Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mickey curls up under the bed. They want to cry, they want to sob, but the tears won’t come. Their parents are dead. They’re gone. And now Mickey is stuck with their auntie/uncle, who doesn’t seem very friendly.

Mickey clings to their best friend, Stevie; their pink dinosaur plushie. It’s their only comfort right now in this big new house. They roll over into something. A pair of glasses. They’re pretty.

Like any kid would, Mickey puts them on. They spot pretty white boots from just out under the bed, so of course they try to touch them. Little do they realize, those shoes are connected to a person. Mickey yelps as he feels the person flinch.

“What the heck! What kind of prank is this? You know I don’t want to talk to-” The person cuts themselves off when they realize they’re yelling at the wrong person. They kneel down to Mickey’s height. “Sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to get so moody. I thought you were someone else. I’m Skylar.”

“. . . Hi. I’m Mickey. I live here now. My parents died and so the fancy people gave me to my auntie uncle.”

“Oh . . . Oh! You okay, kid?”

“No.”

“Oh, umm . . . Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mickey peeks their head out from under the bed. “Can I ask you a question, Miss Skylar?”

“Of course, kiddo!”

“I didn’t know my auntie uncle had a roommate.”

“Well . . . Not quite. Those glasses you found? Those are called the dateviators. With them, the user can talk to furniture and stuff around their house. I’m the dateviators themselves. We’re basically invisible otherwise.”

“Whoa! That’s so cool!” Mickey rolls out from under the bed. They hold up their dinosaur plushie. “This is Stevie!”

“Awe! He’s so cute. Can I see him?”

Mickey holds the plushie out, but doesn’t let it go. Skylar understands that the kid might not want to be separated from the comfort item. She smiles and ruffles the kid’s hair.

Mickey grabs her hand. “Can I . . . Can I meet some of the others like you?”

“Of course, kiddo. What do you want to meet first?”

“I wanna meet the . . . the . . . the . . . rocket!”

“The rocket?”

“The rocket!” Mickey goes into their closet and pulls a cardboard box out of it. It has cardboard wings taped to it, and is messily colored with crayons and markers, to look like a rocket. The kid drags it over to the bed.

“Ohhh! Okay, focus on the rocket, and press here.” Skylar points to a button on the edge of the dateviators.

Mickey focuses really hard and holds down the button on the edge of the glasses.

A tall woman appears, donned in cardboard adventure gear; jacket, pants, boots, complete with a cardboard jet pack, everything mostly held together with tape. She is practically riveting with curiosity.

“Hey, kiddo! I’m Beau! This jet pack is pretty badass!”

Mickey lights up, Skylar snorts.

“Beau! That’s a bad word!”

“Jet pack?”

“No . . . Badass. You can’t curse in front of the kid.”

“Oooooh! Got it, ma’am. No cursing in front of the kid.” Beau nods with a little salute. 

“Hi! I’m Mickey! I live here now. With my auntie uncle.”

Beau and Skylar’s expressions sour a bit at the mention of Mickey’s Aunt/Uncle.

Mickey doesn’t really notice, running around, admiring the possibilities of everything they could possibly meet and befriend. Since moving in, everything has been slow and tiring. This is just the thing to make everything better! New friends!

Beau sits on the floor by Skylar. “Hi kiddo! Wanna color my jet pack?”

Mickey runs over to her excitedly. “Okay! Can Stevie help?”

Beau gasps. “Is that a mighty dino? Of course the mighty beast may join!”

“Yay! I gotta go get the crayons from downstairs. At least, I think they’re downstairs. I’ll be right back, oki doki?”

“Wait!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t tell your auntie uncle about us, okay?”

“Why not? You guys are great!”

Skylar and Beau look at each other, as if agreeing that neither of them quite understood how to explain to a scared naive child, that just wants to color and have fun with their new friends, that their aunt/uncle isn’t the greatest of people to be around. The kid has enough on their plate as it is.

Skylar sighs. “Your auntie uncle, as you call them, isn’t all that fond of us. Any of us. We’re not really that fond of them either. They’ve got their own problems to deal with, like we have ours. We need space from them. Okay?”

“Oh. That sounds bad. You guys aren’t friends no more?”

“You could say that,” Beau says gently.

“Oh. Okay! I’ll make sure auntie uncle don’t find out nothin’!” Mickey gives a thumbs up before running off to go find their crayons. They stuff the dateviators in their pocket.

Beau takes off their jet pack and holds it tenderly. She traces her finger over the drawn lines where the marker was pushed with just enough force to leave indents. “Skylar? Do you think the kiddo’s going to be okay here? I mean, Scarlet is . . . a bit insufferable. I don’t think they’ll hurt the kid, at least not physically. But . . . I don’t think I’m wrong to worry.”

“No! No. I . . . I don’t think you’re wrong to worry. They’re an ass, but if they’ve got enough heart to take the kid in, then I doubt they’d hurt’em. Plus! Mickey’s got all of us, well, most of us. It’s probably for the best if they don’t meet Ben-hwa or Doug. Since they’re just a kid.”

“Oh! Yeah! Definitely! Who do you think they’ll go for next?”

Skylar clearly appreciates the change in topic. “Dunno? I thought they’d go for Teddy or Mateo first. I didn’t expect them to pull out a whole rocket! How fun!”

“Yeah! The kid’s a creative one.” Beau says softly.

 . . .

Mickey peeks their head into the living room. “Auntie uncle? Do you know where the crayons are? I wanna draw.”

“. . . My office. The junk drawer. Whatcha drawing?”

“A rocket.”

“. . . Cool. Have fun.”

“Okay! Thank you!” Mickey hops up the stairs two at a time, and rushes to the office. The door is stuck, as if no one’s been in the room in quite a while. The floor and desk are super dusty too. Mickey looks in every drawer of the desk for a particularly junky drawer, until they eventually find the mother load of junk drawers. They dig through the junk until they have a decent fistful of crayons.

Then the kid gets an idea. They put the dateviators back on. They try to bring the crayons to life. It doesn’t work. Then they try the drawer itself. It works! It works! A tall frazzled man, a mess of paper clips, notes, and rubber bands appears.

“Hi! I’m Mickey! And I’m coloring a rocket! Wanna color a rocket with me, Miss Beau, and Miss Skylar?”

The man looks down at the child with curiosity. “Oh! Uhh . . . Hi. Sure! It’s just them, right?”

“Yes. And Stevie.” Mickey holds up their dinosaur.

“Oh! I got something like that!” The man pulls a scuffed up eraser out of one of the drawers in his chest. It’s shaped like a dinosaur, even though it’s feet are quite sanded down. Mickey looks at the eraser with wonder.

“Wow! That’s so cool! It can come with us and color with Stevie. He could use more dino friends.”

“Yeah! Yeah! Let’s go!”

Mickey drags Jerry back to their bedroom. “Miss Beau! Miss Skylar! I found a new friend! I found a new friend! This is . . .”

“Jerry,” the tall man adds.

“This is Mister Jerry! I got crayons from him.” Mickey dumps the crayons onto the floor. Half of them are broken, or missing their wrappers, but the kid doesn’t seem to mind. The kid gets right to coloring the jet pack. Jerry awkwardly sits between Mickey and Beau.

Skylar scoots a bit towards Beau, so she can set up a space for Stevie and eraser dino.

Jerry tapes on old note clippings and paint swatches, Beau adds washi tape, Skylar doodles, and Mickey draws on buttons. Lots of them. After all, a jet pack needs as many awesome buttons as possible if it’s gonna fly right.

An hour later, Mickey starts to yawn.

Beau looks up at them. “Kid? You okay?”

“I’m sleepy, so’s Stevie.”

“Head to bed, Mick. We can finish this tomorrow. You know where to find us.” Jerry says as Beau tucks Mickey into their bed. Mickey curls up with Stevie.

“G’night, guys,” Mickey mumbles.

“Good night, kid.”

“G’night, kiddo.”

“Have great dreams, Mick.” Jerry places the dateviators in Stevie’s zip up pocket, once Mickey is asleep.

They hope they’ve chased away the nightmares, if only for tonight.

Chapter Text

Mickey wakes up groggily. They look around for the dateviators. They find them tucked into Stevie’s zip pouch. They keep the pouch zipped up.

The kid hops downstairs. Their auntie isn’t sure what kids like for breakfast, so there’s simply a box of cereal, a spoon, and a bowl waiting for them on the kitchen counter. And a note.

‘If you see this, I’m out getting groceries. I should be back around ten. Stay safe.’

Mickey folds up the note and puts it in Stevie’s zip pouch. Since it’s only eight thirty, the kid presumes it’s okay to meet some more house friends. They slip the dateviators back on, while making their cereal. They go to get the milk, but then realize the handle is too far up for them to reach.

Mickey pouts, and stares at their dry bowl of fruit loops. There’s no one here to open the fridge for them.

Wait . . . What if the fridge opened itself? With renewed confidence, Mickey hops over to the fridge. They aim the dateviators and hold the button down. A tall blue yeti man appears.

Mickey jumps and hides under the chair. To them, the yeti man is very very tall, ergo very very capable of crushing them like a pancake.

“Hey, uh, kid? You okay? I’m not gonna hurt ya.” The man sits on the floor, to appear less threatening. He’s still very tall, but this helps.

Mickey scoots out from under the chair. They hug Stevie nervously. “You’re very tall and spooky.”

“Well, that’s kinda out of my control.”

“. . . I guess so.” Mickey climbs onto, and stands, on the nearest chair.

The man snorts at the child’s attempt to be taller than him.

“Now you’re just spooky. And spooky is good. Are you ‘scary’ spooky or ‘cool’ spooky?”

“Ehh, a bit of both, but I try to be as cool as possible, that is my job. I’m Freddy.”

“Like Freddy Fazbear?”

“Uh, I think so? I’d have to research that one.” Freddy pulls a shopping list out of his coat pocket and adds ‘Freddy Fazbear?’ to it.

“I’m Mickey. Can you hand me the milk please?”

Freddy slides the milk over to Mickey. “Here ya go, kid.”

“Thank you, Mister Freddy. Want some cereal?”

“No thanks, kid.”

“Oh, oki doki.” Mickey eats their cereal quite happily, knowing they bravely talked to the fridge.

“Can Stevie be your friend?” Mickey asks, their face stuffed with fruit loops, “he likes your beard. He wishes he had a beard. I don’t think dino’s can grow beards. Don’t tell Stevie that. He’s trying his best.”

“Your dino plush? Uh, yeah. We can be friends. And here.” Freddy grabs an old dish towel off the counter, and gently wraps it around the plushie’s neck, adjusting it so it looks like a bushy beard. Mickey bursts into a fit of giggles at this, and milk comes out of their nose.

“He looks fantastic!” Mickey says brightly, while they blow their nose.

“Yeah, he does! You okay, kid?”

“Yeah! You’re just really funny. In a good way.”

 “Oh! Uh, thanks kiddo. You are too.”

Mickey points to Stevie. “Is he funny too?”

“Not with those sharp looks. He’s too cool.”

“He’s a fancy dino. Of course, he’s cool. He . . . What’s that?” Mickey slides under the table and scoots over to the cabinet. They pull a teddy bear out from under the cabinet. It looks like it was thrown there out of frustration.

“Oh no! Oh no no no. He’s got boo boos. And he’s all dusty. Mister Freddy? Who’s this?”

Before Freddy can answer, Mickey puts the teddy bear on the nearest chair, and presses the button on the side of the dateviators. A chubby man in a fluffy orange coat appears.

Mickey’s eyes shine in wonder. “Whoa. Hi, Mister bear man.”

“Oh! Hi, kiddo. Thanks for the help. It was dusty under there. I’m Teddy.”

“I’m Mickey! Your coat has a lot of boo boos.” Mickey points out, with a pout. They will not even bear to tolerate the idea of their new friend being hurt.

“Oh, these ole’ tears? They’re just a sign that I was loved. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Teddy explains kindly.

“Oh. Do they hurt?”

“. . . Not anymore. They’re just a part of me. Each tear has a story. Want to hear one? If I’m not interrupting anything, of course.”

Freddy and Mickey look at each other like they have the same idea. Freddy sits criss cross on one of the chairs. He carefully lifts Mickey onto his lap.

“Story! Story! Story!” The duo chants excitedly.

Teddy chuckles. “Alright! Alright! Simmer down. See this tear here? I got that one from the neighbor's dog. I was left outside on the back porch. The neighbor's dog snuck under the fence. The rascal saw me, and took his chance! The dog knocked over a chair, pinning me to the ground. The dog tried pulling me out from under the chair, but wasn’t strong enough! My arm tore off! The dog ran off with my arm. Buried it in the yard. It took hours to find it. Even longer to patch the fence. Sewing my arm back on was the biggest struggle of them all. The stitches aren’t perfect, but they’re special.”

“Your whole arm came off?! Are you sure you’re okay?” Mickey peeks their head out from behind Freddy’s arm, which they had been using as a shield during the climax of the story.

“I’m okay, kiddo. I appreciate the concern.”

“Still, you got your fricken arm ripped off? I think Teddy outranks us on the ‘cool’ meter, kiddo.”

Mickey nods in agreement.

Teddy looks flustered. “Aww, shucks. Thanks, you two.”

Mickey gives a weak thumbs up. They don’t look too good.

“Kid? You okay?”

“Funky cereal. My tummy hurts.” Mickey curls into a ball. Freddy wraps them protectively into his coat.

Teddy looks at the cereal. At first glance, there’s a lot of purple and green fruit loops. Given further inspection, it appears the cereal is quite moldy. Teddy looks inside the box as well; equally moldy.

Teddy wrinkles his nose and closes up the box.

“Kiddo, do you need to lay down?”

“That’s probably for the be-”

“Noooo . . . I learned in  . . . in science class that stuff gets moldy when it’s wet ‘n’ stuff. Cereal is not wet ‘n’ stuff. That means . . . something is making the . . . the cupboard hoomid.”

“You mean humid?” Freddy asks.

“Yes. That word.”

“Kiddo, you’re turning green.” Teddy’s concern is growing.

“We gotta use our . . . detective skills to uhh . . . figure out why the cupboard is so humid.”

“Nope. We'll use our detective skills. You’re going to take a nap, and sleep off the nausea.” Teddy says softly. “We’ll keep you updated on what’s happening okay?”

“Oki doki,” Mickey grumbles. Freddy carries the kiddo upstairs to bed. Mickey flops on the bed dramatically, like this is the worst possible thing that could ever happen.

“I wanna be a detective too . . .” Mickey pouts groggily into their pillow.

“When you wake up, check the living room. You can be a detective when you feel better.”

“. . . Okaaaay.” Mickey curls up and falls asleep quite quickly. They look awful.

. . . 

Freddy storms downstairs. This shouldn’t have happened. This kid has been through enough. They shouldn’t be eating moldy food because their aunt/uncle doesn’t want to give a flying-

“Freddy? You’re smushing Stevie,” Teddy warns.

Freddy looks down at the plushie in his hands. He’d meant to bring it upstairs. Luckily, it wasn’t torn or anything; its dish cloth beard was just a bit disheveled now. Freddy just slams the dinosaur back down onto the table. He flops on the nearest chair.

“Why the hell is a kid here anyways? They should be with someone who actually cares about other people!”

“Their parents died. Beau told me. Their auntie uncle, as Mickey calls them, had enough heart to want to take them in.” Teddy sits across from Freddy. He holds his hand gently. Freddy’s expression softens.

After a few minutes, Freddy sighs, a bit calmer now. “. . . The kid don’t deserve this . . . Mick, I mean.”

“All we can do is help out where we can. Which means we need to do some detective work, to figure out why the cereal is so . . . rotten. Maggie!”

Maggie rushes into the room. She nearly slides into the side of the fridge with how off balance she is. “Did I hear we’re cracking open a case?” her voice slurred quite a bit.

“Are you drunk?” Teddy asks with a concerned frown.

“Noooo. Just hung over a bit. Nothing to worry about.”

Teddy sighs, and Freddy hands her a glass of water.

“If you’re sure you’re up to it, food that’s supposed to be dry is moldy and we’re trying to figure out who’s responsible, for the kid’s sake.”

“Oooh! Beau told me about the kid! Nobody harms them on my watch! Soooo . . . Isn’t food supposed to be Freddy’s deal?” Maggie frowns.

“Since when has cereal ever gone in the fridge?!” Freddy growls.

“Good point, my good sir! Cereal goes in the . . . the, ugh . . . the cupboard!” Maggie storms over to the cupboard, who is equally wasted, if not more so than Maggie. He’s flopped on the floor dramatically. His jacket is bent unnaturally and sort of green. Maggie kicks him in the shins.

“Cabrizzio! Why's the cereal all moldy?!”

Teddy separates them. Watching the equivalent of two drunk toddlers beat each other up, is not the goal here. Maggie tries to kick him one more time for good measure.

“Hector and Winfred are upset and I’m suffering for it! Food is getting moldy, and my dishware is cracking! It is far too hot and humid for my presence to be truly appreciated! My wood is warping!” Cabrizzio sobs into the floor.

Maggie climbs onto Teddy’s shoulders. He kneels down so she isn’t climbing him like a tree. Freddy puts Stevie in the hood of his jacket, so the dinosaur at least, has some part in this.

“Onward! To uhh . . . Hector and Winifred!” Maggie giggles drunkenly.

“Why don’t you and I talk to Winifred, and Freddy can talk to Hector. We’ll meet back downstairs in half an hour.”

Freddy groans, but agrees. He heads upstairs in one direction, Maggie and Teddy head in the other direction to the office, leaving Cabrizzio in his sullen misery on the floor.

. . .

Freddy heads up to the attic. It is much too hot for him. “Hey! Hector!”

Hector peeks through the grates of the vent, with worried furrowed brows. “. . . Freddy? What do you want? I don’t . . . I am not in the mood to talk right now.”

“Too bad. There’s a kid downstairs with food poisoning because of you.”

Hector smushes his face against the vent grate in shock. “There’s a child here? Are they okay? Oh, dear. I . . . I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“It’s too humid in the kitchen. Dry food’s getting moldy. The kid ate bad cereal. Cabrizzio is warping. Everything’s molding.” Freddy explains. Freddy kind of wants to throttle Hector, but he understands the want for spite. None of them were treated kindly.

“I’ll turn the air back on. For the kid’s sake. And Cabrizzio’s sake. You might have to talk to Winifred though. Her pipes run behind the cupboard. I heard she’s giving nothing but hot water as of late.”

“Teddy and Maggie are already on it. Here.” Freddy smushes Stevie against the vents.

“What’s this?”

“The kid’s. Bring it to them. I’m frying up here. I gotta go.”

Hector brings the plushie into the vent. “Oh! Okay. Are you sure, I should be the one to-”

Freddy is already gone.

Hector stares at the plushie. He holds it close. He wonders how things ended up this way. How could a person so hateful end up with a child in their care?

Hector adjusts the dish cloth beard so it’s more like a coat. It is quite chilly up here now.

Hector heads to the bedroom vent. The kid is curled up sick. Hector’s heart swells with sadness.

He pushes Stevie gently against the grate. The old grate makes a clanging noise, even at the gentle touch.

The child looks up. They giggle. “Hi, Stevie! Whatcha doin’ up there? You makin’ friends without me?”

Hector makes Stevie nod.

The child laughs happily, forgetting about their nausea.

Hector smiles softly.

The kid curls up in their blanket. “It’s nice and cold in here now. Did you befriend the air conditioning?”

Hector makes Stevie nod once more.

“Can I meet them?”

Stevie pauses, then nods.

The child stares just past Stevie and clicks the button on the side of the dateviators. Hector becomes visible to the child.

Well, sort of. Hector isn’t all that visible when he’s hiding in the vents.

“Hi. I’m Mickey! Sorry if I sound sniffly. I ate bad cereal and my tummy hurts.”

“Hello. I’m . . . I’m Hector. Freddy was starting to overheat so he had me deliver your friend to you.” Hector opens the grate just enough to push Stevie through, and toss him to Mickey. Mickey catches him excitedly.

“Thank you, Mister Hector! Hi, Stevie!” Mickey hugs the plushie tightly. “Were you good for Mister Hector?”

Mickey makes Stevie nod. They smile. “What do you think, Mister Hector?”

“Stevie was a very good dinosaur. He was getting cold so he turned his beard into a coat.”

“Ooh! Fancy coat! For a very fancy dino!” Mickey pats Stevie’s head happily. They feel a lot better.

Hector is very flustered. He hasn’t cared this much about anything or anyone in the longest time. For such a long while, he thought of himself as worthless. He refused to talk to anyone, deathly afraid of any negative responses. Having the purpose of reuniting Mickey with their dear friend, felt invigorating. It was nice to be there for someone. And for that someone to actually be happy about his presence.

“Mister Hector?”

“Oh! So sorry! I was lost in thought.”

“It’s s’okay. I was wondering if it’s cozy up there? Stevie says it is, but I bet you’re up there a lot more than he is. You probably know better.”

Hector laughs softly. “It’s . . . It’s safe here.”

“Is it cozy though? Sometimes it’s not both.”

Hector goes silent for a moment. Is it cozy here? Isolating, yes. Lonely, for sure. But cozy? Hector would’ve thought so, because it was safe. But he lost that feeling of connection and pushed himself away from everything, all for that temporary feeling of safety. No one can hurt you if there’s no one around to hurt you.

“No. Not really.”

“Oh.” Mickey hops off their bed. They wrap their blanket around themselves like a coat. They waddle over to one of the many boxes in the closet. They pull out a duck plushie. It’s wearing a dress and a baseball hat. Mickey holds it up to the vent. “This is my friend! His name is Duckie! Duckie was scared to move here. He misses his place on the windowsill back home. But we can’t go back home anymore. We gotta make the best of here.”

“Are you sure you want me to have this?”

“Yes. You two can be friends. You can be cozy and safe, y’know?”

Hector gently takes the plushie. He smiles softly at it. “Thank you,” Hector says to no one in particular.

. . .

Meanwhile, Teddy is keeping a grumpy drunken Maggie from breaking the water pipes.

“You betta turn the hot water down right now or imma kick your ass!” Maggie mumbles sleepily, from atop Teddy’s shoulders.

Teddy sighs. “Hi. Winifred.”

“Hi. Why is a drunk magnifying glass yelling at me?”

“You running the water so hot is causing Cabrizzio to warp and for dry food to get moldy. Mickey’s got food poisoning.”

“Mickey? Who’s Mickey?”

“. . . Scarlet’s nibbling. Mickey’s parents passed away. The kid lives here now.”

Winifred looks shocked. “Oh! Shit! Yeah, I’ll cool it down a bit. Is the kid okay?”

“Other than a tummy ache and nausea, they’re alright. They’re resting.”

“Alright. That’s good.”

“Case solved?” Maggie asks.

“Yes, Maggie. The case of the soggy cereal is solved!”

“Yaaaaaaay.”

Winifred snorts at Maggie drunkenness. “Sounds like somebody had a great night at the breaker box.”

“I am great!” Maggie beams.

“You know what else is great, hon? The couch.” Winifred smiles softly.

“That is great.”

Teddy and Winifred bring Maggie to the couch. Winifred stays with her.

Teddy heads back to the kitchen. “Winifred agreed to cool down. What about Hector?”

"AC's back on. Also, I gave Cam the cereal.”

Cam is sitting in the cupboard, under the sink, eating the moldy cereal.

“Is that . . . safe?”

“Mind ya business.” Cam closes the cupboard doors.