Chapter Text
Movie!Michael Afton x Male!Emily!Reader
[Second Person POV]
You jolted awake as you heard your alarm go off. The motel room you were in had holes in the curtains, shining sunlight directly into your eyes at 6 in the morning. You check the date.
October 13th 2002
20 years. It had been exactly 20 years since Charlotte's death. Everyone had ruled it as an accident, that it was her fault because she had gone into a restricted area. No one bothered to pay attention to the fact that she very clearly had stab wounds in her back or the fact that it would've been impossible for that to have accidentally happened to her. But you knew better. You knew that it was William's fault. He had seemed to dismiss her death. He was more focused on keeping the pizzeria open. Not that it had mattered anyway, the location had shut down a couple of months later.
You had been grief-stricken — obviously. You remembered the day vividly. It would haunt you in your nightmares.
You screamed as you saw her fall into the trap door. You almost wanted to look away in case something happened to her. You knew that there were gears underneath it, gears that would bring up "The Marionette". You knew the gears were powerful. You had dropped a soda can down it once by accident when Henry was still working on it. The can had been essentially shredded. Henry had used it as a lesson on not messing with any of the electronics.
You felt your legs moving, but it was like you were frozen in place. It felt like you were trying to move through quicksand. You froze at the stage. You were too late. Charlotte was already down the door. You watched in horror as the Puppet rose, holding Charlotte's lifeless body in its arms. It now had dark purple tears on its mask, almost like it was crying.
That hadn't been there before, had it?
You heard gasps from around you. You wanted to cry.
It was a moment before you realized you were crying. You quickly wiped them away before you got up.
After her funeral, you had moved in with your Aunt, Jen. You felt horrible about leaving — you were all your dad had left. Your mom had left when you were 10, and Charlie was 6. And now that Charlotte was dead, you were all he had.
But you had to leave Hurricane. You just couldn't stay there anymore. Everyone looked at you with pity. Conversations stopped when you walked into the room. You heard whispers of the hushed conversations that would take place.
"Didn't his sister die or something?"
"Wasn't it her fault for going into the back room?"
"I heard his dad killed that little girl."
"Wasn't it the other guy?"
You hated all the attention you got from that.
You left a couple of days later.
You felt the ground beneath your feet giving way slightly as you walked. You had walked this path for 20 years. It had changed slightly over the last couple of years. More graves had popped up.
You thought about Michael. Being in Hurricane reminded you of him. Of how you were happy. How you had planned your entire life dependent on him being in it. How you had left him when you left Utah. You hated him. You blamed him for her death, which you knew was illogical, but you just needed someone to take your anger out on. You blamed William, obviously, but you couldn't even as much as look at Michael anymore without thinking of William. He looked too much like his father.
The cameras in the room Charlotte had gone into weren't working. Michael had disabled them. He wanted a place in the pizzeria where the two of you could sneak off to without anyone noticing. It was because of him that the actual cause of death couldn't be ruled out. You hated him for that. You didn't care how irrational it was.
He had sent you tons of letters in the first month after you had moved. You hadn't opened any of them, and you didn't write any back to him. You hoped that he would just stop writing to you altogether.
The letters started to decrease, from once a week to once every 6 months. Then nothing. Maybe he had moved on, maybe he just gave up.
You were glad. You hated his guts. Over time, your resentment had turned to hatred.
You had saved every letter he had sent you; it felt wrong to throw them out.
*12 hours later*
You looked at the building in front of you as you felt a breeze.
Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.
The familiar characters had smiles plastered on their faces, waving at your general direction. It made you sick. You had vowed to never come back here, but you couldn't help it. Maybe you had come back as a memorial for Charlie, to put her soul to rest. Maybe you wanted to visit the Puppet. It had been her favorite animatronic by far — she would wait for it to rise from the stage whenever she was there, which was almost every day.
Aunt Jen had been informing you about Freddy's, even if you didn't want her to. And now, you were glad she did. She would talk about how there was a new location, one that used the older models of the animatronics. From what you understood, the second location was a massive downgrade from the first. She mentioned how 5 other kids had gone missing just 4 years after Charlotte's death. Apparently, they had been stuffed into the animatronic suits. The main suspect was, of course, William Afton, but they never caught him.
You remembered how you had left a music box in front of the Puppets box.
You walked through the restaurant as quietly as you could. No one was there but it was still unsetteling to hear the floor boards creak. The basement door creaked open, jarring in comparison to the silence that blanketed the building. You felt a breeze as you walked down the stairs. You could feel yourself getting goosebumps. Thats weird. All the doors were closed off and even if they weren't, there was no breeze today.
Whatever.
You entered the basement to see the box— it was much taller than you were, probably twice your height. It was blue with a purple ribbon. Weirdly enough the box was open. The puppet wasnt in it. In fact, you couldn't see it anywhere. You hadn't seen it while coming down here had you? You brushed it off as paranoia; it was probably taken by the police because it was part of an active crime scene.
The music box weighted heavy in your hands. It was red velvet on the outside, with a yellow bear inside that would perform when it was wound up. It was the one Henry had made for you when you were a baby; the music had helped you sleep. You couldn't even look at it anymore. It hurt too much. You remembered how you would catch Charlotte listening to it whenever she could. She would always complain that yours was so much cooler. Back then you were annoyed with her for taking your things, but now you would give anything up to even hear her voice again.
You left the box on the ground in front of the box.
"I'm so sorry, Charlie. I should've been with you. I should've trusted you."
The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could even process them. It was true, you should've listened to her. She had gone up to every adult or adult adjacent person in the building before she died. She had gone up to you and Michael. But you were too busy talking to him to care. The worst part was that Michael wanted to go with her, but YOU told him to leave it alone. You thought it was just her imagination. You hadn't believed her, and now she was dead. Because of you. It was your fault.
"Goodbye Charlotte"
You could've sworn you had a response. It was probably just the wind.
You felt a chill run down your spine as you walked into the building. Everything was the same as it had been when you left — the boat in the river ride had capsized, the water now a disgusting mix of green, black, and… red? That can't be right. Where would the red come from? The green and black would be from rot or whatever, but red?
Your flashlight illuminated a path for you. You could see the stage from where you were standing. The curtains were pulled.
But you weren't here for that.
You tried walking as quietly as possible. It's not like you had anything or anyone to be avoiding. Or at least that's what you hoped.