Chapter Text
Michael slipped into the pizzeria, his whole body shaking. Whether from exhaustion, fear, or just the night chill, he wasn’t sure.
It had been nearly a week since his father disappeared, gone up in smoke after…
He subconsciously raised his hand, tenderly touching the bandage on his cheek. The cut had yet to scar, but he knew it would. It had taken him too long to tend to it.
Returning to the matter at hand, Michael carefully closed the previously boarded door behind him. It made a creak that caused the boy to freeze, holding his breath in suspense.
Nothing. This place didn’t have anybody in it. Horrible things had happened in these locations, but there wasn’t anybody inhabiting the place. There wasn’t even a night guard, as far as Michael was aware.
Then again, Michael never was aware of much, was he?
He pushed aside his own cynical thoughts and carefully crept through the desolate halls, eventually reaching the party room. Old decorations and tables were left untouched, allowing dust to settle on nearly everything. The lights looked to be burned out (not that Michael was going to test that. He was trying not to get caught), and the windows, however few, were boarded up like the side door had been before Michael touched it. (He had a habit of messing things up.)
Michael, after determining that there was nothing out in the open for him to search, returned to the employee only section, featuring a much duller set of decorations than the main area: that being basically nonexistent, unless newspapers and dull posters counted.
His steps were slow. Deliberate. He knew that his pace wasn’t just caution— it was more deliberate than that. He was stalling. He was afraid.
No. Now was not the time to be scared. Now was the time to find out what happened to his father.
Easier said than done. Father was never straightforward when it came to his whereabouts.
Michael jumped when he heard some kind of sound coming from… well, he wasn’t sure, but it came from somewhere. He gripped his torch tightly, turning it this way and that, ultimately doing a complete 360 in his search.
He came up with nothing. No threat presented itself. Michael gulped, continuing in his original direction and ignoring the sudden sense that he was being watched.
(He didn’t know it yet, but that feeling was right.)
It was only a minute later that Michael spotted a storage room. He knew from what father had told him that the animatronics were blind to it: they had no data to inform them of its existence, and as such it was basically invisible to them.
The back room was where he and Mr. Emily did most of their work. If father was anywhere, it would be here.
Michael swallowed his fear and reached for the knob.
Apparently, with his deep focus on the goal, his mind completely disconnected from his surroundings: including any sounds, like those of an approaching animatronic.
Michael was stopped when a strong hand grasped his neck from behind, snagging him back. Michael tried to struggle, but the appendage held him firmly in place. When he looked up, he came face-to-face with a familiar purple animatronic.
Bonnie.
The rabbit started to squeeze his neck, enough to cut off most of his airflow. The boy gasped, grabbing at the paw in an attempt to free himself. He couldn’t get it to budge.
“You,” the animatronic sneered, grabbing one of Michael’s wrists with its free hand and pulling it away. Michael continued to struggle, but his efforts were fruitless. He couldn’t get it off. “I’m going to make you pay…”
Michael couldn’t understand. What was happening?!
“Bonnie! Whatcha got there?” a chipper voice rang out around him, but Michael’s vision was too blurred to make much out. All he managed to take in was a matted yellow blob.
“It’s him. He came back, the little-“ Bonnie was cut off by a gasp.
“What? You… you really have him? That's actually him?” the voice asked again. (Somewhere in the back of Michael’s mind he registered it as Chica’s, but his brain was struggling to process anything without air.)
He really needed air.
“Yes. I’m positive,” he insisted. A soft hum sounded.
“He’s… awfully small.” The voices were getting fuzzier. Or maybe that was just him. That wouldn’t be surprising.
Bonnie said something back. She replied. Michael couldn’t tell what either said, and soon his senses went dark.
o o o
“Oh, I do hope he’s alright,” Chica whispered. The classic four animatronics stood in a half circle, staring down at the unconscious boy before them. Each had mixed feelings, with their emotions clearly shown through their posture more than their faces.
Chica was obviously anxious. The killer was an adult, so he wouldn’t be as small as the child in front of them. Not to mention that, even if she was misremembering the height, he still had the baby fat of a young boy, early teens at most.
Bonnie was skeptical, his arms folded as he stared down at the child. He didn’t trust this. It looked like a kid, sure, but their animatronic eyes were prone to tampering. It’s what got those children killed, and this “child’s” face looked just like the man who did it.
Chica had pointed out that his recognition of that face could also have been a fluke, and that was the only reason that Bonnie had let him go. They could judge who he really was when the boy woke up.
Foxy seemed conflicted more than anything. The pirate was torn between caring for the vulnerable child (for whom he had taken his curtain in pirate cove down to use as an impromptu blanket), and distrusting the similarity that Bonnie had recognized. For the most part his caring nature was winning out, but the doubt still lingered.
And lastly, Freddy. He was also concerned. Yes for the child, but also his band mates. He wasn’t quite sure what was true, so he wasn’t so quick to join Bonnie’s side, but he wasn’t naive enough to say with certainty that this wasn’t the killer. The man had tricked them before, there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. Even so, jumping straight to strangling him seemed like overkill. There were no children in the pizzeria anymore, so there was really no reason for him to come back.
Then again, a random child also had no reason to come here. The pizzeria had long been shut down.
So, while he wasn't sure who exactly this was, Freddy was sure that this person's presence distressed his band mates and pirate pal in one way or another. And he was ready to support any of them if (correction: when) the need arose.
“He’s fine. Probably,” Bonnie muttered. He would admit, the mark forming around the supposed child’s neck was a bit concerning, but he was still breathing, so it couldn’t be that bad. Besides, he already had a bandage on his cheek anyway, so he was probably a rough-and-tumble kid (if he was one at all, which the rabbit still wasn’t convinced of).
“Bonnie, you strangled the poor thing!” Chica whisper-shouted, gesturing to the boy bundled in purple stars (courtesy of Foxy's generosity). “That could have a lasting effect!”
“Like what?” he asked. She paused, staring down at the kid and then back at her rabbit friend.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what because I don’t have any medical knowledge downloaded, but I’m sure that something of that nature could cause some damage, especially to a developing kid!” the bird squawked, firmly shaking her head. Bonnie rolled his eyes and looked away from her.
“Guys, there’s no need to fight,” Freddy interrupted before an argument could begin. He glanced back and forth between them, checking to make sure that they were listening. Once satisfied with their performance, he nodded approvingly and refocused on the unconscious boy.
“What’re we s’posed to do when the lad wakes up?” Foxy asked. None of the other animatronics responded, standing around in silence.
“Is it supposed to take this long?” Bonnie’s question earned a halfhearted glare from Chica, but once again nobody offered an answer.
Until the child stirred.
The boy groaned as he sat up, putting a hand to his face like he was trying to stop a headache. Bonnie and Freddy both tensed as he moved, while Chica’s posture immediately softened in pity. Foxy didn’t move, only staring warily.
“Hey little guy…” Chica gently addressed, kneeling down to his level. The child, startled by the random voice, turned in her direction. The second he did he reeled back, putting some distance between himself and the animatronic, face full of fear. It was then that he noticed the other animatronics, only serving to worsen his fear (it didn’t escape Bonnie’s notice how he quickly covered his neck).
“Don’t- don’t hurt me!“ His voice was hoarse, coming as no shock to Chica. Her expression softened as much as her animatronic face allowed. Poor thing…
“Why do you look like-?” Bonnie was instantly cut off by a very harsh glare from Chica, along with a swift slice motion over her throat. The bird meant business.
The child didn’t seem to react well to his accusatory tone either, curling in on himself fearfully. Bonnie finally chose to sit on his questions, if only because it’d be easier to ask later without Chica intervening.
With a firm nod at the robotic rabbit, Chica turned back around, putting her hands up placatingly. “There there little fella, we’re not here to hurt ya!”
“Th- then why…” He glanced briefly at Bonnie before swiftly looking away. Chica’s face morphed into a vague frown.
“I’m sorry about him. There was a mix up, that’s all,” she assured the child. Even though her nature screamed at her to coddle the poor thing and hug him close, she restrained herself: for the boy’s sake. He didn’t seem anywhere near comfortable around them.
“A… a mix up?” The child seemed rightfully confused, and Chica quickly realized how one dimensional her explanation was. Why would a mix-up constitute choking someone? But it wasn’t like she could explain that a child murderer used this place as his playground and her friends were anxious that he might come back!
“We have strict security protocols, and Bonnie’s are in need of a tune up. So, when he saw you had broken into the building, he thought you were a burglar and his programming kicked in, albeit… misguided,” Freddy chimed in. Chica looked over her shoulder, shooting him a quick, grateful nod, before returning her attention to the kid.
“Yup! That’s all. Now that we know you’re just a kid and not a burglar, there will be no more of that,” Chica added, holding her hand out to him experimentally. He had stopped hiding his neck with his hands, showing that he was getting more comfortable, at least a little bit. Still, he leaned away from her hand, wrapping Foxy’s curtains tighter around his shoulders. She took the hint and meekly pulled it away.
“Are ye okay lad?” Foxy inquired, kneeling down in front of him alongside Chica. The pirate was pretty certain that this was just a normal, terrified kid now, and as such his child-comforting side was in full swing.
“Uhm…” The boy rubbed the back of his neck, wincing when his hand touched it. He avoided Foxy’s gaze and returned to holding his ‘blanket.’ His eyes widened in realization. “Wait… is thi… is this Foxy’s… ah, I mean… y-your, curtain?”
“Yer’ real observant, sailor,” Foxy complimented, choosing not to mention the evasion of his question, purposeful or not. He already got his answer from simply watching the boy.
The kid’s familiar blue eyes widened further with something akin to admiration and he quickly turned his gaze to the floor. “What’s yer’ name?”
“It’s… it’s Michael.” Chica smiled, burying the brief envy she felt towards Foxy. Kids had their favorite animatronics, and maybe the pirate fox just made him feel safer. She couldn’t fault him for that.
“Nice to meet you Michael!” she cheerfully responded. “I’m Chica, and this is Foxy. Over there is Freddy, the brown bear, and Bonnie, the blue bunny!”
“Though, since you’re here, you probably already knew that,” Freddy stated calmly. Michael sunk into the curtains a little further, seeming ashamed.
“I’m sorry…” he quietly muttered. Chica wanted to cry after the whispered apology, and her hand unwillingly moved over her heart (or, where her heart would be if she had one, anyway).
“It’s not yer’ fault matey,” Foxy responded, folding his arms over his knees in a perfect balancing position. “But, why did ye’ come in ‘ere?”
“I…” Michael paused, expression falling subtly. “I was… looking f- for my… father.”
“What made you think he would be in an abandoned pizzeria?” Bonnie exclaimed in disbelief. He ignored the glare leveled at him from Chica.
“Uhm… w- well,” the boy responded, curling in on himself meekly. “He… he used t- to work… here. So, I- I thought… I don’t know.”
“You thought he’d come here? Why?” Chica was starting to really worry about this boy. Where was his mom in all this? If she wasn’t in his life anymore, then where was his dad? How long did he have to be left alone for him to go looking? These questions and more were filling her head, and she was pretty sure Foxy was on a similar train of thought.
“Uhm… he was… at work a… a lot, so I… I just… never mind.” Michael’s voice was gradually giving out, and with it went his energy. He seemed so much more vulnerable now, like he’d just… given up. Like it just wasn’t worth it anymore. It hurt to watch.
“Hey, it’s a’right Mike,” Foxy comforted, leaning his head to the side slightly as he did. “Would ye spare yer’ pirate pal a story on the bandage? What’s it for?”
“Oh… uh… just, scraped my- my cheek,” he muttered. Freddy squinted at him slightly, but nobody else appeared to notice. Freddy was programmed to be perceptive, looking out for the band and taking note of any repair needs or concerns. And something about this whole thing didn’t sit right with him.
He chose to keep this feeling to himself for now.
“Mmm. Yer’ mighty brave matey,” Foxy praised. Michael shook his head softly, prompting a look of inquiry from the pirate.
“I’m not brave,” he whispered. Chica’s last strands of self control snapped with those words. She stood up, promptly moving to sit right beside the child. He flinched and stared up at her fearfully, until she gently brushed a strand of hair away from his face.
“Yes you are. This is a scary situation, and you’re handling it like a champ. Me personally? I’m a bit of a chicken.” Michael continued to stare at her for a moment before he snorted softly. She beamed at him and gently patted his head. “You’re such a sweetheart! How old are you?”
“Oh. Uhm… t-twelve.” He tucked himself a little further into the blanket.
“How long have you been left alone for, kid?” Bonnie suddenly inquired. He would admit that, while his suspicion wasn’t completely gone, Michael was rapidly growing on him. If this was the man he had originally assumed, he would be angry with them, not timid like this kid was acting. (Bonnie refused to admit that he was starting to feel really guilty for hurting him. It’s not like he had been trying to.)
“Just… a couple… days.” Michael seemed to slowly realize that his response wasn’t ideal, as his voice fell even farther off.
Chica’s heart throbbed with pity and she started to slowly rub circles into his back. Her programming to comfort kids was kicking in full force, and she had absolutely zero gripes with that.
Who leaves their kid all alone for days on end?
“Do ye’ have any other family?” Foxy gently asked. He didn’t have the same ‘physical touch for comfort’ programming, since his hook could present a series problem if the kid or himself weren’t careful. As such, he opted to stay where he was.
“Uhm… no.” Michael’s admittance hung heavy in the air, weighing on all animatronics present. There was a minute of silence, where each of the animatronics tried to process the issue.
Chica was built for comfort, not problem solving. Bonnie was good at rooting out issues and being critical, and Foxy’s forte was on facing those problems head on. That left their analytically inclined leader, who all the other animatronics turned to in an instant.
Freddy hummed, turning the situation over in his mind. Some of the child’s reactions rubbed him the wrong way, but he wasn’t sure why. He did find the testimony trustworthy enough for the time being, so he chose to take Michael at his word.
Now it was just about contemplating the best course of action.
“How close do you live to the pizzeria Michael?” Freddy gestured to the boy. He blinked and then shrugged.
“Not far. I walked here pretty easily, it’s like… six blocks down,” he quietly estimated. Freddy nodded in thought.
“Here’s what I propose.” All of the animatronics shifted to an attentive position. “Michael would be alone if he went home right now. I suggest that, when daylight comes around, he goes home and grabs the essentials, such as clothing and food, and any other items that are important to him, then bring them here. Does your father have a spare house key around?”
“Yeah. He hid… it, but I… I know where it is.” There was no small amount of tension and hesitation in his tone, but he appeared honest.
“Then you would bring that too, locking the door behind you. You stay here during most of the day and at night, visiting your house every other day when morning arrives to check for any signs of your father’s return.” Bonnie raised his hand.
“How are we supposed to feed him? His food at home won’t last forever, and we don’t exactly have any way to earn money by getting jobs.” The rabbit gestured to himself and then sweepingly to the rest of them for emphasis. “Unless you’re planning to make the twelve year old steal for food.”
“No, but this is the best course of action I can envision for now.” Freddy faced the child, forcing his face into as much of a smile as an animatronic’s jaw could make. “What do you say?”
Michael hesitated and hugged the blanket tighter around himself. He had an internal debate, eyes flitting to every one of them at one point, his gaze lingering a second or so longer on Bonnie, before fleeing to the floor. The rabbit did not miss this.
“Look, squirt… I’m sorry I hurt you. I wasn’t trying to, and now I know you’re not a burglar, so it will never happen again. Alright?” he promised, unfolding his arms in an attempt to appear less menacing. It seemed to work.
“O-okay,” Michael finally muttered. He tentatively touched the bandage on his cheek with a soft wince, to which Chica hummed softly. She patted his head again and he mindlessly sank into the touch. She continued to steadily ruffle his hair, overjoyed by this development of trust.
“Are ye’ tired, sailor?” Foxy gestured with his non-hook hand, tipping his head once again to the tween. Michael shrugged softly. He paused for a minute and rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes. He then nodded, though with a twinge of embarrassment. Foxy nodded back and stood up. “Aye aye. Let’s find ‘im a place to sleep, ay Bonnie?”
“Fine by me Foxy,” Bonnie nonchalantly agreed, though a hint of uncertainty remained over their plan. Even so, the two of them retreated from the stage area, entering again into the employee’s only section of the building.
“Uhm… sweetheart? Do you need that bandage changed?” Chica gently inquired, doing her very best to not scare him away.
The boy was quick to shake his head in protest as both hands covered his cheek. “No.”
The chicken animatronic deflated a little, but decided it was best to let it be. She finally stood up, giving Michael one last head pat before approaching Freddy. She made sure to whisper when she started talking to him.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? I want to help the kid as much as Bonnie, but the pizzeria isn’t exactly… fit for children anymore.” Freddy nodded, his understanding evident in his posture and expression.
“I know. But this is the best I could come up with. Besides, we can clean. When he goes to get his stuff tomorrow we’ll have some time to prepare. Right?” Freddy assured her. Chica was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Right!” she whispered back. Her head turned to the child in question once again, planning to keep him company for the time being, only for her robotic heart to melt.
He had fallen asleep.