. 

"It's not funny, Ev..." 

Evan tried to speak, but blood came up in a cough. Shit. This was bad. He needed to find something—anything—to help his brother. He couldn’t leave him like this. But where the hell was, he going to find it? 

They had no one. And Uncle Henry lived downtown, far away from here. They couldn’t risk going there… 

“Are you... really Mikey?” Evan asked, his voice softer now, full of pain. 

Michael felt his tears well up at the nickname. His brother had used it when he was six. He hadn’t heard it in years. He nodded, still holding him close. 

“Can we go home, Michael?” Evan asked, his voice small, like a helpless child. 

Michael’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted to say yes, to make everything better, but deep down, he feared something far worse than just a broken tooth, a bruised cheek, or a black eye. 

Trauma. 

No... No, he was just confused, right? Confused and scared. Michael was scared too, as his own tears started to form. 

“Michael?” Evan asked, his voice a whisper. 

“Y... yeah...?” 

“Do something, please... it... it hurts... I don’t know why, but it does. Everywhere... and especially here...” 

Michael pulled back to see where his brother was pointing. 

Evan was touching his head. Shit. Had he gotten concussed? Probably… but how bad? How many times had this sick human being punched him? How bad did William hurt his baby brother? 

“Hang in there, okay?” Michael said, standing up, forcing himself to stay calm. 

No, he wasn’t okay. Michael was scared shitless. His heart was racing. He had to hold himself together, fight the panic rising in his chest. He had to be strong. For Evan. But how? They were alone in... this crap. 

But he refused to give up. He dug through his bag, heart pounding. How had he forgotten? He’d packed supplies in case they got hurt. As he gently cleaned his brother’s wounds with gauze, Evan cried out in pain, his sobs cutting through the cold night. Michael held him tighter, hating the way he’d hurt his little brother, hating how helpless he felt. 

“Michael, please...” Evan sobbed, his voice trembling. 

“Evan... calm down... just... just stay quiet...” Michael whispered, his own fear creeping in. He was terrified someone might hear them. The thought of being discovered, of questions, made his stomach churn. 

After what felt like an eternity, he was done. His hands were shaking. The sound of Evan’s screams would haunt him in his dreams.

“Why did... why did you...” 

Michael looked down at his brother. Despite the blood, the bruises, the pain, Evan looked slightly better now. Not much, but enough. The worst of the wounds were cleaned, the immediate danger gone. 

“Okay... just... let’s get some rest, alright? We’ll... figure it out in the morning...” he said, his voice cracking with exhaustion. 

Evan’s nose suddenly bled rapidly. So much blood. Michael’s heart stopped in his chest. Was this it? Was this...

Fuck... He tried to deny it, but he couldn't.

Was that what head trauma looked like? Before Evan could collapse, head-first onto the cold ground, Michael rushed to catch him, pulling his brother into his arms. 

“Evan... stay with me, okay?!” Michael panicked.

They were alone. Under that bridge. 

“I wanna go home, Mike... Where's dad? Does he know we're... here?” Evan mumbled weakly. 

Michael teared up but refused to let the tears fall. That would be too much. It would break him. 

“D... Don’t speak... it’ll make things worse,” Michael whispered, holding his brother tighter. 

He walked for a while, as the weight of everything started to settle in. It was cold. And everything felt hopeless. Did his brother forget everything? Did his mind just… shut it all down?  

Or was it something much worse? 

Chapter Text

November 10 th , 1985 – Hurricane’s downtown  

Michael hated it. He hated every last bit of it. His back was wrecked from sleeping under that bridge, curled around his brother to keep him warm. His arms ached too; way too worn out from carrying his brother for miles. And his legs? They were dead weight after trudging all that way to downtown.  

But the bruises were the worst. They only had a handful of painkillers left, and Michael had given every single one to his little brother. Drugging a kid wasn’t the most responsible thing to do... but who cares? He couldn’t deal with a crying child while they had to keep a low profile. Now... now the pain was tearing through him like fire. It took everything he had—not just strength, but sheer willpower—not to scream of pain.  

“Mike… when will we go back home?” Evan asked, his voice small and childish.  

That, however, was the hardest thing Michael had to face. His brother had lost some… painful memories. Michael didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse. What he did know was that every time he nodded, every time he told Evan to “hang in there, because it’ll be okay soon,” it made him feel like the worst person alive.  

“No… but you have to… to be patient, Ev,” Michael said, his voice strained as they walked through the dark, empty streets.  

“Why do we keep away from the road during the day, though?” Evan asked, a faint curiosity lacing his words. “Wouldn’t it be better if we just… stop hiding?”  

Michael forced a grin, though his heart wasn’t in it. He needed an excuse, something simple—something Evan would believe. After all, Evan didn’t know.  

“Because,” Michael said with mock enthusiasm, “cool boys only go out at night.”  

Evan didn’t laugh.  

“It’s not funny, Mike. I wanna go home. Not stay hidden like… like something’s gonna find us,” Evan mumbled, his voice soft but weighted with frustration.  

Michael bit his lip hard, holding himself together. Staying strong was exhausting. He hated it. He hated all of it.  

“You know what? I think it’s… time to rest. Just for a bit,” Michael said, glancing down a dimly lit alley for somewhere to catch a break.  

But Evan wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. His wide eyes were focused on something else.  

“Michael, look! A motel! You told me there wasn’t any, but look! I found one!”  

Michael’s stomach dropped. Panic hit him like a punch in the gut.  

“Shut up, Evan! Don’t… don’t shout like that!” he hissed, his voice sharp.  

Evan’s excitement vanished instantly, and the light in his expression flickered out.  

“Why? What’s gonna happen anyway?” Evan muttered, his tone distant, though the childlike innocence still lingered. “You’re so weird, Mike… anyway, let’s go.”  

He turned toward the motel, his mood cooling into something close to normal, something painfully familiar. As if Evan was just a regular kid again.  

Michael knew he should feel guilty. He should feel regret for snapping at his little brother. But instead, something old crept back into his chest, a feeling he hadn’t let himself acknowledge in weeks.  

Frustration.  

"Bloody hell... how am I supposed to deal with this? I’m not his parent," Michael muttered, his voice shaky.  

But Evan was already walking ahead, his face lighting up like a normal ten-year-old’s. Like he wasn’t the broken kid Michael had promised to protect—the one hanging by a thread.  

This Evan didn’t need protecting. Not in Michael’s eyes. He didn’t know the weight of it all. He looked clueless. Oblivious. He didn’t even feel like his brother anymore.  

Michael sighed and followed.  

“Fifteen bucks a night? Yeah, right. Guess what, Evan? I don’t have shit,” he grumbled, clenching his fists.  

Evan turned, flashing a toothless grin, the gap from the tooth William had knocked out.  

“You said we could go,” the boy said, his eyes wide and hopeful.  

Michael bit his lip and looked away.  

Could they pay? No. Would they get arrested if they went in? Probably. Was it smart to hang around downtown after everything that happened? Absolutely not.  

“No, Evan. We’re not going in,” Michael said, grabbing his hand.  

Evan pulled back, frowning. Here it comes—the tantrum.  

“Michael, please... I don’t wanna... You know what? Fine, whatever. Let’s go sleep on the ground again,” Evan said, his voice trembling.  

Michael’s chest tightened. He felt like the worst brother in the world. He glanced at the motel door, hesitating.  

Could they? No. Should they? Definitely not. But would they? Maybe... no fucking way. He looked at Evan’s disappointed face. Then back at the door.  

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “I’m not ruining another night for him.”  

He grabbed Evan’s hand and pulled him away from the alley.  

“Mike... what?”  

“Don’t ask. Just listen to me, got it?”  

Evan’s face twisted in confusion.  

“Wait, what are you—”  

Michael didn’t answer. He dragged Evan with the same firm grip he used to use when his little brother hid under a table at Fredbear’s, refusing to leave.  

...  

Evan hurried alongside Michael, struggling to keep up. The cold seeped through his thin clothes, chilling him to the bone. Everything felt cold now—cold and dark. It wasn’t fear he felt, exactly, but unease. The way Michael was acting, the way they’d been stuck outside for days with almost nothing, the bruises on both of them—it all felt... wrong.  

His bruises didn’t hurt anymore, but they were still there. He saw them every time they passed a window at night. They scared him.  

Scared him enough that he didn’t dare ask Michael what had happened.  

Instead, he asked about their dad. Why hadn’t he come with them? Why were they out here, all alone?  

What the fuck had happened?  

But deep down, Evan didn’t really want to know.  

Michael came to a sudden stop in front of a grocery store, snapping Evan out of his thoughts. His older brother started pacing, muttering to himself. Evan tilted his head, glancing through the store window.  

Food. Real food. Not the stale chips and scraps they’d been eating for days. His stomach growled, and for the first time in a while, he smiled.  

“You have money, Mikey?”  

Michael winced, like the question had hurt. He tried to hide it, but Evan noticed. They were broken from the start—so why were they even here?  

“Evan,” Michael said, his voice steady but strained. “I need you to listen to me. Really listen. No questions, okay? Just do exactly what I say.”  

Evan frowned but nodded. “Uh... fine?”  

Michael tugged his hoodie lower over his face and walked into the store. Evan followed, his heartbeat quickening. Why was Michael acting so tense? His tough, fearless brother... nervous? Something was wrong.  

They stopped in an aisle stacked with cans. Evan didn’t look at the shelves much—he was too distracted by the knot in his stomach.  

“Do you want to help us?” Michael asked, his tone deadly serious.  

Evan nodded eagerly, grinning. “Of course!”  

Michael pointed to the cans. “See those? I need you to... uh... knock them over. Make a lot of noise.”  

Evan blinked, confused. “What?”  

“Just... tip them over.”  

Evan stared at the cans, then back at Michael. “But... why? That’ll... it’ll make a mess.”  

Michael’s jaw tightened. “What did I say about asking questions?” His voice wasn’t cruel, but it was heavy with worry.  

Evan sighed. “Fine...”  

“Good. Wait a few seconds first, then do it.”  

Michael gave him one last look before walking further into the store. Evan stood there, watching his brother disappear. It was just him, the cashier, and rows of food. So much food. His stomach twisted at the sight. He could grab something right now, tear into it, but stealing was wrong.  

Their dad always said stealing was bad.  

The last time Michael had a punishment, it has been brutal. Evan remembered... Michael had to cut off a finger.  

Or had he? Was that real? Or just his imagination? His memories felt like a mess—jumbled fragments of nightmares and reality.  

Evan shook his head, staring at the cans.  

...  

Michael knew he was a jerk—a jackass, a bad brother, a bully, a troublemaker, a sorry excuse for a son. But one thing he wasn’t—or hadn’t been—was a criminal. At least, not until now.  

After the loud bang echoed through the store, the cashier hurried to the back to check on the commotion. Michael’s blue eyes locked on the counter.  

“Shit...” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky.  

This was wrong. So wrong. But before he could stop himself, his hand was already rifling through the cash register. His stomach churned with disgust, but a flicker of pride burned beneath it. He’d made a decision—for Evan.  

That was it. Officially, Michael was now a thief. Not just a kid on the run or a suspect for something he didn’t do. He’d stolen. It wasn’t much—just fifty bucks. But fifty bucks was still fifty bucks.  

He was a thief. He deserved jail.  

...  

Evan flinched at the crash. The sound was loud—too loud. He hated loud noises. Screams. Sudden bangs. They sent chills through him, though he didn’t know why. Something deep in his mind wouldn’t let it go.  

But why did Michael make him do this?  

“What the hell?” a voice snapped, sharp and angry. Footsteps. Heavy. Close.  

It wasn’t Michael’s.  

Panic surged through Evan. His heart pounded as his brain screamed, run, hide! His hand shot into his pocket—what? A flashlight? When did that get there? He didn’t have time to think.  

The man was coming.  

Evan flicked on the flashlight and darted into the shadows, spotting a dark corner behind the shelves. He crouched low, trembling as the footsteps grew louder.  

“Who did that?!” the man growled, his tone furious.  

Evan’s breath hitched. His chest heaved as he fought the urge to cry out. Where was Michael? Where the hell was Michael?!  

Fear twisted into something worse: doubt. Had Michael abandoned him? Left him to get caught? Evan shook the thought away, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.  

Peeking out, he saw the mess—cans everywhere, some leaking onto the floor. The man stomped toward the mess, muttering curses under his breath. He looked tired. Angry. Like someone who already hated his job, and now Evan had made it worse.  

Guilt gripped Evan’s chest, tightening like a vice. It hurt more than the fear.  

With a deep breath, Evan stepped out from his hiding spot, shaky and small. The man froze when he saw him.  

“Kid, did you do this?”  

Evan opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. He swallowed hard. “S-sorry...” he stammered.  

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell? Where are your parents?”  

Evan flinched at the question. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. “I’m sorry, okay?!” he choked out.  

The man blinked, his anger faltering as he took in the trembling boy. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed.  

“Fine. Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll grab a mop. You can clean it up. You don’t have to pay... just stay here, alright? Don’t touch anything else.”  

The man walked off, grumbling under his breath.  

Evan stayed where he was, frozen in place. He didn’t dare move. Not after what he’d done.  

...  

Michael’s eyes locked onto the man as he walked away, and something in him snapped. This was their chance. He grabbed Evan’s hand and tugged him forward.  

“Come on, Evan, hurry,” he said, urgency in his voice. He felt the slight resistance from his brother, but he didn’t stop, didn’t ask him anything. He just kept pulling.  

“M...Michael, no...” Evan mumbled, his voice small, but Michael didn’t hear him.  

They finally burst out of the store and into the cold air. Michael pushed him forward again, urgency in every movement.  

“We need to move fast,” Michael said, not sparing a second for any questions. He didn’t have time for that now.  

As they rounded the corner and hid behind a building, Michael’s hand instinctively covered Evan’s mouth. They waited, watching the cashier storm out, looking pissed. Michael couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of relief. He had done it. They were safe, for now.  

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We screwed him over. Now we’re good.”  

But then, there was a sharp pain on his palm. Evan had bitten him.  

“Ow! That hurt...” Michael jerked his hand away.  

Evan pushed him off and turned his back, his whole body tense. Michael sighed, knowing exactly what was happening. Evan was angry, hurt, and Michael should’ve comforted him, told him everything would be okay. But he was angry, too. This was all for Evan. Everything he did was for him—and the kid couldn’t even be grateful.  

“Okay. Evan. What the fuck?” Michael snapped.  

Evan hesitated, then asked the question that had been burning in him, “W...why did you tell me to do it?”  

Michael didn’t skip a beat. “You wanted a motel, didn’t you?”  

Evan’s confusion grew. “What does this have to do with...?”  

He turned, and there it was. Michael had money in his hand—money that wasn’t there before. His stomach twisted.  

“Y...You took it from him?” Evan whispered.  

Michael nodded, his face hard.  

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, but it felt hollow.  

Evan clenched his fists, the anger bubbling up again, stronger now. “No, I’m not! Why? Was it all... just a distraction? You made me... help you do bad stuff?!”  

Michael’s patience snapped. “It’s either that or sleep on the streets, in piss and blood. So, now you’re either grateful, or you shut the fuck up. Got it?”  

Evan’s anger faltered, replaced by something else. His eyes welled up, his voice barely a whisper. “You stole... for me?”  

Chapter Text

A few hours later...  

This felt wrong, but there was a certain relief in it. Having a room after spending so many nights sleeping on the ground, surrounded by rats, trash, and all kinds of shit, was a nice change. It wasn’t permanent, but it felt like a break from the constant struggle. The warmth of the room was a welcome comfort. It wasn’t much, but it was something. They had been accepted here, even if they looked like they’d been through hell—homeless and beaten down. The place was quiet, at least. For now, it was enough.  

Evan stayed behind Michael, he didn’t look excited, and Michael didn’t need his big brother’s instinct or whatever to understand. He wasn’t pissed. He was disappointed with his big brother, after being used to steal money. The kid was always like that when he was done crying. He simply stayed silent, head lowered, keeping everything to himself.  

But this time, it wasn’t because Michael was a terrible and ungrateful brother who didn’t see that the kid was trying his best. No. This time he was terribly confused, scared and frustrated about what the hell was happening. Michael knew he should address it. He just didn’t know when.  

"Okay, Evan... uh... here we are..."  

The boy parted his lips as if to speak but quickly clamped them shut. His shoulders were stiff, his whole body tense. Why? Any kid would be excited right now. And his brother—he’d almost gone back to normal after losing some memories. Almost.  

With a sigh, the teen let their only bag drop to the floor. Michael eased himself down onto the bed, wincing as the fresh wound on his shoulder flared with pain. Before he could say anything, he caught a glimpse of Evan slipping away—the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.  

That left Michael with a moment to think. To figure out how the hell he was supposed to handle this.  

...  

As Evan washed his hands after peeing, his eyes could no longer avoid what was right in front of him. Slowly, he lifted his head.  

And there he was.  

A strange boy stared back at him—pale skin, dark eyebags, bruises, a half-broken nose. Hollow eyes. He didn’t look like a kid. He looked like something broken, something that had crawled through war and hell and barely made it out.  

Evan’s eyes widened. The boy’s did too.  

His heart pounded in his chest.  

"Do I... really look like this?" he mumbled.  

The glass didn’t lie. It gave him a clear, unforgiving look at just how messed up everything was. He had known he was hurt—but not like this. Not to this extent. His striped T-shirt was stained, speckled with dried blood, smeared with dirt. His fingers twitched at the fabric, the overwhelming urge to just—  

He froze.  

His breath hitched as his reflection mirrored his shock.  

A deep gash stretched across his chest. Not a scratch. Not some random wound. A claw mark—huge, brutal. It wasn’t from a bear, a tiger, or any animal that belonged in the world he knew. His stomach churned. His hands trembled as he yanked his shirt back down, as if covering it would make it disappear, as if it would stop the burning in his mind.  

His thoughts scattered, a mess of static and half-formed memories. But one thing was clear.  

He wasn’t safe.  

Home wasn’t safe.  

It was so bad that his own brain had decided to shut it all down —to bury whatever had happened so deep he couldn’t reach it.  

And now, Evan was almost certain.  

He had forgotten something. Something important.  

...  

Michael flipped through the channels, barely registering what was on the screen. The dim motel room felt smaller by the second, swallowed in darkness, as he dreaded the slow crawl of time. But there wasn’t much he could do. Evan was still in the bathroom. And for once, Michael had no one to watch over. No one to protect.  

He barely noticed when he landed on a news channel—until something caught his eye. Something familiar.  

Something painful.  

"Moving on to our next story, we turn to the homicide case involving the CEO of Freddy Fazbear Entertainment," the reporter announced.  

Michael froze. His grip on the remote tightened.  

The screen flickered, images flashing too fast to process. Then—his name.  

"Details remain unclear, but what we do know is that Michael Afton, eldest son of William Afton, is the primary suspect in this homicide. Known to be a troubled teenager and a bully, he is currently wanted by police."  

His stomach twisted.  

The motel room suddenly felt suffocating.  

“Fucking great,” he muttered, clenching his fists.  

His eyes moved back to the black screen, his gaze darkening with every word. He quickly forgot that Evan shouldn’t know any of this. The boy had been through enough, but the anger boiling inside Michael wouldn’t let him stop.  

The boy got up, walking over with an intensity that matched his mood, eyes fixed on the reporter.  

"The circumstances surrounding the killing remain unclear. However, there’s speculation that a violent altercation occurred between the father and son. Given the violent nature of Michael Afton, it’s possible the situation quickly escalated to lethal force," said one of the guests.  

Michael scoffed, his jaw tightening.  

“Well, guess what, dickhead?” he spat, his voice thick with disgust.  

He marched toward the TV, his movements threatening, like he wanted to rip the screen in half.  

“If killing’s such a big deal, maybe I should’ve just let him kill more brats. Hell, maybe it would’ve been your fucking daughter. Who knows?” His words were sharp, full of bitter venom, as if everything inside him had been festering for far too long.  

The reporter continued, her voice unwavering, unaware of the storm behind the screen.  

"One question remains: What happened to Evan Afton, the youngest son? While most of the blood at the scene belongs to William Afton, there are traces of Evan’s blood, as well as a knocked-out tooth. Speculation is growing that in the chaos, Michael Afton may have turned on his brother, given his history of bullying..."  

Michael’s fist slammed into the screen without hesitation. The glass shattered with a sickening crack, the sharp edges splintering and falling to the floor.  

Chapter Text

Evan couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of what he’d just heard pressing down on him. He hadn’t caught everything—but he’d heard enough.  

Peeking out from the bathroom, he saw the screen flickering, shards of glass scattered across the floor. His brother’s fist had done that.  

Michael was angry. He was dangerous.  

He was a criminal.  

He killed their dad.  

Evan’s breath hitched. His vision blurred as tears threatened to spill. But the worst part?  

He didn’t remember a fucking thing. His mind had locked it all away, burying the truth somewhere he couldn’t reach. Now, he was left in the dark—confused, terrified.  

And the only person he’d ever trusted...  

Was a wanted by the police.  

...  

Michael turned around—and there he was. His little brother stood frozen, lips quivering, eyes wide with something he was desperately trying to hide. Fear.  

Michael cursed under his breath and glanced at the shattered screen, frustration tightening in his chest. He could only hope Evan hadn’t heard the lies they spread on the news. But there was no way to be sure.  

Pulling his hand away from the wreckage, he wiped the blood from his knuckles, forcing himself to steady his breathing. Then, he turned back to his brother.  

“What took you so long?” Michael asked, forcing a casual tone.  

Evan shrugged, lingering near the door, refusing to sit on the bed. That was... odd. After days of homelessness, Michael figured his little brother would’ve jumped at the chance for something soft.  

“I was taking a shower...” Evan muttered.  

Michael raised an eyebrow. A lie. He hadn’t heard the water run. But he let it slide. Instead, he broke the tense silence.  

“Here... you can finally put on your PJs without freezing your ass off in the street.” He chuckled, digging into their only bag and pulling out a worn Fredbear shirt.  

Evan stared at it, his brow furrowing.  

“F... Fredbear...?” he mumbled.  

Michael’s head snapped up.  

“What did you say?”  

Evan flinched at his brother’s voice, his stomach twisting. Suddenly, standing there with Michael didn’t feel safe.  

“Nothing...”  

He hesitated before taking the shirt, handling it like it might bite him. But Michael didn’t do anything. He stayed calm. Stayed nice.  

And that terrified Evan.  

Because if there was one thing he did remember, it was Michael being too nice—just before crushing his hope and tearing him down.  

What if this was all just another act?  

“Evan...? Why are you... staring at me like that?” Michael asked, his voice laced with confusion.  

Evan snapped out of his trance, quickly turning away. He walked toward the bathroom, his heart hammering in his chest.  

In there, he yanked off his stripped tee shirt, wincing as he pulled it over his head, and hurriedly slipped into his PJs. He made sure to keep his back to the door, carefully concealing the wound on his chest from his big brother’s view.  

...  

Michael stepped onto the balcony, the night air hitting him like a shock of cold. It was crisp, almost biting, but he welcomed it. He leaned against the railing, eyes tracing the lights of downtown Hurricane, the city alive in its own way even under the quiet of night. His breath puffed out in small, white clouds, vanishing into the darkness as the chill seeped into his skin.  

For once, in years, he didn’t feel like he had to be the caring big brother, the bully, the survivor, or even the criminal. For once, he could just be Michael.  

He exhaled slowly, a thin wisp of vapor curling into the cold night air, and for a moment, it felt like smoke—familiar, grounding, something he could still hold onto.  

His eyes dropped to his pocket, a jolt of realization hitting him. He’d completely forgotten the pack of cigarettes tucked into his pants.  

...  

Evan lay curled up in the only bed, his small body taking up as little space as possible, shivering from exhaustion. Michael was out there, doing God knows what, and the silence in the room felt almost suffocating.  

This was the first time since the accident that he was sleeping alone. Before that day, sleeping without Michael would’ve been a no-no . They’d always shared a bed, always kept close— always . But now, lying here, it felt... different. It felt like he was safer this way.  

And that terrified him.  

Had he moved on that quickly?  

Because deep down, part of him wanted to believe his brother’s crime wasn’t real.  

Chapter Text

November 11th , 1985 – Hurricane’s downtown  

They had a plan—or at least, Michael did. He hadn't told Evan yet, still working it out in his own head, still unsure if it was even a plan or just some desperate move. But there wasn’t another option. Jail wasn’t an option. Foster care wasn’t an option. So, this had to work. 

The walk was long, but Michael didn’t care. He’d been through worse. Hell, he barely flinched at the thought of walking straight through downtown, middle of the day, while his name sat bold on every goddamn newspaper. It was almost funny. Almost. But he was past caring. He just needed to get there.  

Evan kept walking beside him, head down. The spark he used to have, the joy from his memory loss, was gone. Now, he was just quiet. Michael used to wish his brother would be quieter, but now he hated it. It felt off. Too quiet. It added to the mess in Michael’s head, making everything worse. 

And then— 

Oh shit. 

As they moved through the crowded street, the sound of a siren cut through the noise. Faint, but sharp. Michael’s blood turned to ice. Without thinking, he grabbed Evan’s arm, holding on tight.  

... 

The sudden grip on Evan’s wrist felt like ice, like a cold hand ripping him from his thoughts. His brain screamed to break free, but the hold was strong, it was fucking terrifying. Panic surged through him as he struggled, feet slipping against the pavement, dragged into the darkness of a narrow alley. That’s when he saw it—the horror of what was happening, the twisted nightmare closing in. His throat clenched, ready to scream, but a hand slammed over his mouth, choking the sound. 

Without thinking, he bit down, hard. 

"Fuck... What the hell is wrong with you, Evan?" Michael growled; his voice low but edged with anger. 

Evan’s heart hammered in his chest, his breath shallow and fast, his eyes filling with tears that he couldn’t control. 

“Ask it to yourself!” Evan spat, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and fury. 

Michael’s eyes softened, a silent plea in them. He shushed Evan gently, his face tight with frustration. Reluctantly, Evan exhaled, letting himself be pulled against the cold brick of the wall.  

The two brothers both glanced at the main road as a police car cruised past, its lights flashing lazily. Michael let out a slow breath, relieved to see it was just a patrol, nothing more. 

“Okay, let’s go...” he muttered after a long pause. 

But as he walked, he realized something was off. The smaller presence he was used to wasn’t there. 

He turned; eyebrow raised. 

“Evan?” 

His little brother stood still, glaring at him, eyes burning with questions and anger. Michael’s patience snapped, a frustration building up inside him. He couldn’t deal with this right now. 

“Okay, what’s wrong?” His voice was edged with irritation. 

Evan opened his mouth, ready to unleash everything that had been building up inside him. He wanted to scream it all—Why were they running from the police? Where the hell were they even going? Why? What the hell was at stake? What would happen to them? They couldn’t keep living in this mess forever... right? Right? 

Every inch of it felt like some cosmic joke, like the universe was playing them for fools. 

But even as the storm raged inside him, he couldn’t let it out. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t risk Michael turning on him. Not now. Not ever. 

“N... Nothing... let’s just go...” Evan said, his voice small, the hurt in it more obvious than he wanted to admit. 

Michael’s gaze softened, but the weight of his brother’s pain hit him harder than any words could. 

“Hey... huh... what happened? You seem... pissed, since that one night we had... Did you... are you pissed that it’s over?” 

Evan’s heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he snapped. “Let’s just go!” His voice cracked with frustration. 

He expected Michael to lose it, to shout, to tell him to get lost, but instead, Michael just... stayed. His expression was low-key hurt, like a quiet ache. But he stayed. And Evan didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Don’t worry, Ev... I... I have a plan...” Michael’s voice was softer, but it still carried that same quiet strength. 

“We’re going home?” Evan asked, the words coming out before he could stop himself, hoping for something, anything to make this feel like it wasn’t all falling apart. 

Michael swallowed hard. 

“Sort of... it will be long, though.” he mumbled, his eyes avoiding Evan’s. 

Evan nodded, but it didn’t make the knot in his stomach any lighter. The fear for his brother—the one with criminal charges hanging over his head—still gnawed at him, heavy and unshakable. 

“Okay... let’s go, then...” Evan said, a bit more calmed. 

... 

A few days later...  

Who could’ve known their situation would go from bad to so fucking shitty that even Michael would consider going back to William’s hellhole? First, they’d escaped in the middle of November, with barely any winter clothes to protect them. Then, there was food. Because if there was one thing that kept them from moving forward... it was money. Michael tried to play the hero, letting Evan eat while he starved himself, but not only did that backfire, it felt downright humiliating when he couldn’t even provide for his brother. The two of them were just starving together. Not that Evan complained, though. But every time Michael’s eyes met his, he could see the disappointment... 

Evan hugged his knees tightly to his chest, sitting on the cold, grimy sidewalk, right beside his big brother. He couldn’t admit it, but the hunger inside him felt like acid, burning through his insides. Every inch of him screamed, but he couldn’t show it. Not now. Not in front of Michael. He only let the tears fall when his brother slept, silent and heavy on the cracked pavement. He didn’t know what to do anymore, so he just did what Michael told him to do. 

And these days, doing what Michael asked meant begging. 

Because of the shit storm Michael’s head was making in the news, the weight of those headlines pressing down on them, he had to make his little brother do the dirty work. And it wasn’t just asking for spare change—it was standing on the corners, cardboard sign in hand. Written in awkward, deliberate mistakes: "I’m orphaned boy, please give $$$" with some pathetic, sad Fredbear doodle on the side, like that would make anyone give a damn. 

Even though every inch of him wanted to scream, to throw the sign in the street, he still did it. Because his stomach was gnawing at him like a beast, and he couldn’t let Michael see how much he was suffering. Because Michael...

He wasn’t really patient anymore. 

Chapter Text

November 20 th , 1985 – Hurricane downtown residences  

Evan frowned as he watched his big brother glance around. Michael’s eyes weren’t just looking at the street—they kept drifting toward the buildings, scanning the windows, the rooftops, like he was expecting something. Or someone.  

The little brother felt it again—that suspicion that had started creeping in days ago. It hadn’t left since.  

They seemed to be on a quiet street, alone. But Michael didn’t act like it. Not anymore.  

Evan didn’t know what to feel about it.  

The past few days had been horrible. Truly, completely horrible. And he’d let it slide— again and again. When Michael snapped at him for not bringing in enough money. When his voice got sharp, mean. When he shifted from kind and soft one minute, to cold and unrecognizable the next.  

Evan had swallowed it all, like he always did. Like it didn’t hurt. Like it was just how things had to be.  

But sometimes... sometimes, he wondered if food was the only thing Michael had been spending money on.  

The boy shivered at the mere thought, a chill crawling up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. He shook his head, trying to push it away, to focus on the moment.  

Michael was heading toward one of the buildings now, his steps slow, deliberate. There was something careful about the way he moved—like he wasn’t just walking, but approaching . Evan trailed behind him, quiet, small, like his brother’s shadow.  

Then Michael stopped.  

At a door.  

Evan blinked, confused. 
At the door? 
What door? What place was this? 

“Where are we, Mike?” he asked, his voice cautious.  

Michael didn’t answer at first. Instead, he pulled off his hoodie and knelt in front of Evan. The sudden motion made the boy tense, almost step back—but then Michael’s hand was in his hair, brushing it softly. Gentle. Familiar.  

Evan held still. He didn’t trust it, but part of him didn’t want to let go of it either.  

Michael reached out and wiped a smear of dirt—or was it dried blood?—from Evan’s cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered for a moment too long, like he wasn’t sure what to say.  

“I think it’s here...” he muttered, turning back to face the building.  

“Here?” Evan echoed. “Who’s there? Dad?”  

That one word— Dad —was a hammer to the silence.  

Michael froze. Something in his shoulders tensed, hard and sharp. When he turned back, his eyes weren’t soft anymore.  

“Forget him,” he said quietly. “Could you just... forget him?”  

Then he looked up and pressed the buzzer for the fourth floor.  

~~~  

The building wasn’t anything special. Not good, not bad—just... decent . The kind of place you’d forget the moment you looked away. Basic. Unremarkable. Like every other building lost in a big town’s maze of gray.  

The hallway light flickered above them, buzzing faintly. When it blinked out for a second, just a second, Michael felt Evan’s hand slip into his.  

Small. Cold. Shaking.  

But then—just as quickly—it pulled away.  

Michael didn’t say anything. He didn’t flinch. He only pretended not to notice.  

Instead, he reached down and took Evan’s hand again—this time gently, firmly—and didn’t let go. Evan didn’t pull away again.  

Michael kept walking, his eyes scanning the doors, counting numbers, focusing hard—harder than he wanted to admit. The memory was buried deep, fuzzy around the edges, but he clung to it.  

Back at the motel, he’d found an old address book.  

And then—there it was.  

A dark wooden door, worn at the edges, paint peeling like old skin. On it, faint and half-erased, was the name. Just barely there.  

Evan stared at it, tilting his head, squinting. The letters were hard to read—faded by neglect.  

Michael exhaled slowly, his shoulders sinking with the weight of it all.  

He didn’t know how anyone would react to a criminal waiting on their doorstep. Didn’t know if they’d open the door. Didn’t know if they’d scream. Didn’t know if they’d even remember his name.  

But they didn’t have anywhere else to go.  

~~~  

The door clicked, turning slowly. Michael braced himself, his grip tightening around Evan’s small hand—and then it opened. On the other side stood a man, his face creased with a frown the moment he laid eyes on them. Michael glanced down at Evan, and the boy looked up, wide-eyed. In that quiet exchange, they both recognized him. He looked older—ten years older, maybe more—though it had only been a couple since Charlie’s funeral. Since he moved away.  

“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice flat.  

Michael swallowed hard, tried to smile, bit his tongue before forcing the words out.  

“William’s sons,” he said, voice shaking.  

The man’s eyes widened.  

“Michael? Evan?”  

Evan lowered his gaze, as if ashamed to be recognized. He didn’t shout Uncle Henry! like Elizabeth once would’ve. He didn’t smile like he used to. He just stood there, quiet, hollow, trying to disappear into the tattered sleeves of his hoodie. The shame clung to him heavier than the cold. And the man’s voice—Uncle Henry’s voice—wasn’t warm. It wasn’t kind. If anything, it sounded tight. Distant. Accusatory.  

“Inside. Both of you. Now,” he said firmly.  

And for one brief moment, as they stepped inside, Evan wasn’t sure if they were safer here—or back out there in the streets. At least on the streets, the people who looked through you didn’t know your name.  

Chapter Text

December 16 th , 1982 – Emily's backyard

Michael kicked at a patch of snow in his uncle’s backyard, trying to block out the sound of his little sister whining from the car. He cast a sideways glance toward them, a wave of frustration rising in his chest — he'd rather be anywhere else on earth than here.  

With them .  

His gaze landed on his little brother, quietly taking their mother’s hand. Evan was always so silent, so passive — such an easy target.  

But the moment didn’t last.  

William, of course, had to ruin it. Even during the holidays.  

“Can’t you just make yourself useful and ring the goddamn bell?!” he snapped, wrestling to keep their sister calm.  

Michael’s middle finger twitched with temptation, but before he could act on it, Evan quietly stepped forward and rang the doorbell.  

Time to pretend that the Afton family was actually perfect...  

~~~  

Michael didn’t care about anything anyone was saying. He just said hi to Charlie — nothing else. The dinner table was full of noise, but he didn’t give a single shit.  

Everyone already thought he was disrespectful. So why bother pretending?  

He felt a little nudge on his shoulder, and the anger flared up.  

“The fuck you want, Evan?” he snapped in a whisper.  

The boy’s face turned red immediately... because now, everyone was looking at Michael.  

And Michael knew Evan hadn’t meant anything by it.  

William’s forced smile dropped the second Henry turned his eyes away.  

“Are you done eating, Michael?”  

“Whatever...” the teen muttered.  

William stood up.  

“Fine. Then I guess we can have a little discussion in—”  

He didn’t get to finish.  

Henry stood as well.  

“I’m sure you don’t want to deal with this tonight. I’ll take care of it,” he said with a smile.  

Michael glanced up — and could see the shadow behind William’s smile. Genuine on the surface, but something darker underneath.  

Like he wanted to strangle his partner.  

“F...fine,” William said, voice laced with venom. “You’re right.”  

Then Michael felt a hand on his shoulder.  

Not rough, but firm.  

~~~  

The walk was silent as they left the living room. Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, bracing himself for the upcoming scolding. He had sworn in front of everyone, after all.  

He kept his eyes on the floor, letting his shoes drag slightly across the tile — until he felt it. The chill in the air.  

He looked up.  

Henry had taken him out to the balcony.  

What a weird fucking place to get told off.  

“What did Evan do?” Henry asked, calm as ever.  

Michael shivered. That voice... it was too familiar.  

It sounded like the one his dad used to use. The quiet, steady tone that came right before a slap to the face. Before the shouting behind closed curtains. Before the bruises, before being told to clean up the blood and act like nothing happened.  

His hand moved to his arm — right where the bruise still lingered.  

“He just... he pisses me off,” Michael muttered through gritted teeth.  

But he knew that wasn’t the truth. Not really. Evan didn’t do anything. He was just quiet. Easy to ignore. Easier to hit. Michael had learned from the best.  

And now he’d cursed again. Great.  

He sighed, eyes drifting to the sound of a distant car rumbling through Hurricane’s dark, empty streets.  

Henry said nothing at first. Just looked at him.  

“I shouldn’t’ve said it like that, sir...” Michael muttered.  

Henry frowned. Here it comes, Michael thought.  

“I’m asking what Evan did,” Henry said. “I’m not gonna lecture you.”  

Then, to his surprise, Henry reached out and gently ruffled his already-messy hair.  

“And call me uncle . I’m not your teacher.”  

Michael leaned back slightly from the touch, and Henry’s smile faded a little.  

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me. Is Evan really that bad?”  

Michael looked away.  

“Hey... look at me.”  

The tears were already building. He clenched his eyes shut. No one ever talked to him like this.   

“Huh... you’re o—”  

“Fucking quit it , okay?!”  

The words exploded out of him before he could stop them.  

Michael gasped, shocked at himself.  

“No—I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”  

But Henry didn’t get mad. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him.  

“I know it must be rough right now,” Henry said softly. “But taking it out on your little brother... that’s not really fair. You know that, Michael?”  

Michael sniffled, not looking at him.  

“Whatever...”  

“You know,” Henry continued, “he’s a really good kid. You should give him a chance. It might even help you feel better.”  

He let Michael cry. Let him bury his face into his coat without rushing him. Without pulling away.  

After a while, Henry gently asked, “You probably wanna be alone now... right?”  

Michael nodded.  

And when his uncle stepped back, the night air hit him again. Cold and biting.  

So did the anger.  

And once again, it curled up tight inside his chest — pointed straight at Evan.  

~~~  

Three years later...  

“Why don’t you go take a warm bath, Evan?” the man asked simply, before even sitting.  

The teen noticed right away. This wasn’t about getting clean, not even after weeks on the street. This was about getting him out of the room. And Michael knew it too. Despite anything from their past, this cramped apartment with its peeling paint and stale air had nothing of the neat, careful Emily’s household.  

This was the home of someone who had lost too much and stopped caring. 
Even about warmth. 

“No,” Evan said quietly.  

Michael turned to him at once.  

“Excuse me?” Henry’s brow tightened.  

The boy shook his head again, eyes fixed on the floor. 
“I want to be here when you talk. I… I’m—” 

“Can you take your brother to the bathroom, Michael. Down the hall.”  

Evan swallowed hard, but said nothing. 
Michael’s tone softened. “Alright, come on, Ev…” 

“What? No!”  

Before Michael could raise his voice, another voice cut in, sharp as a crack in ice.  

“Evan Afton.”  

The child’s head snapped toward the table.  

“Now,” Henry said coldly.  

Evan’s lips pressed together. After a moment, he nodded and slipped away, muttering, “I can go on my own.”  

Michael almost stood to follow him, but stopped himself. He sat instead, the chair legs scraping against the floor. His throat felt dry. He stared at his hands, bracing for what was coming. 
This would hurt ten times more than William’s blows. 

“Explain yourself, son,” Henry said, calm but firm.  

Michael’s leg started to shake. He grabbed it, hard. His mind spun with the thought that this was a mistake, that they would be thrown out, that—  

A hand landed on his shoulder. Solid. Heavy. 
And for a heartbeat, in Henry’s eyes, there was a flicker of the man he used to be. 

“Tell me what happened.”  

Michael scratched at his neck, the way he always did when he was trying to hide the truth.  

“We just wanted to… ask for some help… since the situation is... pretty rough,” he said in the smallest voice he could manage.  

Henry’s face remained still. Michael let out a slow breath... he couldn’t really hid the truth.  

“You saw it on the TV, right?” he asked.  

Henry’s frown deepened, just slightly.  

“Who killed your father, Michael?” Henry asked calmly.  

The kid blinked once. Why was he even asking? Everyone was convinced Michael Afton had pulled the trigger. That he was the one behind the murder. Even though it had been his little brother.  

“Don’t you know the answer?” Michael said, voice unsteady.  

Henry shook his head.  

“You’re no killer, Michael. You may have been… quite a handful before… but I can’t believe you’d do something like this. I just can’t.”  

Michael scoffed.  

“Oh… and Evan? You think he would?”  

Henry’s frown tightened.  

“This isn’t the time for jokes.”  

Michael bit back a reply. Saying too much could endanger Evan’s case. He stayed silent, forcing his breath to steady. Henry sighed and leaned back.  

“Do you want a drink while you make up your mind?” he asked, standing.  

Michael nodded, heat simmering in his chest. His uncle acted like he knew better. Maybe he did. Michael hadn’t done it. But if he did… he would have emptied the fucking gun, unlike Evan.  

The water was cold and clean, a relief after the shitty, stale stuff he’d been forced to drink while homeless. But it did nothing to slow his pulse. If anything, it made it worse. Especially now that the man had taken his seat again.  

“Based on your opinion… who could have done it?” the kid asked  

Henry scratched at his chin.  

“Well… the murder was by gun. I suppose our business may have overshadowed some of the smaller companies… maybe a rival. Or someone getting revenge for… the lack of security.”  

He hesitated.  

“Maybe it’s connected to… those disappearances,” he said, his tone grim.  

Michael forced himself not to react to the obliviousness of the adult in front of him. He stayed silent.  

“But you, Michael… why are you here? Why didn’t you wait for the police and let them settle things? Did you even see what the killer looked like? Because right now, you’re in a pretty messed-up situation, aren’t you?”  

The kid said nothing.  

“Hey… I’m trying to—”  

“No, you’re not,” Michael said flatly.  

“Excuse me, I—”  

“Have you ever asked yourself how William is?” Michael cut in.  

Henry blinked, caught off guard.  

“What does that have to do with… anything?”  

Michael’s fists tightened in his lap.  

“Well… sorry to shatter your illusion, but this man is… he’s…”  

His uncle waited. Michael couldn’t land on the word. Disgusting. Bastard. A waste of air. A sorry excuse for a human being. All of it felt too soft.  

“The only thing I can tell you is… if it really had been me who shot him… his body would be unrecognizable.” 
Michael’s voice was pure venom. 

He didn’t give Henry a chance to gasp, or pretend to play the responsible one. He was done.  

The kid stood, yanked up his shirt, and bared the damage. Bruises, cuts, swelling.  

“You see this, Henry? Do you see this? These—these are from when someone slammed me into the floor. And that’s not even the worst. You see that cut? He wanted me to cut off my own finger. And my shoulder—”  

He turned slightly, the unnatural angle plain to see.  

Henry’s face went pale.  

“Yeah. Now imagine carrying your little brother with this,” Michael said, his tone ice-cold.  

“Jesus… did William...” was all Henry managed.  

“Oh yeah, he fucking did. And he enjoyed it.”  

Chapter Text

Somewhere deep in Evan’s mind... 

The boy woke slowly, shivering as the cold seeped into his bones. Strange—it should have felt warmer under Henry’s spare blanket, not like the icy floor he’d just left. He felt light. Too light for a child. As if he wasn’t real at all… as if he were made of air. 

He was a child, wasn’t he? 

Lately, he wasn’t sure of anything. His memory didn’t add up. Nothing made sense. Everything was an enormous fog, and with everyone hiding things from him, it only grew thicker. He didn’t know why he was out here with Michael instead of in his room. He didn’t know why Michael would want them to freeze in the open. He didn’t know why they had even left… The only thing he felt certain of was the unsettling truth that Michael wasn’t a good brother. 

It was only a gut feeling, but it lingered. Why was Michael bad? Had he done something to deserve it? Had he hurt him? Had he… really hurt Dad? 

The boy opened his eyes and looked around. There was no light—except for a thin stream slipping through the barely open door. He moved toward it, pushing, and simply stepped outside, the door not even creaking. He passed through it… 

And entered a true nightmare. 

Lights blazed everywhere, in every color. Children laughed, cheered, reveling in life… and that one song. The song that had haunted him his entire life. Tears welled in his eyes. It was a nightmare in every sense. 

He wandered through the crowd, but the people passed right through him, as if he were nothing. He didn’t look at them, didn’t turn toward the stage—he didn’t want to see. And yet, he did not remember what stood there.  

“Wow, your brother is kind of a baby, isn’t he?”  

Evan’s head snapped around, fearing the source of that haunting voice… Who was it? He only remembered the blue ears… the red eyes… But there was nothing. He was alone. 

The voice came from a lone table. Evan approached cautiously, torn between not wanting to see and desperately wanting to know. And then he saw him—a familiar boy. The same striped T-shirt, the same tear-streaked cheeks, the same way he hugged his knees… like his twin. 

Evan stared, captivated. 

“Evan?” the boy muttered. 

For a moment, Evan forgot everything else around the table and stepped closer. 

“So… I look like this… when I cry?” he asked quietly, his voice drifting into the chaos. 

“It’s hilarious… why don’t we help him get a closer look?” 

The voice was deep, enough to make Evan flinch. But his former self remained at the table, crying helplessly. Evan looked up… and saw them. Four enormous beasts, their chests ripped open, wires tangled through their bodies, jaws strong enough to crush a child’s skull. He stepped forward, but they ignored him, responding only to the boy who was crying. Through the mask, he saw their glowing red eyes. 

Evan frowned. Why was everyone… still cheering? Why wasn’t anyone screaming? 

“Why aren’t you running, Evan? They’re monsters…” 

But the boy didn’t move. He muttered only one thing: 

“Michael… stop…” 

Evan froze. 

“Michael?” 

The voice continued taunting the crying child, and Evan began to back away, piecing things together. Through the nightmarish distortion, it definitely sounded like Michael. 

“Let’s get this little man a lift!” 

The words were twisted—so warped that, for a split second, when Nightmare Foxy grabbed the child’s arm, his form flickered. Evan caught a glimpse of something else: a teen. 

A teen with a splash of red on his Foxy mask, as if blood had been thrown across it… blood staining his hand. 

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the monstrous fox snapped back into its animatronic shape. Its crew followed suit. Each of them passed through Evan as they led the crying child toward… 

Evan turned toward it and froze. The belly… rows of teeth… like the one that had taken his sister that day in Circus Baby, the claw rending her chest. But this wasn’t a clown—it was a yellow monster. A grotesque, towering Fredbear. And it was singing. 

Singing that one fucking song. 

We were playing in the sand… 

The boy thrashed, trying to free himself, to push the nightmares away. 

And you found a little band… 

Evan wanted to rush the stage, to save the boy, to pull the monsters away—but he knew he couldn’t. This world was too cruel. 

You told me you’d fall in love with it… 

“You heard the little man? He said he wants to give Fredbear a big kiss…” 

The last word came ragged, glitching, and Evan’s vision flashed red for a split second. 

“Wait… a big kiss?” 

It clicked. Everything was real. Memories crashed back. He dashed—but passed through the animatronics, powerless, collapsing to the floor. 

When you had to bid adieu… eu eu… 

“One!” 

You’d never love anew… eu eu… 

“Two!” 

Evan’s mind locked on a single moment of the song… it was right when— 

“Michael?! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” 

His head snapped up. Relief and horror collided. His father’s purple suit loomed in front of him—terrifying, yet strangely reassuring. 

But Nightmare Foxy didn’t pause. As the man tried to protect the crying son, the beast drove its hook into his neck. Evan gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He heard only the blood flow, the man’s struggling breaths… Fredbear’s laughter cutting through it all. The boy’s cries rose louder as the last person who could save him fell, and Evan faced the same suffocating dread… 

Everything was too much. 

He snapped awake, the smell of Henry’s blanket pulling him back to reality. But it didn’t make him feel any safer. Now that he was tangible… he could die. He remembered those nights—the ones where he had to run around his room while the monsters hunted him. It happened every single time. 

He heard steps in the corridor… 

He never really knew where the Nightmare Animatronics came from. But he knew one thing: 

The steps were getting closer. 

Only one person fed on his fear relentlessly. Evan bolted into Henry’s closet, pressing himself into the darkness. Their uncle had let them share his room while he slept in the living room, but Evan knew he would never feel safe again… not after all this. 

The handle creaked. 

Evan held his breath. Was it Bonnie? He vaguely remembered that it was always the blue bunny who came through this door… Or maybe… 

The door pushed slightly. 

Foxy had come through this door too. 

He squeezed himself smaller… 

And the monster entered the room. 

“Evan?” came the voice of a teen. 

It was the same one as Nightmare Foxy, except less distorted… it sounded… human. But it was so alike. Was it really him? Was… Michael Nightmare Foxy? Did he get to him during the day with his mask… and during the night in this… nightmarish figure, to frighten him? 

Was it him who, since Evan was six years old, had kept tormenting him for his own enjoyment? 

Michael approached and sat down, thinking the pillow on the bed was his little brother. 

“You okay, buddy?” 

For obvious reasons, the pillow stayed silent. Michael sighed. 

“You’re sleeping, right? Or maybe you’re just pretending…” 

He looked away. 

“Either way… I don’t even know if I should keep the truth from you. About what happened with Dad.” 

The boy in the closet clenched his fists. 

Dad saved him… and Michael killed him. And now he wanted to act all nice. This was all a cosmic joke. He was so angry at this creature, this monster coming straight from whatever hellhole decided to haunt him. 

He had to get back at Michael. He had to avenge himself…  

...and William Afton.