Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gregory wasn’t exactly sure of where he was at the moment. 

           He woke up in a bed, which wasn’t the strangest thing in the world, he supposed. What was strange is that he didn’t recognize anything about his surroundings; the blue-ish white wallpaper, the dark blue furniture, and the plastic stars stuck to the walls didn’t ring any bells in his mind. In fact, he couldn’t seem to remember where he was supposed to wake up at all. It alarmed him, the fact that he was grasping at a memory and it was just slipping through his fingers. 

           Speaking of, his hands were shaking as he slowly peeled the blanket off himself, revealing gray pajamas that he didn’t know he owned. He slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, albeit shakily. His legs faltered under him as he attempted to take a step, almost sending him straight to the floor if he didn’t catch himself. It was like he was learning how to walk for the very first time, but after a moment, the movement came naturally, and he was making his way into the hallway of the unknown building he found himself in. 

           The grandfather clock seemed to stare at him immediately, ticking away ominously, like it was waiting for something. Besides that, the hallway was barren, but there was a door to his right and more hall to his left. With a deep breath, he went to the right and pressed his ear against the wooden door, listening for a moment before deciding that nothing was awaiting him on the other side. He opened it slowly, just in case, and found another bedroom. This one had a similar set up to the one he awoke in, but with a ‘girlier’ feel to it; decorated with flowers and pink things. Either way, it was a dead end, so Gregory kept moving, not staying long enough to thoroughly investigate. 

           Eventually he found himself in a living room, with an old couch and a large, square TV. It was turned off, and Gregory realized he didn’t know how to turn it on, so he just let it be. There was a door to his left, but the hall continued ahead, leading into a corridor with two doors on both sides. Three of them were closed, but one of them, the front-left one, was ajar. 

           It made him pause. Was it open because someone was in there? Should he be worried? 

           Slowly, Gregory tip-toed forward, staying close to the left wall until he was close enough in the doorway to peer in. He heard his heart pumping in his ears as he gazed upon the sight before him, eyes. Dozens of eyes were staring back at him, and Gregory startled hard enough that he had to slap a hand over his mouth, just so he didn’t scream. The room was filled with metal beings that had large, glossy eyes, and the boy was positive that half of them had seen him by now. Many of the creatures looked… unfinished. Like someone was creating them and hadn’t quite gotten to certain limbs or appendages yet. And that made sense, as something in his mind reminded him that the metal beings weren’t alive but were simply inventions. 

           The pumping of his heart slowed down for a moment, but that’s when he spotted the true terror. A desk sat at one edge of the room, and on that desk was another one of the metal creatures, being… tampered with by a man sitting in a chair, leaning over the thing ominously. He held a tool in his hand, something metal and sharp, something Gregory did not want anywhere near him. 

           Unfortunately for him, before he could quietly turn the opposite direction, the man spoke. “You’re awake,”

           Gregory froze. Carefully, he crept into the doorway fully, though he wasn’t sure if it made a difference as the man continued to work on the metal beast, not looking at the boy at all. 

           The man worked the tool in his hand expertly, like he’d been doing so for years, but he took a second to tap on one of the glossy eyes next to him. “These scare you?”

           “...Yes,” the boy whispered. He was a bit surprised by his own response, not because he believed he was too frightened to speak, but because his voice sounded so different from the man’s. The syllables were pronounced differently, spoken in a way that sounded fluid and eloquent. Gregory’s were not. His words were flat and dull. It was wrong. Why did he know it was wrong?

           “Good,” the man said simply, returning to his work. “They’re dangerous. I need you to understand that. You are never to set foot in this room, got it?”

           Gregory nodded immediately, though he felt silly for doing so as the man couldn’t see the gesture, so he said, “Yes sir.”

           The man hummed, setting down the strange tool and standing from his seat. Gregory didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t what was now in front of him. 

           The face before him was… completely normal. In fact, it even seemed oddly comforting to Gregory. The man was all sharp angles and icy eyes, and yet his features felt familiar; welcoming. He wasn’t a terrifying monster like the boy had been afraid of, he was just some guy. 

           “Are you hungry?” he asked, clapping his hands together happily. “I have leftovers from dinner last night that I can heat up. Or, heck, I could even cook your favorite.”

           “My… My favorite,” Gregory repeated, taking a step back so the man could walk through the doorway, into the hall. “How do you… I don’t even know-”

           The man opened the front-right door and led the boy into the room, revealing it to be a kitchen. “I do hope I have eggs, though. It’s been a long while since I’ve had to cook a proper meal, you see.”

           As the man was checking the fridge, Gregory couldn’t help but blurt out the glaring question on his mind. “Who are you?”

           The man paused and turned to look at the boy with an indecipherable expression on his face. 

           “My,” he said, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.”

           “I… What?” Gregory questioned, hugging his arms around himself. 

           The man closed the fridge door and stepped forward, kneeling and placing a hand on Gregory’s cheek. “How much do you remember?”

           The question gave him pause. How much did he remember? Remember what? Everything? He remembered-

           And that’s when it hit him. He… He didn’t remember. He didn’t remember anything. Sure, he knew his name, but that’s about it. He knew nothing about who he was or where he was or who he was related to. He didn’t even know what his favorite food was, like the man had mentioned. Did he know anything? What else didn’t he know? 

           The man shushed him, running his thumb across the boy’s cheek and wiping the tears away. “It’s alright, it’s alright. I’m here; you’re okay. Just breathe, son.”

           Son. 

           This man… This man was his father? No, he would know that. He should know that. What didn’t he know?

           “I- I don’t-” Gregory stuttered out, gasping for air in between words. “I don’t- r- remember-”

           “I know, I know,” the man- his father soothed, pulling him into a firm hug. “It’ll all be okay.”

           Would it? Would it be okay? How could things be okay when he felt like a stranger to the entire world? 

           But… his father was hugging him; embracing him tightly, and he could feel himself believing his father’s words. Maybe, if he was here for him like this, it would all be okay.

           And so, he felt his forehead drop onto the man’s shoulder as tears started to soak his shirt, and he allowed himself a moment to cry, feeling comfortable enough to let the fear and despair overtake him while knowing that his father would be his tether to safety. 

<><><> 

           This is what he knew so far. 

1. His name is Gregory Afton, and he is ten years old. 
2. He lives with his father, William Afton. 
3. He has amnesia. 
4. He used to have a mother, but she died in a car accident, the very same car accident that put him into a coma and caused his amnesia. He used to live with her primarily, but they moved in with his father a year before the accident.  
5. He is never to go into his father’s workshop, because the ‘animatronics’ are unpredictable and dangerous if used incorrectly. His father works on these machines because that’s his job; he used to run a restaurant that featured them as mascots. 
6. The girly room belongs to no one. At least, no one he’s supposed to talk about. He can’t go there either. 
7. Father doesn’t like to answer questions. He gets… irritated easily. Gregory must be careful so that he stays happy. 
8. Gregory cannot leave the house without his father. 

           It has been about a month since Gregory woke up from his coma. Or at least, that’s what the 1986 calendar said. Regardless, he was starting to get restless. He had been doing the same routine every single day, and it had become boring around the end of the first week. But what else could he do? Father said it was the beginning of summer, and that he couldn’t start school until fall. He was tasked with doing homework while Father was at his job, but that got tedious easily, as Gregory had learned everything in the books rather quickly, and it was now becoming repetitive. He also had daily chores, but once he learned how to do them properly, they too became monotonous. He didn’t have any friends (not like he could leave the house to see them anyway), and he didn’t have any siblings (who lived with them, at least), so it was just him in the house all day, alone. 

           A thought had crept into his mind at this point, a very disobedient and reckless thought. He knew the animatronics in Father’s workshop were dangerous, but couldn’t he simply avoid them? Not touch them? Why wasn’t he allowed in there at all? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to… explore a little. 

           Before he knew it, he was standing in the hallway with the four doors, shifting the weight on his feet from one side to the other, practically pacing in place. He couldn’t go in. He shouldn’t go in, but that little voice at the back of his head was beckoning him, creating an itch that needed to be scratched. 

           He didn’t give it another thought, he just gripped the doorknob tightly and pushed the door open, not being surprised by the sight of the eyes this time. 

           The workshop was rather tidy and organized, Gregory realized. He would have to be careful to not put anything back in the wrong place. 

           Slowly, he crept into the small room, avoiding the metal mascots as best as he could, because he really did believe his father when he said they were dangerous. Gregory headed straight for the desk, unsure of what exactly he was looking for, but knowing it would probably be there. 

           There was no machine on top of the desk this time, which was good, as Gregory did not want to make eye contact with an endoskeleton for an extended period. Instead, there were lots of notes and sketches, all scribbled onto different papers with pencil lead. Pictures of mechanical animals and notes about how each one acted and worked, and how they could make changes to improve them. All of them must have been for work. 

           Gregory moved onto the drawers. In the top drawer was a bunch of stationery, which he basically ignored because what’s interesting about stationery? Next was a bunch of tools and parts, wrenches, screwdrivers, small hammers. Also boring. The bottom drawer is where something different happened. 

           Locked. It was locked. That meant there was something there. 

           He had to find the key. Wait, no. No, he didn’t. There were a million tools and loose parts in this room, who’s to say he couldn’t use those to pick the lock?

           Gregory got to work immediately, going back to the first drawer and finding a paperclip that he bent into an odd, squiggly shape. When he was satisfied with how it looked, he stuck it into the lock and started twisting. When that didn’t work, he re-bent it and tried again. Then again. And again. Eventually, he heard a soft click, and the drawer opened. 

           Gregory leaned over the drawer, examining its contents. It was mostly filled with blueprints, blueprints for animatronics that didn’t look like the others on top of the desk. These ones were made of wires, like some of the endoskeletons in the workshop were, but these looked much larger. Two human machines and two animals. They were clown-like, circus freaks. Gregory didn’t like them at all. This isn’t what interested him, though. First, there was some kind of tool. He couldn’t name exactly what it was, as he wasn’t familiar with how things were built, but it was different from the other tools. It was a handheld electronic with a small screen at the top of it, with two metal prongs sticking out of the base. At the bottom, it looked like there was a slot to put some kind of wire or something, but nothing was inserted. Gregory tried turning it on a couple of times, but he couldn’t figure out a way for it to work. There was also a notepad at the bottom of the drawer, open to a random page. 

           ‘How to put her back together? Perhaps her programming is holding her back? Remember to send Michael an offer for the job. New number is XXX-XXX-XXXX’

           Who was ‘her?’ Who was ‘Michael?’ Put her back together? He must be talking about an animatronic. Why was this hidden in a locked drawer? It must be important. 

           Well, he knew the first thing he had to do. Finding the wire for this device shouldn’t be too difficult, as it should be in the room somewhere. He could figure out what it was used for and why it was locked up. Then, Gregory had to call this ‘Michael.’ There was a landline phone in the kitchen. All he had to do was go over and input the number-

           A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up from his sitting position, tugging him out of the workshop and into the hallway with four doors. Gregory struggled in their grip but wasn’t strong enough to break out of it. He froze when he saw Father’s face, enraged and hateful. 

           He’s angry with you, his mind supplied helpfully. That was the only thought that he had before a hand slapped across his face. 

           Gregory tumbled to the ground, that’s how strong the hit was. Or maybe Gregory was just off-balance. Either way, the force pushed him to the side and his legs crumpled beneath him, sending his head into the edge of the kitchen’s doorframe. He felt the impact before he knew what was happening, the pain blooming like a flower in the sunlight. His cheek stung and his head was throbbing, but Father was pulling him up to his knees, expecting him to focus on his words. 

           “What the hell were you doing in there?!” Father questioned, shaking the boy by the shoulders. “Answer me!”

           Gregory’s head felt fuzzy, but he had a command, and he knew he had to obey it. “I- I just- I just wanted to see…”

           “You disobeyed me,” Father’s lips pursed at that, and he looked down at him with what seemed to be disgust. “...You’re not him. You’re not like him at all, you’re just- you’re just wrong.”

           With that, he let go of Gregory’s shoulders, letting the boy fall back to the ground as his hands were the only thing holding him up. And Gregory couldn’t help but start crying, his tears soaking the carpet below him. 

           ‘You’re just wrong.’ 

           Why did the words hurt him? Why were they more painful than his actual wounds? 

           Father went into his workshop immediately, closing the door behind him and locking it. 

           And Gregory was still on the floor, sobbing as his head spun torturously. 

           He no longer had that tether of safety, and he knew that nothing would be okay ever again.

Chapter Text

Gregory had gotten used to his father’s coldness by now. 

           The past week had gone by excruciatingly slowly, leaving the boy grappling with the fact that his father no longer loved him and wasn’t going to start loving him again any time soon. 

           ‘You’re just wrong.’ his father had said, and since then he’s been ignoring Gregory entirely, practically leaving him for dead. His only theory for why he was ‘wrong’ is that he isn’t acting like his old self was. Maybe something happened to him when he hit his head, and now his personality was scrambled? He wasn’t sure; Father wasn’t exactly clear on what he meant, and he certainly was not going to get an explanation now. Regardless, Gregory and his father were now estranged, and he had to pretend like it didn’t gut him. 

           Now, Gregory just tried to stay on Father’s good side. He didn’t snoop anymore, and he did all his school and housework on time, because if he didn’t, Father would slap his wrists with a ruler and berate him for being so careless. All this good behavior did was earn him his father’s indifference.

           Today was different, though. Father seemed to be in a good mood; he was smiling as he cooked breakfast for the two of them, something he hadn’t done since Gregory’s disobedience. The boy didn’t dare question it, though, as he didn’t want to ruin it. Instead, he thanked his father for the kind meal and went about his day, starting on his chores around the time Father usually left for work.

           Father did not go to work. At least, not when he was supposed to. Rather, he came into Gregory’s bedroom as he was making his bed, and he smiled at him.

           Smiled at him. His father was smiling at him again. He must have been doing something right then! The changes he implemented were making an impact. Maybe, with enough time, Father might start to love him again, the way he used to.

           “Gregory,” Father said softly, the smile never leaving his face. “Could you follow me for a moment? I have something I wish to show you.”

           The boy beamed. “Y- Yeah, of course!”

           His smile widened, and he beckoned the boy with his finger, moving out of the doorway and expecting Gregory to follow. He did, and he practically skipped as he did so, overwhelmed with the excitement and happiness he felt. After all, his father had a surprise for him, which meant he didn’t hate him as much as he thought, and that was all he really wanted.

           Except all that happiness drained out of him the moment Father opened the door to the workshop and stepped inside, looking back at the boy as if he expected him to join him. Gregory just stared through the doorway, unsure of what was happening. The last time he was in that room, Father had been so angry that he struck him across the face, hard enough that the bruise was still visible. Why would he invite him in now? Was this a test?

           Father’s smile turned sad suddenly, and he looked almost… guilty. Like he knew what Gregory was thinking, and he felt bad for causing that distress. His gaze went to the ground, and he spoke quietly. “Just come in, Gregory. It’s alright.”

           Gregory’s shoulders relaxed, and he took a few careful steps into the room. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt… afraid. He was afraid that Father might strike him again, or worse, start hating him again. But as he walked into the workshop, Father’s smile returned, and that fear he had been feeling slowly faded away.

           Until Father closed the door and turned the lock.

           Panic surged through him, but all Gregory did was stand and watch as Father turned to him with a happy face. He walked past him to the desk at the back of the room, and pulled a small, silver key from his pocket. With it, he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk - the same one Gregory had snooped through - and pulled out that strange tool he had inspected, only this time there was a small chip or plug inserted into the slot where Gregory thought a wire went. That must have been the power source, as the small screen lit up a bright green color, although the boy had never seen something like that not plugged into the wall. Then again, he had amnesia, so who knows what technology existed in this world?

           “Lift up your shirt for me, would you?” Father requested, still holding the odd tool in his hand, and still with that smile on his face, a smile that was turning from comforting to unnerving.

           Gregory just squinted at him. “What?”

           Father’s smile faltered for a moment, but it reappeared so quickly that Gregory questioned if it had moved at all. “Lift your shirt up.”

           Oh. This wasn’t a request, it was an order. Gregory swallowed deeply and gripped the hem of his shirt with shaky hands, pulling the bottom of it up until his whole chest was exposed.

           Father readjusted his grip on the tool, his fingers flexing over the handle, and he grinned. It wasn’t a grin of joy, however; it was a grin of excitement, thrill, like he was about to cut into a nice, big slice of birthday cake.

           And for some reason, Gregory felt like he was the cake.

           His father put a firm hand on his shoulder as the other one, the hand with the strange tool, crept closer to his chest, towards a birthmark that sat right over his heart. And oddly enough, he swore he felt that birthmark squirm as the tool moved in, like his own skin wanted nothing to do with it stabbing into him.

           He didn’t think about it, he just grabbed his father by his wrists and pushed his hand and the tool as far away as he could manage before sprinting towards the door. His fingers fumbled to turn the lock, but he succeeded just as Father had pulled him back to the center of the room by the back of his shirt collar.

           He coughed as his neck was choked by the buttons and fabric, and he wound up tripping over his own feet and falling to the hard, wooden floor. Father knelt over him quickly, shifting his grip on the tool so the metal prongs were pointed downward, and he brought his hand up to plunge them into Gregory’s chest forcefully.

           And suddenly, Gregory realized that his father was trying to kill him. The whole day had been a trick from the beginning; Father didn’t love him again; he was just getting rid of the nuisance that he brought into his home. It would never be like it was before, because Father’s hatred was only going to die with him.

           But Gregory didn’t want to die. He didn’t know why - he didn’t exactly have anything to live for - but there was this instinct in him that ordered him to fight so he could live. And if Gregory was anything at all, he was impulsive. So, instead of letting the strange tool puncture him, Gregory pushed against Father to roll out from underneath him. It mostly worked, but when he pushed Father to get away, his hand shifted just as it was moving downwards, and the metal prongs cut into the side of Gregory’s cheek.

           The boy let out a cry and slapped his hand over the wounded area, feeling the wetness of his own blood seep out of his skin. But as much as he wanted to just curl up on the floor and cry while he bled, he knew that it would result in his death. So, he kicked Father’s hand away as it went to grab him, and he pushed himself off the ground and towards the door. Father was barely deterred by the kick, and he simply stood from his kneeling position and grabbed the boy again, wrapping his strong arm around Gregory’s torso to keep him in place.

           “Poor Gregory,” Father cooed as the boy struggled in his arms, clawing at anything and everything, trying to free himself. “So trusting, and yet so damn defiant at the same time. You know, you’re lucky this is the end I had planned for you; I’ve done far worse to better behaved children.”

           Gregory’s blood ran cold at that, and he stopped squirming for a second as he processed the words. He’s done worse to other children? Did that mean he killed more kids? Had more victims? How many? How long ago? Where? Why? What did he do with them, and what did he want from them? Just- why?

           “F- Father-“ Gregory started, voice choked up by tears that he didn’t realize were flowing until now. “Please-”

           “Aw, sweet thing,” he wrapped his other arm around the boy, practically giving him a hug from behind. He ran a finger over Gregory’s sliced cheek slowly, like he wanted to cause as much pain as possible, and he leaned into his right ear to whisper, “You don’t have the right to call me that; you’re not my son.”

           Everything froze.

           This man… This man who he had called ‘Father’ for almost a month and a half now, had been lying to him this whole time. This man, William Afton, had taken advantage of his amnesia and had claimed that he was his family. Hell, he could even be the reason he has amnesia in the first place. Who was this man, really? William Afton could be a fake name, just as fake as this game of house Gregory didn’t know he was playing. And who was Gregory? He thought he was an Afton, but obviously that’s been thrown out the window. Did he have a family? Relatives who might be looking for him? What if there were people searching for him this whole time, all while Gregory has been blindly believing the words of a child murderer.

           He realized just how stupid he had been; he trusted the first person who was kind to him, and it was going to get him killed. Stupid. So, so stupid.

           The world unfroze, and he heard Father the man laughing in his ear. “Oh, Gregory. I would say, ‘I’m going to miss you,’ but that would be another lie. I’m mostly going to miss the free labor. No, you were just annoying to have around; so disruptive, loud, and troublesome. You’re more like Michael than you are Dave. I’ll just have to fix that this next time.”

           ‘Next time?’ What did that mean? Was he… Was he going to do this to another child? Convince someone else of this falsehood?

           And there was that name again: Michael. Along with a name he hadn’t heard before: Dave. Who were these people? Why were they important?

           It didn’t matter, not when William was leaning away and bringing the hand that was holding the tool close to his heart again. Was he about to get stabbed in the heart? What would that do? Kill him instantly? Or would he be forced to bleed out slowly and in immense pain until eventually the world around him faded and he was sent to the mysterious place people went after they died. He didn’t know which he preferred.

           Actually, yes, he did know what he preferred: living.

           “Goodnight, Gregory,” William said softly, and his voice was so convincing that for a moment Gregory believed he was being kind. But he knew better now; kindness was only ever a ruse used to get people what they wanted out of someone. Gregory wouldn’t let himself be that someone again. “See you soon.”

           Gregory stomped his foot down onto William’s as hard as he could manage, delaying the man by, at most, a second. Still, that one second was all he needed to break himself out of William’s hold and grab one of the endoskeletons leaning against the wall. He pulled it down behind him as he ran forward towards the door, and he heard the metal crashing against itself. Then, as he gripped the doorknob, he felt the man’s fingers brush against the back of his ankle, clearly reaching out to grab him and just barely failing. His haphazard plan had worked; he used the endoskeleton to trip William so that he had enough time and distance to escape.

           He didn’t dare stop to admire his handiwork though, he just opened the door and ran through the hallway, listening to William pushing the metal endoskeleton aside and starting to stomp after him. Still, it was more than enough, and Gregory made it to the front door of the house, unlocking and opening it all while the murderer got closer and closer.

           There was a second where Gregory paused. He hadn’t gotten a chance to leave the house since he had woken up from his coma. This wasn’t from lack of trying; he had kept attempting to convince William to let him go out, but the man found the perfect excuse every time he asked. And so, Gregory obeyed, because the last time he disobeyed, he got a palm to the face and the hatred of his only parent. Only now he knew that the man wasn’t his parent at all. Even so, because he had never left the house and had only seen the outside world through the windows that usually had blinds over them, everything in front of this doorway was new and unknown to him.

           What did he do? Where did he go?

           Then, he heard William get even closer, and that second of time unfroze, letting Gregory run out of the door and into the unfamiliar neighborhood. Once he exited the neighborhood, he ran into the nearby town. Once he was in town, he just kept running. He wasn’t sure if William was still chasing him or not – wasn’t sure if he had even chased him outside of the house at all – but he didn’t want to find out. He just kept running, past stores and apartment buildings and restaurants. He just kept running.

           Eventually, he felt his legs start to wobble under him, and he jogged into the nearest alleyway, letting himself fall to his knees out of exhaustion. If William was still behind him, he would be doomed, as he kind of just went limp and fell face-first onto the ground. But, to his surprise, there was never a hand grabbing at him and dragging him back to the Afton house. Instead, he was relieved to find that nothing was chasing him anymore. He had made it out.

           So, with the knowledge of his sad victory, Gregory crawled towards the nearby cardboard box and grabbed an old newspaper sheet that was sticking out of a garbage can. The box was big enough that Gregory could fit inside if he bent his knees, so he curled up under the newspaper and shut his eyes, hoping that tomorrow things would be different.

           After all, tomorrow is another day.

…Where had he heard that before?

Chapter Text

It had been almost four years since Michael had killed his little brother on his birthday. He still had nightmares about it; still heard the mechanisms in Fredbear’s jaw snapping shut when he tried to sleep. But the nightmares paled in comparison to the reality of the situation. 

           The drive to the hospital from Fredbear’s Family Diner was agony. He sat in the backseat of his father’s purple car, holding Dave in his lap. His head was completely covered in… something. Some kind of bandage or fabric, Mike didn’t remember what they used to stop the bleeding. All he knew was that it didn’t work. The blood was everywhere, soaking that fabric-bandage completely and seeping into Michael’s shirt and pants. And even after that, it just kept flowing. It was so warm and wet and sticky. He remembered looking down at his shaking hands and thinking that the blood would stain him forever. 

           He had been hyperventilating ever since Fredbear’s mouth crunched down on his brother’s head, and Father had been yelling since then too, probably at him for causing this. Elizabeth, a small toddler at the time, was crying almost silently, but Michael remembered that she was the first one to scream after the bite. A horrifying, shilling scream that sent the whole room into a panic. 

           Dave was ripped from Mike’s arms the second they were spotted in the emergency room, a group of doctors and nurses showing up out of nowhere and prying the small boy from Michael’s grip. He fought a little, not because he didn’t want his brother to get help, but because he wouldn’t be able to feel him breathing if he let go, and that breathing was his only hope at the moment. 

           The boy was placed onto a stretcher and carted off into an employee-only area, leaving Michael, Elizabeth, and Father in the lobby of the ER. And so, they sat for hours, all of them silent as they waited for any word of what was going on or what was going to happen. The receptionists kept offering them small snacks and drinks, as they obviously felt bad for the family, but the only one to accept was Elizabeth. He remembered it being cold in the waiting room, partly because of the AC, but mostly because of the cooled blood that covered his entire being. If only the receptionists offered extra clothes. He would have even taken one of those gowns that they give to surgical patients. He wondered if they put Dave in one of those when they took him away. 

           It was early the next day when Dave had gotten out of surgery and was placed in a room. It was still dark outside, the sun having yet to rise. Michael remembered the feeling of horror when he saw him on the bed, unconscious with bandages covering most of his head. His eyes were covered too, and that just made Mike feel sick to his stomach because Dave had always been afraid of the dark. His neck was in a brace, and the teen thought about how the boy had dangled from the animatronic’s mouth, completely limp. Elizabeth cried at the sight of the mummy in front of them, but Michael and Father could only stare at Dave’s lifeless body as the doctor informed them that Dave will probably suffer from brain damage and/or paralysis from the neck down. 

           Dave was in a coma for about a week. Michael visited the hospital every day, even skipping school to do so (though, that wasn’t exactly a new occurrence). He even brought those stupid plushies with him, laying them all on the bed so they surrounded the boy; the Fredbear plush being placed in his arms so he could hug it like he always did. 

Father visited most of the days but mostly poured himself into his work to avoid the situation. Elizabeth was too frightened to return, all the tubes and bandages and needles freaking her out. It was when Mike was there alone that he talked to Dave, as the doctor had said he had some brain activity, though he was still unable to move or speak. 

“...Can you hear me?” He first asked, leaning over the bed to make sure his voice was audible enough. “I don’t know if you can hear me.”

No response. He wondered if there would ever be a response from his brother again. 

You did this, his mind reminded him. You ruined him. 

“...I’m sorry,” was all he could say after that. He repeated it every time he went into that hospital room. “I’m sorry.”

On the last day, Father had come in as well. He looked grim as he asked Michael to give him a private moment with his son. Those were the first words he had even spoken to Michael since it had happened, so he knew it was important. He waited outside the room for a couple of minutes, wondering what Father could be doing or saying to Dave. That’s when a group of nurses rushed over and let themselves into Dave’s hospital room, despite Mike’s protests. When he followed them in, he found out why. 

He heard it before he saw it, as the nurses and now a doctor were crowding around Dave’s bed. The sound of the heart monitor was a flat beep, going on for what seemed like hours. 

Dave’s heart had stopped. 

The doctor started performing CPR on the boy, pressing down on his little chest with all of the force this grown man could muster. Michael didn’t know if he imagined the sound of Dave’s ribs cracking or not. 

It felt like days, but it had probably only been a couple of minutes before the doctor called the time of death. Michael just stood there, unmoving. 

He had killed his little brother. 

His little brother, Dave, who had just turned ten on the day he was sentenced to death.

Michael had killed him. 

And he knew he had when his father turned around to look at him, his gaze blank and emotionless. He knew it was his fault. 

So far, he’s lived with that guilt for four years, Dave’s birthday passing just about three months ago. There wasn’t a day that went by where Mike didn’t think about it, the reminders of what happened being everywhere in Hurricane, the small town that they lived in. Not to mention poor Elizabeth. She went missing last year and was pronounced dead just recently. She was only seven years old…

And now here he was, working at the local GrowMart as a cashier, barely making enough to live on his own, as he and his father could barely stand to be around each other anymore. The only reason he was even thinking about any of this is because of him.

A little boy, shoving various things into one of the GrowMart tote bags. He must just be gathering groceries for his parents who were probably somewhere else in the store. That isn’t what caught Michael’s attention, though; what Michael noticed was the boy himself.

It was Dave, or at least someone who looked exactly like him. The roundness of his cheeks, the color of his eyes and hair, even the singular freckle that sat right above his eyebrow. It was him to a T. He even swore that Dave used to own that exact shirt: a blue polo with stripes on it.

He swore it was him, but only for a brief second. His logic and reasoning kicked in quickly, but even so, the moment that he saw his brother alive, breathing, did almost as much damage as Dave’s actual death did. Almost, but not quite.

He shook his head and went back to work, knowing this wasn’t the time or place to be grieving his two dead siblings.

That is, until there was shouting coming from some of his coworkers, and Michael turned his head just in time to see that very boy running out of the exit to the store, tote bag and all.

Ah. He was shoplifting.

“Michael, go!” His manager shouted, gesturing wildly towards the exit. “You’re the closest to the door! Go!”

Mike rolled his eyes. Of course. Why would it be anyone else? Now he was going to have to chase this boy who-knows-how-far and look him in the eyes while trying not to see the brother that he killed. Awesome.

Regardless, Michael sprinted out of the store and down the street after the little boy who probably only stole like ten dollars’ worth of candy, trying and failing not looking like a crazy person. The boy was quite a ways ahead, but Michael had always been the fastest runner in his grade, so he got close rather quickly. Still, he wasn’t close enough to catch him, so he assumed he was fighting a losing battle and would just turn back towards the store once he got too far.

That is, until the kid tried to turn a corner and tripped over his own foot. It was a nasty fall, too; Michael could practically feel the scraped palms and knees himself.

Michael slowed down so he didn’t trip over the kid, who was pushing himself up as fast as he could, but Mike grabbed his arm just as soon as he attempted to start running again, holding him back. The boy struggled in his grip immediately, dropping the bag in favor of trying to free himself from the teen’s hold. Michael just sighed, as he was tired and he didn’t really feel like dealing with a bratty kid who looked like his dead brother right now. He was about to start dragging the kid back towards the GrowMart when he noticed just what the contents of the tote bag really were.

It wasn’t candy or toys like Michael had first thought it was, instead he saw food, soap, water, band-aids, and toothpaste. Normal groceries. But it was much more than that. These were necessities, things needed to survive.

Why would he need to steal these things?

It clicked instantly. It was because he needed them. He needed food and water and everything else in that bag because he wasn’t getting any. Whether that be because of neglectful parents or lack thereof, Mike didn’t know, but what he did know is that the boy probably needed these things more than GrowMart.

“Just- Just take the bag, I don’t care!” The kid yelled, still trying to pull himself free. “Just let go!”

Michael did so instantly, though he probably should have warned the kid, as he fell over from trying to pull his arm out of Mike’s grip. The teen winced.

The boy pushed himself over to look up at him, and it was then that Michael noticed the fear in his eyes. He was afraid, afraid of Mike, and suddenly he was back in 1983 looking down at his brother, crying on the floor under one of the party tables.

Oh.

He shakily took a step back and started to take deep breaths, wanting the images of Dave to leave his head so he could focus on the matter at hand. They did so after a second, and carefully, Mike kneeled onto the sidewalk and started picking back up the groceries the kid had dropped, placing them in the tote bag.

The kid pushed himself to his feet, eyeing him warily. For a second, Michael thought he was about to start sprinting away, never to be seen again. But he didn’t. The boy just stood there and watched him, his fingers flexing sporadically.  Mike didn’t understand why until he looked him in the eyes.

Dave’s light brown eyes, welled with tears as he stared down at the ground. Then Michael blinked, and it was the random boy who was crying now, not his brother. He didn’t sob or weep or anything that made sound, no. He just stood there, looking down at what was in Mike’s hands, a green GrowMart Tote bag filled with necessities, all while he was crying silently to himself.

Michael’s heart broke. This kid, no older than eleven, was crying because the food and water he had to steal was being taken away. He wasn’t even trying to run away anymore, he just stood there and let the tears fall, resigned to whatever fate Michael decided to bestow upon him. Mike had to fight the urge to comfort him, only because he was afraid it might scare the kid away. Instead, Michael sat the bag up on the ground, stood up, and started walking back to the store, assuming that the boy would just take it and go wherever he stayed.

Mike wanted to do more for him. He wanted to make sure he had a safe home to go back to and food to eat and clothes to wear, but he couldn't do any of that, not with a kid that skittish. He figured the most he could do was pretend he got away from him and hope the groceries didn’t come out of his paycheck.

So, he made the walk back to GrowMart, hoping that maybe the small kindness he committed would be enough.

<><><> 

Gregory sat down in his little cardboard box and examined his palms, cringing at the sight of the scraped skin marred with small specks of dirt and gravel. His knees looked the same, and the boy regretted not having stolen something to clean and soothe his wounds. Sure, he had band-aids, but those were useless if he was just going to trap the grime underneath them. He would have to find a public restroom or something soon. He should do that now, honestly, but he was tired and hungry. Speaking of which…

He looked over at the bag he’d stolen not-so-successfully. Inside there were a bunch of random things he needed to get by, but most importantly, food. Gregory hadn’t eaten in two days now; he felt like he was dying. That’s why he had shoplifted in the first place: he was desperate. Usually, he got by on gross things he found in restaurant trash cans, but the employees of said restaurants had started recognizing him and threatened to call the cops if he didn’t stop. He had run out of options, so he shoplifted.

That is, until that cashier caught him. He thought he was done for, assumed he was going to jail, until the man had let him go for some reason. Then the man had started picking up his grocery haul, and Gregory was just so hungry and exhausted and pathetic that he started crying as he watched the cashier take everything that he couldn’t have.

The cashier must have seen this and felt pity for him, because instead of taking the bag back to the store it came from, he set it on the ground and walked away.

It was a trap. It had to be. What would that man gain from giving him these stolen goods? He had to want something, and he had to be planning to use Gregory to get that something. But what? Gregory would most likely never see him again as he wouldn’t be coming back to this specific GrowMart, so what was the reason?

Regardless, Gregory was still hungry, so he had taken the bag and ran back to his alleyway so he could eat. He pulled out some bread and peanut butter to make a sandwich (no jelly, as it wasn’t necessary), and he devoured it in just a couple of bites. Then, he chugged a water bottle he grabbed earlier, because it was the end of summer and he was hot and sweaty. He didn’t drink all of it, though, saving enough water to pour on his scraped skin so it would be semi-clean.

He leaned back in his cardboard box, his home, and stared at the brick wall of the building in front of him.

Tomorrow is another day, his brain reminded him. It had become a phrase he repeated to himself when he was feeling hopeless or depressed, though he wasn’t sure where it came from. Regardless, he heard it in his mind when he needed to remember the sentiment.

Tomorrow is another day.

Chapter Text

Mike hated walking in the rain.

He lived off minimum wage, so he didn’t exactly have a car to ride in. But it didn’t really matter, the town was small enough that Michael could walk to wherever he was going without an issue.

Until it rained, that is.

It was sunny this morning, when Mike had walked to work in the first place. Not a cloud in the sky. Past-Mike didn’t think he would need to bring his umbrella.

Past-Mike was an idiot.

Present-Mike stared out at the rain from inside the GrowMart he worked at, glaring at the water droplets hitting the pavement of the parking lot. His shift was over, and it was time for Michael to go home, but the barrage from the sky was giving him pause. Sure, he could just buy an umbrella from GrowMart, but that would be a waste of money; he already had an umbrella. He could just loiter in the break room until the rain stopped, but he didn’t like talking to his coworkers very much, and boy did they like to talk to him. Besides, he just wanted to go home and watch TV until his brain was numb.

So, into the rain it was.

He decided to walk down the storefronts, as most of them were covered by awnings, even though it was taking him the long route home. Eventually though, he ran out of storefronts and was now standing in front of the small park their town had. The very uncovered, wet and muddy park.

Yeah, he was not making it out of this dry.

Michael looked around, desperate for any solution to this problem. After a second, he saw it: a small, wooden gazebo that sat at the edge of the park, close enough to Mike that he would only get a little bit wet by running over there. It would shield him from the terror that is water falling from the sky. The perfect plan.

So, he booked it, running from under the storefront’s awning to the wooden gazebo that awaited him. When he made it successfully without slipping on the slidey ground, he sighed with satisfaction and let himself fall onto the wooden bench built inside, sitting comfortably, just for a moment, before he continued his journey back home.

“Hey, watch where you put your legs!” Something from under the bench exclaimed, pushing his legs outwards.

“Jesus-!” Michael scrambled to stand up, spinning around to see two little shoes peeking out from underneath the wooden platform. It must have been a kid, given the voice and size of the shoes, not to mention the fact that they could fit themself under the bench with seemingly no issue. Michael just sighed. Great. Perfect. Just what he needed. Another side task.

“Alright, kid,” Mike said, already exasperated from this interaction. He bent down so he could see them, basically getting on his hands and knees. “What the hell are you doing under- there…?”

He froze mid-sentence, his mind trying to catch up with what he was seeing. It was the boy, the little shoplifter that he saw last week. The same boy that looked exactly like Dave. He was here, under the bench of this wooden gazebo in the park, still holding onto that GrowMart tote bag that Michael let him steal. And he was staring right back at him, his light brown eyes wide with shock, and maybe even fear.

Why was he afraid?

“It’s you,” the boy whispered, pushing his hands against the wooden floor and backing up slightly, his back now touching the wall. “Why are you here?”

“…I could ask you the same question,” Mike retorted, though there was no venom in his voice. It was a genuine statement; he really did want to ask him the same thing. Why was he here in the park while it was raining? Didn’t he have somewhere better to seek shelter?

The boy just stared at him, waiting for him to say something first. Michael figured that was the best he was going to get, and moved to sit down on the opposite bench, figuring he might be here a little longer than intended as the rain was starting to pick up.

“I just got off work,” Mike started awkwardly. “I was walking home by the storefronts because they have awnings, but then I ran out of stores. So now, I’m trying to stay dry here. What about you, kid?”

The kid’s gaze shifted from looking directly at him to looking at the ground in front of them, as if he was thinking about something. For a long while, Mike thought that was the end of the conversation, as the boy didn’t seem to want to talk at all. Then, he said softly, “I didn’t want to get rained on either.”

Now he was kind of getting somewhere. The kid was becoming a tad bit more comfortable, that was good. That meant Mike was one step closer to figuring out if this kid was safe or not. “No umbrella?”

Kid shook his head.

Michael sighed. “Yeah, me neither. I mean, I have one, I just left it at home like an idiot.”

The boy nodded, and the small conversation they were having died out pathetically. Mike sat there and desperately tried to think of something to say, something that might cheer the kid up, but nothing was coming to mind. Michael had never been good with kids. Take his brother for example; look at how that turned out. So naturally he didn’t know how to deal with this fearful and untrusting boy.

“…Why did you leave it?” The boy asked, catching Mike off guard.

“My umbrella?” he asked.

“The bag,” Kid specified, holding up his green tote bag for Michael to see. “Why did you leave it? I told you to take it, after all.”

Oh, they were getting into this a little earlier than expected. Mike ran a hand through his hair. “I mean… you know.”

The boy practically glared at him. “Clearly I don’t, or I wouldn’t ask.”

This is when Michael realized something: this kid was very confusing. On one hand, he was frightened of Mike, running away from him and eyeing him carefully, like he was waiting for the man to strike at any time. On the other, he was really freaking sassy, mouthing off to him and being blunt with his questions like he didn’t care how Mike would react. It was very conflicting, and it made Michael unsure of how he should be acting around him so as to not scare him off forever.

The man sighed again, letting his elbows rest on his knees. “Well, it’s just… you needed that stuff, right? The food and water?”

The kid nodded slowly, like he was unsure of why Michael was asking. Mike didn’t want to dissect that information right now, so he just stored it away for later.

“I just figured that, well, GrowMart could spare a few bucks.” He explained. “Besides, they probably would have just thrown it all away anyway, since people can’t technically return food or drinks after they leave the store, so… yeah.”

He bit his lip as he processed Mike’s words, fidgeting with the tote bag strap in his hand. “…But what do you get out of it?”

Michael just stared at the kid. “Nothing?” He laughed nervously as he thought about the implications of that question. “I don’t have to get something to be nice, you know? I can just… do it.”

The boy was quiet for a long moment, obviously taking in what he had said. Mike just tried not to think about whatever caused the kid to think that way in the meantime. Then, the boy spoke again, “You’re weird.”

Mike let out a real laugh that time, caught off guard because of the kid’s bluntness yet again. “Yeah, so what? I’m allowed to be weird.”

He shrugged. “I guess so. I just… don’t understand it, that’s all.”

“That’s what being weird is, kid.” Michael leaned back into the wall of the gazebo, relaxing slightly. “People not understanding you.”

The boy hummed, and the conversation died out yet again, only this time it wasn’t as painful. It was more comfortable than it had been before. Still a bit awkward, but the silence didn’t leave Mike thinking about everything he said wrong. Instead, he was thinking about this kid in front of him, and everything that he said. It was all concerning, to say the least; Michael had never had to worry about these kinds of things before. Neglect, abuse, poverty, homelessness. He had always known these things existed, but had never had to confront them, had never had to see someone he knew go through them. It… hurt. Emotionally, yes, but almost physically too. It was painful. And he had only met this kid twice, basically only one time as they didn’t even have a conversation until now. How much more would it hurt if this was someone close to him?

Lightning struck somewhere in the distance, and thunder boomed throughout the park, distracting Michael from his thoughts. He really should get home; he didn’t want to be stuck outside if this drizzle was turning into a thunderstorm, because it was just his luck to be the one guy that gets struck by lightning. There was just one little (and he meant ‘little’ literally) problem…

He turned to look at the boy again, surprised to see that his hands were now over his head and his knees were brought up to his chest. He was breathing deeply, obviously trying to calm himself down from something, though Michael didn’t know what until the second bolt of lightning hit the ground somewhere and caused another loud roaring sound. The kid curled in on himself even more, and Michael felt his chest squeeze with that same pain from earlier.

“…I don’t like the thunder either,” Mike started, a little unsure of where he was going with this. “It’s so… loud. And unpredictable.”

He cringed at his own weak attempt at relating to this kid. ‘Loud and unpredictable?’ Is that really all he’s got?

The kid uncurled himself slightly, his brown eyes meeting Mike’s blue. “That’s the worst part; I can’t tell when it’s gonna hit again.”

Okay, he didn’t fail as much as he thought. He’ll count that as a win for now. “Yeah… It’s uh, it’s getting pretty bad out here. What do you say we get you home, yeah?”

It was more of a question than it seemed; he was mostly just trying to see what the kid would say regarding his home being mentioned. He just hoped and prayed that the word wouldn’t give him a reaction at all.

Hopes and prayers never really worked for Michael though, and he watched as the boy’s face went pale as he searched for something to say to that.

“I… Um…” the kid stuttered. “I think I’ll just… stay here, actually.”

Thunder struck again, and he curled into a small ball underneath the wooden bench, his whimper of fear being loud enough that Mike heard it through the rain and booming noises of thunder.

“…Yeah, no.” Michael said, standing from his spot on the opposite bench. “It’s getting too dangerous outside. I don’t want you getting swept away by the wind, you know?”

Kid didn’t respond, he just stayed silent under the bench, either too afraid of the storm or too disgusted by Michael’s sad jokes to say anything.

“…Tell you what,” Mike crouched down in front of the boy, attempting to be slightly cheerful so he didn’t catch on to the despair that Mike was actually feeling in the moment. “The library is on the other side of this park. We can head over there until the storm lets up?”

He offered his hand out to the kid in front of him, although the kid’s head was buried in his knees, so he wasn’t sure if he even realized. To Mike’s surprise, the boy reached out and took his hand carefully, slowly unfurling himself as he did so. He had tears running down his face, but he clearly schooled his expression before letting Michael see, because he just looked unfazed by everything. Blank, even.

Mike backed up to let the kid out from under the bench and they both stood, the boy taking his hand back to wipe the tears off his cheeks. He jumped when the sky rumbled again, and Michael couldn’t help but frown.

“Alright,” he said, pulling off the gray hoodie he was wearing under his work apron. He handed it to the kid and tried not to shiver in the chilled air. “Back into the rain we go.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” The boy asked, his sass returning for a moment.

“Uh, wear it?” Mike answered. “Do you want to get rained on?”

“N- No, but… what about you?” he questioned. “You’ll be… hood-less.”

Michael chuckled at that and shrugged. “Oh, well.”

The boy looked at him like he was crazy, but once Mike walked out of the gazebo and into the cold, wet rain, he followed, hood over his head and tote bag in hand.

And so, they were off, and Michael was already questioning if bringing this random kid to the library was worth getting the nastiest cold ever for.

But then he looked to his side, and there was this boy, no older than eleven, buried in Mike’s gray hoodie, hugging himself because it had started thundering again, and he was afraid of the unpredictability of the crashing sounds. Mike offered his hand to him, and after a long moment of hesitation, he took it, and the two of them held hands as they started running in the rain to the nearby library, seeking shelter because Mike was now certain that the kid didn’t have any shelter of his own to go back to.

And with that thought, he knew it was worth it. Even if he got pneumonia, it would be worth it, because now as they were running through the muddy grass, the kid was laughing instead of crying, and that was enough.

<><><> 

Gregory panted as they stood in the library’s entrance, though he wasn’t out of breath because of the running; he was out of breath because he was laughing while doing so. This whole situation was just so bizarre; he couldn’t help it! Because really, who runs through the park in the middle of a thunderstorm? Apparently, he and this random cashier that inserted himself into his life today, that’s who.

Speaking of, who even is this guy? Why was he so insistent that he help a random homeless kid when he probably had a million better things to do? Sure, he said that he didn’t want anything from Gregory, but then his actions became illogical. There had to be something lurking below the surface, something that could be dangerous. Gregory was certain that he didn’t want to know what that would be.

And yet, there was still a smile on his face as he stood there with the man, holding hands with him as if he had been a long-time friend and not a stranger he only talked to for the first time today.

But it’s temporary, he thought to himself. After this, you’ll most likely never see him again. That was for the best, as that meant that Gregory didn’t have to hold up whatever part of the deal he didn’t agree to, and he wouldn’t be punished for doing so because he would be alone.

Being alone was better, safer even. He learned that the hard way.

“Welcome in, you two,” A lady behind a counter said quietly, writing something down on a notepad as she did so. She looked up at them after a moment and paused. “…I’m assuming that you boys are just here to get out of the rain? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think you succeeded.”

The man chuckled. “I suppose not. You don’t mind if we loiter around a bit?”

Library Lady shook her head. “Not at all. As long as you don’t damage or steal the library’s property, you’re welcome here anytime.”

“Thank you,” he nodded at her, then turned to face Gregory. “What do you say we kill some time until the storm lets up? There’s plenty of books to read, after all.”

Gregory involuntarily made a face at the suggestion, and the man just laughed again.

“Okay, not a reader. Noted. Well, they have things other than books, too.”

The boy subconsciously tilted his head. “Like what?”

The man smiled at him and started to walk towards the many bookshelves that were littered throughout the room, still holding Gregory’s hand. “They have puzzles, board and card games, some film reels and a projector, even a couple of new computers that you could play games on or something. Lots of things to keep us occupied.”

Gregory paused his following, and his hand fell out of the man’s gentle grip. “‘Us?’” he repeated, not even thinking to hide his confusion.

The man turned to look at him, an odd expression on his face. “Uh, yes?”

“But I thought-“ Gregory stuttered. “I thought you were just… dropping me off.”

“…Are you kidding?” He asked, though it wasn’t in a harsh tone, just a concerned one. “I can’t just leave you by yourself; don’t you know how dangerous that is? Especially in this town. Something bad could happen, something… something just awful.”

Gregory squinted his eyes at the man. “What’s so dangerous about this town anyway? You act like it’s cursed or something.”

The man’s face went pale at the question, and he looked surprised that Gregory would even ask it. Then he said, “You… You don’t know what happened? How? I mean people tend to talk about it all the time.”

“I- I’m new to town,” the boy said, speaking with half-truths. “So, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Explain.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “…No, I- I don’t think that knowledge would be good for you. It’s… It was horrible, and that’s pretty much all you need to know.”

Gregory scoffed. “Right. Well, regardless of whatever happened here, that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. I’m used to it anyway.”

The man frowned at that, looking pretty upset for some reason. “You, uh, you’ve been on your own for a while then, huh?”

“N- No, I just- What I meant was…” Gregory trailed off, brain struggling to think of a convincing lie to get the man off of his back.  “Um-“

“Look, I’m not judging or anything,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m just trying to… gauge the situation, I guess. Figure out what’s going on, you know?”

Gregory scowled at him. “Well, what’s going on is none of your business, okay? So don’t even worry about it.” He snapped.

The man sighed. “Right, I guess that’s fair. I won’t bother you about it then. But, going back to our original topic, I’m kind of stuck in this library too, since I can’t exactly go out in a lightning storm without major injury. So, I figured we could just hang out for a bit? If you don’t want to, that’s fine too, but figured I’d put the offer out there.”

…Seriously, what was with this guy? Didn’t he have a family member or friend who could pick him up and drive him home? Why was he insisting on staying and befriending Gregory? It seemed pointless, at least to the boy himself.

Gregory just tried to shrug as nonchalantly as he could. “Doesn’t matter either way; do what you want.”

The man smiled at that, though unlike the first adult that came into Gregory’s life, this smile did not set off alarm bells in the boy’s head. Sure, maybe Gregory was just being stupid and overly trusting again, but something about this man seemed different. Whether that was good or bad, he didn’t quite know yet, but there was only really one way to find out.

“Well, I suppose what I want to do is read a book, but you’ve already stated that that isn’t exactly your favorite pastime. So, why don’t I show you how to get to what you’re interested in, and I’ll go read after.” The man suggested, shifting the weight on his feet slightly.

Gregory thought for a moment, weighing his options. “I don’t know, I guess a game on the computer sounds fun? I don’t really know how to work with one, though.”

“I’ll show you, then. Follow me.”

The man led him deeper into the library, until eventually they reached a small corner that held a few desks with large, square shaped computers on top, their button-filled keyboards just in front of them. The man did a half-bow and gestured toward the chair, inviting the boy to take a seat, making him snicker a bit before he accepted and sat down. Gregory placed his fingers on the keyboard cautiously as the man leaned over him slightly.

“Have you ever used a computer?” He asked, seeming rather genuine and not at all condescending like Gregory expected.

Gregory shook his head. “I wasn’t allowed to; it was in my-“ he cut himself off as the word ‘father’ almost left his mouth. Instead, he said, “It was in a room I wasn’t allowed in.”

The man nodded, seeming to understand. “Well, you aren’t missing too much, but it is fun to mess around with every once in a while.”

He took the oval-shaped controller in his hand and pushed it across the surface of the desk, causing a small, white arrow to move across the screen in the same direction. The man circled a few of the icons on the screen as he explained what each one was and what they were for, eventually landing on something interesting.

“This is just Solitaire, which is fun for like five minutes, but then you get bored. Oh, this one is BASIC, but you won’t know how to use that. Over here is-“

“What’s basic about it?” Gregory asked, interrupting whatever the man was going to say next.

He chuckled a bit. “No, I mean it’s called ‘BASIC.’ It’s a programming language. Since you don’t know how to program, it’s pretty useless for you, I’m afraid.”

“’Program?’”

“As in, like, making the computer do stuff.” He explained poorly. “You type out weird phrases and the computer turns it into an action. I don’t know much about it to be honest; I’m more fit for creating something physically.”

“Can we at least look at it?” Gregory asked, something about the idea drawing him in.

The man shrugged. “Might as well, but don’t expect me to teach it to you because I still have no clue how it works.”

So, they opened up the program, and for some odd reason, Gregory just felt like he recognized it. He knew for a fact that he had never seen it before in his life, had never even heard of a computer program until today, and yet it felt… familiar. It felt more like family than William had, and wasn’t that a strange thought for something that was digital?

“Yeah, so…” The man trailed off, and he rested a hand on his chin as he lost himself in thought. “I don’t know how to use this, actually. Neither do you, so I guess it’s useless for both of us.”

“No, just you,” Gregory said, placing his clumsy fingers onto the keyboard. He didn’t really know how to type, but he did know how to write in this program. He didn’t know why or how, but it was like it was ingrained in him, a part of his very being. A second language he could speak, even. He just knew what to do.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Gregory pressed down on each of the buttons on the keyboard, starting to type a command into the program.

‘HELLO, GGY’ the program typed out, just as Gregory had told it to.

“…I thought you didn’t know how to use a computer; how do you know how to program?” The man asked, shock painting his features.

“I dunno,” Gregory shrugged his shoulders. “I just do. I probably knew how to do it before…”

“’Before?’” He prompted.

“Before,” The boy repeated, intending that word to be the end of the sentence.

The man didn’t fight for more information, thankfully. Instead, he shifted gears. “Are you GGY? What’s that stand for?”

“Uh, yeah, I think. And I guess you’ll just never know, because I don’t think I should be telling a stranger my name.” The boy smirked.

He scoffed at that. “You probably shouldn’t be following said stranger to various locations, then. But I guess it would help if we introduced ourselves, huh?”

Gregory bit his lip nervously. “I mean… I guess.”

The man ran a hand through his brown locks. “Well, I’m Mike, by the way. In case you wanted to upgrade from ‘strangers’ to ‘acquaintances.’”

The kid contemplated his options for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of giving this man any information about himself. Eventually he decided that there wasn’t really any harm to the man knowing his first name and he said, “I- I’m Gregory.”

The man, ‘Mike,’ nodded. “Ah, that explains the acronym. Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, Gregory.”

Gregory just nodded back. “Uh, yeah. Same.”

“So, are you planning to mess around with this for a while then?” Mike asked, gesturing to the program on the computer screen.

He shrugged. “I have nothing better to do, so yeah.”

“Well, I’m off to go find a good book, then. Mind if I come check on you soon?”

“Do what you want,” Gregory went back to focusing on the program in front of him, slowly typing in a command letter by letter. “I’ll probably just hang out ‘til this place closes.”

“Alright then,” Mike adjusted his soggy shirt, obviously uncomfortable from the rain soaking his clothes entirely. “Have fun, kid.”

With that, Mike walked off towards one of the many bookshelves scattered throughout the building, leaving Gregory alone with nothing but a green tote bag with all of his belongings, a wet hoodie that was two sizes too big, and a computer program that he felt like he knew like the back of his hand.

And all he could think was: ‘Why?’

<><><> 

For a short while, Michael was actually able to read a decent book. It was about something called ‘Dream Theory,’ and while it didn’t completely make sense to him, the concept intrigued the teen. Being able to relive a memory through a dream and pick up on details only your subconscious processed was fascinating, though he didn’t know if looking through his own memories would be a blessing or a curse. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. 

About 20 minutes into reading, Mike had stopped hearing the roar of thunder and the loud pattering of rain for a couple of minutes. Either the storm was over or it was a brief reprieve. Regardless of what, it was a nice reminder that time had passed, and so Michael stood up from the chair he had found and made his way back over to the computers, where Gregory sat programming. 

Except, Gregory didn’t sit programming. The chair was empty and the computer was turned off, no trace of the boy having been there at all. 

He dejectedly made his way up to the librarian at the front of the library, but he already knew what she was going to say: that Gregory had left as soon as the rain stopped and that he wanted to go alone. Michael had to carefully explain that no, he didn’t actually know Gregory and that yes, he thinks he might not have a home. The librarian said she'd keep an eye out after that. 

So, Mike walked home. It was uneventful, as was the next week and a half for him. He kept hoping to see the boy in GrowMart or something, but he never did. He assumed that he would probably never see that kid again, and the thought made him rather sad. 

After all, being alone was almost worse than death. Almost, anyway.