Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Evan stood still in the hallway, his feet twin stains darkening the carpet and his eyes locked on the mirror hanging above the nightstand. 

He didn’t remember taking off the bandage covering his eye, but the stark white covering was gone. 

He didn’t know how long he had been standing there before Michael found him. Michael’s gaze seemed to bore into him through the mirror even with Evan’s back turned.

Some distant part of Evan thought Mikey would run off like he did last time and high tail it to the nearest bathroom or trash can. 

The look Michael got in his eyes made it clear that Mikey didn’t like seeing him with his bandage on, much less when he had it off. 

Wordlessly, Michael reached down and scooped Evan’s discarded bandage from the floor. 

“Sorry,” Evan whispered. In the corner of his eye, Evan saw Mikey twist the bandage between his fingers for a few moments, though his eye never left the mirror. “I dropped it.” 

Michael leaned forward slightly like a tiger listening for the best moment to pounce he hadn’t quite heard what Evan had said. “Huh? Oh, that’s fine. We can, uh, we can get you another sterile one.” 

Evan nodded. He tried to. Thought about it, at least, but he couldn’t get his head to move. 

“You okay, little guy?”

Snowball’s soft fur pressed tightly against Evan’s chest.

“Hey, Evan? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Evan’s throat was horribly dry. Dry enough to make him wince not just with every swallow but with every breath he took, like the air was sandpaper grinding against the inner lining of his throat with every inhale and exhale. “You’ll laugh.” Or worse, Evan added in his head. 

“Not this time,” Michael said. “Okay? If something’s bothering you, then you can tell me.” 

Evan wanted to look at Michael and gauge whether or not he was lying like the older teen often did. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t get his eye to look away from the lumpy mass of tender flesh gradually growing over the empty socket in the middle of his head. “...Do you think I’m ugly?” 

Michael didn't say anything. 

Maybe that should have been comforting. After all, in asking that question, he had handed Michael the perfect punchline to a new joke, a new weapon to rip him apart with. Something that Michael should have immediately pounced on.

"What? No. No, of– course not. Of course I don't."

Maybe that response should have made Evan happy. It didn't, though. Somehow, it only made Evan dizzy.

He would have known how to react if Michael had pounced on the opportunity to make fun of him. At least then Evan would know that Michael was giving him the truth. 

"You don't look ugly," Mike said. "Not to me." 

"You don't mean that," Evan whimpered. Michael had to be lying. Even… even Gregory and Vanessa and Mr. Freddy looked at him strangely sometimes when they thought he couldn't see. Evan didn't blame them; he knew it wasn't their fault. Not when the bandages and the scars across his head were so… jarring. 

"Hey, I mean it, okay?" Mike said. "You don't look ugly at all. Just… different. And– and a cool kind of different. Like, a badass kind. You're like, um, like those guys in Western movies."

Evan stared at him, his face blank. He hadn't seen a Western movie to know what Michael was talking about. 

"Okay, not like a Western movie, then. You're like…" Michael paused, thinking. "... You know how that friend of yours, Gregory, always has scrapes and bandaids all over his face?" 

Sniffling, Evan nodded. Gregory had told Evan when they first met that he always had cuts and bruises on his face because he was always picking on bullies. And Gregory did have what Evan viewed as an unhealthy desire to mess with bullies, but as Evan got to know Gregory better, he had learned that the scratches on Gregory's face and arms and knees were more often from his failed attempts at climbing trees and fences, from falling off his bike, from getting a bit too rough while playing with his cousin Vanessa…

"Okay," Mike started. "And does anyone ever mess with Gregory?" 

"N-not really." 

"Yeah, because Gregory looks all tough and strong, right? And now you look like the kind of guy who's seen a thing or two. You don't look ugly, you look exactly what you are: like a survivor, like a fighter, like you're strong."

Something about Michael’s words struck a nerve in Evan.

You have to be strong.

That's what he used to imagine Fredbear saying to him when Michael was being mean or when he was stuck alone in the pizzeria.

You have to be strong.

It's what he told himself nearly every night when he didn't have time to cry or let exhaustion make his eyes droop as the Nightmares hunted him, waiting for him to make a mistake and let them inside so they could hurt him. 

You have to be strong.

He told himself that now, every time his head hurt or his eyes burned and he had already been too big of a nuisance to Liz and Michael to ask for help. 

Hearing that word from Michael made Evan realize something that he had always known deep down.

"I don't want to be strong," Evan whispered.

I want to be safe.

He didn't know what he expected Michael to say to that. Mikey didn't say anything at all. 

Evan ducked his head down, his shoulders hunching up to his ears as he tried hiding his tears, and the scars on his uncovered face, and his… everything. 

“I don’t want to be strong,” Evan whimpered, not sure anymore if he was talking to Michael or himself. 

“Oh, Evan…” Michael’s voice wobbled dangerously on the three simple syllables.

…Evan wasn't sure he had heard Michael sound so sad before, but Michael was already clearing his throat and continuing on before the nine-year-old could think too much about it.

“Then don’t be. I'm… I'm sorry I made you feel like you needed to be strong. You don't. You’re just a kid; I can be strong enough for the both of us.” 

“But y-you’re just a kid, too.” 

“Yeah, well… maybe ‘strong’ isn’t something you have to be. Maybe it’s not something you have to fight for, but just something you are.”

Sniffling, Evan looked up at Michael from under his eyelashes. His brother’s eyes were completely devoid of cynicism, which was almost enough of a shock to stop Evan’s tears in their tracks. Michael knelt on the ground, his gaze as he looked at Evan saturated with… not quite with warmth; Michael seemed too awkward for that– his entire body held stiffly, his eyes flitting almost nervously across Evan’s form, gnawing on the inside of his cheek slightly with every pause– but there was something sincere there that Evan didn’t know what to make of. 

“What do you mean?”

Air passed Michael’s pursed lips as the teen rocked back on his heels, deep in thought. Evan might have giggled at the sound it made if he didn’t feel so awful. 

“I dunno,” Mike said. “Maybe… maybe being strong isn’t always being able to handle the stuff life throws at you well all the time, or being tough all the time, or never messing shit up. Maybe it’s just– getting through another day in whatever way you can.”

“I don’t understand.” 

“I guess, just… you don’t have to worry about trying to be strong, okay? Even on the days when you don’t feel very strong."

“I don’t feel very strong at all…” Evan whimpered.

"You are," Michael said. "If you weren’t strong, you wouldn’t be here. What you're doing is enough."

Moisture came back on Evan’s fingertips as he rubbed under his eye. When he finally looked fully up to meet Mikey's gaze, a nervous flutter rose in his chest that made him feel light-headed. "Just… j-just being here is… enough?"

It didn't seem right. He… Evan always had to force himself to stop crying, to not talk about the things that upset him even when he just wanted someone to listen… nothing about that seemed very strong to Evan. 

Michael had always backed that up, calling Evan a pathetic pest and all kinds of mean things, but…

“I’d say so.” Michael didn't hesitate for a second as he nodded down at his brother. "I think you're enough."

"H-how do you know?"

Michael shrugged. “There are some things that big brothers just know, Ev.”

Evan looked at Michael, wary despite the lack of malice on his brother’s features. He didn’t know if he believed Michael saying that being strong wasn’t something you had to try or fight for, but for once, his doubt wasn’t rooted in any fear that his brother was trying to trick him. It really did seem like Mikey believed he was telling the truth, but… 

Evan wasn’t like other people. He had to put in so much effort to keep himself from breaking apart at the seams, and right now, he didn’t feel like he had any more in him to give. He wasn’t strong. 

Despite what people said about Mikey sometimes, Evan had always known his big brother was really, really smart. But this time, there was no way Mikey knew what he was talking about. 

So… why did Evan genuinely want to believe him?

“Sorry, did that… help?” The words tumbled awkwardly from Michael’s tongue as he looked his younger brother up and down. 

“I don’t know…” Sniffling, Evan hugged his plushie closer to his chest. He was too tired to be nervous about his honest answer or the confusing whirlpool swishing painfully in his chest, too tired to be embarrassed about the tears still staining his cheek or any of the million little things that always caused him so much stress. 

“‘S okay,” Mikey said. “If you want, we could– watch some cartoons downstairs? And I could get you some tea? Hot chocolate, maybe. If you think that’ll help you feel better.” 

“Hot chocolate sounds nice,” Evan murmured wistfully.

“Done.” 

“And…”

Michael paused as he raised himself to his feet, wincing slightly at how stiff his muscles had gotten. “Yeah?”

Evan shuffled on his feet briefly, trying to ignore how weird it felt to be able to ask Michael for anything, before looking up at his big brother. “Can I use that coloring book you got me during the cartoons?” 

(That had always been a rule in the house to keep the three children from fighting over who got to watch the tv: if you were trying to watch tv and do something else at the same time, then you weren’t really watching tv and had to turn over the remote to someone else.)

"Of course," Mikey said without missing a beat. 

Something warm blossomed in Evan's chest at that. A warmth that showed through the whirlpool of confusing emotions even after Mikey left to grab the coloring book and pencils for him, after the two of them trudged downstairs, and after Mikey left to the kitchen and came back with two mugs of gently steaming hot chocolate. 

Evan stared at the other mug in surprise as Michael set it down on the coffee table before plopping beside Evan on the couch. He had kinda thought that Michael would drop the mug down and run upstairs or outside as fast as he could. 

Mikey had plenty of reason to. 

Michael was "too old" for cartoons. He had always liked making Evan cry but found the aftermath too annoying to deal with, and there were still tears leaking silently down Evan’s face now. 

And, Evan realized as Michael settled down on the couch, Evan still didn't have a bandage covering the worst part of his face. 

But Michael looked like he intended to stay anyway.

Even when Evan leaned into his big brother's side, Michael didn't look like he wanted to get away at all. 

A smile that didn't have anything to do with the corny jokes on tv worked its way onto Evan’s face.

Chapter Text

Condensation clung to the side of the glass. A single drop of water ran down the side, getting bigger as it went until it finally splashed against Michael’s fingers. 

Lifting his blank stare from the apple juice, Evan glared up at Michael. “I didn’t want any.” 

Michael shrugged, seemingly indifferent, but Evan could see the corners of his mouth turn down. “Okay. You don’t have to drink it, but I already poured the glass. I’ll leave it on the coffee table. If you don’t want it, don’t drink it, but it’s there if you change your mind.” 

Evan glared down at the glass where Michael set it on the coaster. “Since when did we have any apple juice?”

The words tumbled from the nine-year-old’s lips in a bitter grumble.

That was weird enough on its own. Normally, Evan was never brave enough to do something so likely to make Michael mad. 

The last week had been different, though. Evan was different. 

…He didn't know why he was still so mad. Evan didn't want to be mad anymore. It hadn't been so bad at first– Evan had even preferred being mad all the time to the emptiness Michael usually made him feel– but now– now–

It was like an infection. He wasn't just angry at Mikey, he was angry all the time, at everything, whether he wanted to be or not. He even got angry at the Fazbears sometimes, angry enough to glare and snap and yell. He always felt bad about it after and would offer to do chores or draw them pictures or do their favorite things with them to make up for his misbehaving, and he would spew apologies at them until he cried. Gregory, Vanessa, and Mr. Freddy always forgave him, but that didn't make Evan feel any less horrible. 

He didn't like the way being angry felt anymore. 

…But he also couldn't seem to stop. 

He should be happy that Michael was doing nice things for him and hadn't pulled a single mean prank lately, like Evan had been wishing would happen for years. 

It didn't make sense that Evan should be angry about Michael being so kind to him, and yet every time, it twisted Evan’s stomach into a fiery, aching knot. Because why should Michael be so nice now when he had never been all the times Evan had so desperately needed it?

Michael mumbled something, and it took Evan a moment to piece together that Michael was replying to Evan’s questioning about where the apple juice came from.

“I got some from the store earlier.” 

Evan frowned, suspicious. “You hate walking to the store.” 

“I needed to clear my head," Mike said. "And I figured I needed a walk. So what?" 

A small humph was the only thing to pass Evan’s lips as he looked away from both Mike and the glass of apple juice. 

Mike went back into the kitchen with a sigh. 

After a few minutes of watching cartoons, Evan gingerly picked up the glass after sending a nervous glance toward the kitchen to make sure Mikey wasn’t looking.

He was thirsty. That was all. 

Evan looked up in confusion at the knock from the front door. 

…Weird. They rarely ever had visitors, especially ever since Mr. Henry stopped coming around. 

Evan almost stood up on the couch to peek through the window behind him and see who it was, but froze as Michael came into the room. Mikey shot him a distracted smile as he passed through the living room and into the foyer, the door quietly opening not a moment later.

Shaking his head, Evan turned back to his cartoons. He had no business listening in; it was adult stuff, and it didn't have anything to do with him. 

It got harder not to listen in when Mikey started yelling, though. 

“I already told you, I don’t know anything!” 

Evan couldn’t help but flinch, his wide-eyed gaze flicking toward Michael on instinct. 

A voice– no, two voices?-- spoke up, but Evan couldn’t make out what they said. 

Mikey didn’t seem happy about it, though. “I’m sorry about what happened, I am– but you need to leave me alone.” 

The door slammed so hard Evan could feel vibrations through the floor even in the living room. 

Evan’s heart thumped wildly in his chest as he stared through the doorway into the foyer. The knocking started up again, whoever was outside the door slamming their fist against the wooden door in rapid, angry motions. 

Mikey didn’t open the door again. He didn’t even go back through the living room so he could finish what he was doing in the kitchen– Michael raced upstairs without saying a word or acknowledging the angry knocking on their door. 

Evan didn’t work up the courage to get on his knees and look out the window behind him until the knocking finally stopped. He didn’t like the idea of seeing anything that could make Michael angry like that face-to-face, but there was nothing scary out there when Evan peered through the glass. All Evan saw were two people– a woman in a floral dress and a man in jeans and a button-up– walking to a black car parked in the driveway. They weren’t scary, but they did seem oddly familiar. 

The dark blue cushions bounced as Evan plopped back into a sitting position. His green gaze flicked up to the ceiling where Michael had disappeared, as though he might see his big brother through the wood and plaster if he tried hard enough. 

Directing his attention back to the tv, Evan tried to laugh every time a certain coyote wandered too far over a cliff or too close to packs of lit TNT. But he couldn’t get his mind away from the weird people outside and Michael’s even weirder reaction. 

The more his mind lingered on the topic, the more certain Evan was that he had seen that lady and man somewhere before. 

Lifting his plushie up from the couch beside him, Evan met Snowball’s deep black eyes. 

“Did they seem familiar to you, too?” Evan whispered. 

I don’t know. I don’t think so, a voice in Evan’s mind supplied the stuffed dragon’s response.

“I thought you’d say that,” Evan murmured sadly. 

Disgruntled at the development, Evan hugged Snowball close and turned to the tv once more. 

He only realized the answer once his brain finally stopped obsessing over the question. 

He had seen that man and lady before. 

They had come to the house once before to pick up one of Michael’s friends, though Evan wasn’t sure if he remembered which one. 

But why were they at the house now, and what did they want with Michael?

Hands pressed into Evan’s shoulders, shaking him just a little too roughly. 

Groaning at the intrusion, Evan squeezed his eyelids shut and buried his face further into the couch's soft blue arm. 

"Evaaaaaaaan!" Liz whined. "Wake up, silly! You fell asleep with the tv on, you know." 

"I'm tired," Evan slurred as he tried burrowing deeper into the couch. 

"But it's five! It's much too late for a nap!" 

'It's not my fault I can't sleep at night,' Evan wanted to say. 

That was one of the few good things that had come about recently: being stuck at home meant he could take naps more during the day now while his siblings were at school. Things were pretty quiet, except when Father woke him to change his bandages or give him his medicine or tell him he had to exercise more. But those times were few and far between. 

Peeling himself off the couch and into a sitting position, Evan found that his eye was still dropping with sleep. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye to wake himself up, knowing that he wouldn't be falling back asleep with Lizzie here. 

"I thought you went to a friend's house…?"

Liz shrugged and took a step back. "I came back."

"Why?"

"I just didn't want to hang out with them anymore." 

"Why didn't you–?"

"Ugh, Evan!" Elizabeth flopped down on the couch beside him. She flung her head against the back of the couch, making her dark blonde hair flail dramatically through the air. "I'm boreddddddd!" 

'If you're bored, why did you stop hanging out with your friends?'

Evan almost asked it. Almost. Instead, he gave Liz the most minuscule head shake. He rarely understood anything that Lizzie did, if he was honest. 

"I don't have anything fun to offer…" 

Elizabeth hummed in thought before tilting her head toward Evan.  "Then where's Mikey?" 

"He's upstairs," Evan said. "I think he's mad. He was yelling…" 

"What happened?" Liz pursed her lips as she looked at him.

"I don't know. Some people were knocking on the door. One of his friends' parents, I think." 

Elizabeth sat up straight, moving so suddenly that Evan jumped. 

"Again?" She demanded. "Why can't they just leave him alone?" 

"What do you mean? What do they want?" 

"Right, you don't know…" 

"What? What don't I know?" Evan shuffled closer to his sister when she didn’t say anything. “Liz?” 

Elizabeth looked away, scuffing the ground with her foot. "Mikey’s friends. Something… happened, while you were at the hospital. The four of them stopped talking for a while, and then…" 

"What?" Evan asked for what felt like the millionth time. Why wouldn't Liz just give him a straight answer? She liked being secretive and holding you in suspense– or trying to, at least– by withholding details when she was telling stories, but this felt different than that. 

"Some of them went camping about two months ago," Liz said. "And… and they didn't come back." 

"No," Evan whispered. "They're… missing? Just like…" 

Elizabeth met his gaze, sadness drowning the usually bright green of her eyes with a dull sheen. "Yeah," she said, her voice thick. "Apparently Ryan's parents think Michael, like, knows something since they were friends. I thought they were finally going to leave well enough alone, but… I guess not." 

"That's awful." 

Elizabeth followed Evan’s gaze as the younger glanced over at the steps. "I've tried talking to Mikey about it. He never lets me, though. I think he likes to pretend that it never happened." 

"But… they're his friends." 

"I don't know. They stopped talking after your party, Evan. I don't know what's going on between them." 

One of Snowball’s hard glass eyes dug into his skin as Evan hugged the stuffed animal against his chest. Not that the nine-year-old noticed as he let out a shaky breath and stared down at the scuff marks on the sides of his dark brown shoes. 

Evan didn’t like Mikey’s friends very much.

Still, though.

Friends. Missing. Just like…

Just like Charlie.

…How had Evan never noticed something so big and awful? That felt like the kind of thing a brother should notice. 

"Hey, it's okay,” Liz said as she noticed Evan’s eye get shiny. “If Mikey doesn't want to talk about it,  then he doesn't want to talk. There isn't anything we can do about that. What we can do," Elizabeth paused. A smile curved its way across her face. Though… Evan couldn't help but think her eyes still looked rather dull. 

"We can play outside if you're up for it!” Liz continued. “One of my friends taught me how to make a fairy house from twigs; we can do that and try to catch a fairy. Or we can have a simple tea party if you'd rather, or we can pick up leaves from the ground and make a wreath for Father! And we can make some for us and Mikey, too!" 

"I don't know how to make a wreath,” Evan murmured. 

Elizabeth waved the concern off as easily as picking off a stray hair. "I imagine you can make one the same way you make flower crowns.”

“...I don’t know how to do that, either.”

Giggling, Elizabeth grabbed Evan’s hands and pulled him up off the couch. “Don't worry; I can teach you!" 

Evan made his way carefully up the steps, his dragon plushie and a circlet of bright red, orange, and yellow leaves bursting in a crown of tangled petioles clutched in one hand.

Elizabeth had shown him how to intertwine the leaf stems together into a circlet, and she hadn't even snapped at him or gotten bored and left when he struggled. 

It had been… surprisingly nice. He had forgotten how much fun he and Liz had together. 

Liz had suggested making a matching leaf crown for Snowball, and Evan had wanted to, but… 

He couldn't stop thinking about Michael. 

Elizabeth had warned him as he left that it was probably best to leave Mikey alone. 

Evan knew that. He had learned the hard way a million times over that you shouldn't bother Mikey when he's mad. Michael was probably going to yell at him, or worse.

And yet, Evan trudged down the hallway toward his older brother's room anyway. 

He stood outside his brother's door for several minutes longer than he needed to, working up the courage to knock until his knuckles tapped against the white wooden door seemingly on their own. 

“What?” 

The door flew open so suddenly that Evan couldn’t help but jump back. His hands tightened on Snowball’s form as he peered up at Michael from above the stuffed dragon’s head, waiting for the yelling to start or the door to slam, but… nothing happened. 

Well, not quite. 

Leaning between the door frame and the still barely open door, Michael… sniffled. 

The teen’s hand furiously rubbed the space under his nose in response. “Evan? A-Are you okay? We didn’t forget your meds again, did we?” 

Evan tried speaking, but his chest was still pounding from how suddenly the door had swung open. Michael didn’t look angry, but… 

Any sound Evan could have tried making died in Evan’s throat. The nine-year-old shook his head slowly. 

“O-kayyy… then what’s up?” 

Evan’s gaze flitted away from Michael, into the bedroom behind him.

Movements slowed by hesitant confusion, Mike pulled the door open and moved out of the doorway. “...You can come in if you want?”

Michael pulled away from the door, and after a moment of doubt, the same force that had dragged Evan upstairs dragged him through the doorway, too. 

Once inside, Evan glanced around the room nervously. It looked… awful. Posters clung to the wall in ripped tatters. Some had been ripped down entirely, and Evan noticed that a few of Michael’s shelves that normally held his figurines and trophies had fallen. Or, more accurately, been torn down and thrown across the room so that the contents were strewn haphazardly across the floor with all of Michael’s dirty clothes and candy wrappers. 

“Sorry.” Michael kicked at the mess obscuring the floor with his foot in an attempt to clear a space wide enough for Evan to maneuver around with his crutch. “It’s kind of a mess.” 

Evan’s mouth fluttered soundlessly for several long moments. “I-It’s okay.” 

The words had tumbled from his tongue so quietly, Evan hadn’t thought Michael would be able to hear him. Somehow, Mikey did, though, if the slightly wide-eyed look Mike shot him was anything to go by. 

Evan had just enough time to notice how red Michael’s eyes were before the teen turned away, kicked a bit more debris away on the floor, then collapsed onto his bed and pulled his knees up to his chest. He thought Michael would say something else, but he didn’t. His older brother just stared up at him from the bed, looking really, really… tired. 

Shuffling his weight between his feet, Evan could do nothing but stand there for several moments. His gaze flitted everywhere but the bed as Michael sniffled quietly and Evan tried to swallow the lump in his throat enough to speak. 

“Liz told me,” Evan croaked eventually. “A-About the people at the door. Ryan and Garret are missing?” 

Michael paused. “That’s what the police are saying,” the teen whispered. 

‘That’s what everyone says.’ 

Everyone always said that word, missing, with such finality. Like that was the end of the story and there wasn’t anything anyone could do; like you should just move on and forget. 

Evan looked away, his eye burning inside its socket. 

He took one uncertain step forward. Then another. Then another. 

When he finally reached the bed, Evan still couldn’t force himself to look directly at Michael. But he lifted the arm holding Snowball and held the stuffed animal out to his brother. 

Michael stared between Evan and the stuffed toy, dumbfounded. The teen’s jaw physically dropped, and at any other time, Evan would have had to muffle his giggles at the comic sight. Now, all Evan did was hold the stuffed animal closer to Michael. 

Finally, Michael slowly lifted the stuffed animal out of Evan’s hand. 

‘He helps,’ Evan wanted to say. ‘He makes things a bit less lonely.’ 

“Please don’t hurt him,” Evan whimpered instead as Michael’s fingers tightened around the stuffed animal and memories of a headless Foxy plush and Michael’s seething threats against Fredbear flashed in Evan’s mind. “Please, please don’t hurt him.” 

“I won’t. I– I won’t, Ev, I–” Michael’s voice shattered against the air. Pressing the small white dragon against his chest with one hand, Michael’s other hand raised to cover his mouth as he sucked in a shaky inhale. The shaky inhale became a shaky exhale, though, and the next one became a broken sob as Michael curled around the plushie. “I w-won’t hurt him, I swear, I won’t.” 

Evan shuffled backward, knowing that if Snowball was within arms reach, then he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from grabbing the stuffed dragon back. 

Snowball was a gift from Gregory, and Evan didn’t want to lose it. Not to Michael, especially. 

An ugly, wet, snotty sound escaped Michael as the teen pressed his hand harder against his mouth as though to keep the sobs trapped inside him. 

Evan blinked down at Michael. His palm where it was pressed against the stiff foam handle of his crutch felt sweaty and gross as the nine-year-old struggled to think of what he was meant to do. 

Should he tell Michael that his missing friends would come back?

(Evan knew from experience that they wouldn't.)

Should he say that it was out of Michael’s hands and he shouldn't worry so much?

(Evan hated when people would tell him that about Charlie.)

Should he say he was sorry that they were gone?

(Deep down, Evan wasn't so sure he was. He couldn't count the number of times he had wished Michael and his friends would disappear forever, and Evan knew that he should be more than happy to never see them again.)

The answer was probably yes. Evan had wanted people to say they were sorry Charlie was gone and assure him that she was all right back when she had disappeared. Instead, all he had gotten were rumors about dead bodies stuffed into suits thrown his way from smirking and laughing mouths. 

"You shouldn't ignore Liz when she tries talking about it," was all Evan could manage to whisper. 

Michael was doing a better job now of being quiet, but he couldn’t stop his chest from heaving with each shaky half-sob as he looked up at Evan.

(Trying to stop his shoulders and chest from shaking had always been one of the hardest parts of hiding his crying for Evan, too.)

“Wh-what?” 

“You shouldn’t get mad at Liz,” Evan muttered. “She– she knows what it’s like. She just wanted to h-help. T-talking helps, s-sometimes.” 

“I– I didn’t–” Michael started, then stopped. “I’ll… say sorry to her, I promise.” 

Evan nodded silently as Michael rubbed the space under his red-rimmed eyes and tried to play it off by running his hand through his hair. 

Michael pulled Evan’s dragon plushie away from his chest enough to look the stuffed animal in its eyes. “Thank you, um…” The teen looked up at Evan. “What’s its name?” 

“Snowball.” 

One of Michael’s brows lifted at that, but the teen didn’t say anything about the name. He just looked back down at the plushie. “Thank you, Snowball.” Then his blue gaze floated back up to Evan as he held the plushie out to his younger brother. “And, um. Th-thank you, Evan, for… letting me… um. You know.” 

Evan snatched the plushie back from Michael before the teen could change his mind and take it back– or, worse, decide to never give it back or rip the plushie to shreds or…

Relief flickered through Evan’s synapses the second Snowball was free of Michael’s hold. Once he had his plushie back, Evan backed a step away from Michael. Then another, and another, and he didn’t stop until he was out the door and down the hallway. 

Chapter Text

With her lips pursed pompously on her face, Liz looked over the tools laid out across the bed one last time. 

Paint brushes. Check. 

Black face paint, in both paint and crayon form. Check. 

Wet rags for face paint removal. Check. 

One of Michael’s old Scooby Doo lunch boxes with the show's namesake character displayed on the metal frame for a reference picture. Check.

Her gaze roved over the items one last time to ensure she had everything. Then one more time. Then another last time. Then another. 

Evan didn't say a word as he sat on the bed beside her. His eye stayed glued to the ground, not even looking at her as he fiddled with loose strings at the hem of his dark blue shirt. 

"Okay, Scooby!" Liz chirped when she could bear the silence no longer. "You ready to get started?"

Evan's head moved slowly up and down, but his eyes stayed trained on the ground. 

Elizabeth huffed at him. "I can't paint your face if you're looking down at the ground." 

The nine-year-old’s head moved up, slowly, as though on autopilot, and this time stayed up. But he hadn't lifted his head enough; his gaze remained locked on the ground, and his head was still tilted too much down and away.

“Ev! Come on, you have to look up more, dummy!”

Evan’s head moved marginally, but it still wasn’t enough to cast the shadows from his cheeks or give Liz a better angle to work with. Rolling her eyes, Liz decided she would just have to take matters into her own hands. 

A surprised gasp ripped from Evan’s lips as Elizabeth put a hand under Evan’s chin and angled his face toward her.

Liz froze at the sharp exhale. She hadn’t been that rough, had she? Or had her frustration gotten the best of her?

“Did that hurt?”

Evan just looked at her a second before shaking his head ‘no.’ 

Relief eased the tightness in Liz’s chest for a few blissful seconds, but it faded as she realized Evan still wasn’t quite meeting her gaze. She wanted to believe him, but… she had the sense that Evan wouldn’t have told her even if she had hurt him. 

“I’m… sorry if it did,” Liz whispered. 

“It’s okay.” 

Elizabeth’s lips parted as she gawked at him. “No, it’s not. If I hurt you, you should be mad. That’s how it works.” 

Evan’s head shook. “I’m n-not mad.” 

Sighing, Liz stared down at the black face paint crayon cradled between her fingers. “If you’re not mad, then why won’t you look at me? We’re supposed to be having fun, but…”

You look like you don’t want to be anywhere near me.

“I told you I was sorry,” Liz said. “For– for threatening to tell Daddy about you and Gregory. I’ll never do that to you. Okay? I-I won’t.” 

“It’s okay,” Evan repeated. 

Liz looked at him with stinging eyes. “You k-keep saying that it’s okay, but you don’t forgive me. I can tell.” Her head tilted in an attempt to meet Evan’s eye. “You’re scared of me.” Evan ducked his head, but Liz didn’t need to be looking at his face to see the truth. “...Did you only agree to let me do your face paint because you were too scared to say no?” 

“...Liz…” 

Elizabeth’s vision blurred as Evan’s whimper pierced her chest. 

Evan’s arms snaked around his torso, holding onto himself as though his breast was made of a bunch of tiny vases and he was desperate to keep them from falling and shattering. He was too scared to say the truth, and too scared to lie. All he could do was freeze in place, like a mouse realizing that there was one cat in front of it, another one behind, and nowhere left to run. 

The face paint crayon snapped in half with a muffled crack under Liz’s fingers. Rage burned inside her chest, tainting her tears. She and Evan and Michael loved this holiday. They always helped each other make their costumes and always went trick-or-treating together, and yet Evan didn’t want to be around her! He had gone out to the store to goof around with the Halloween supplies and decorations with Gregory and not them, and had bought a costume with Gregory and not with her. Why?! What was so bad that he couldn’t stand to be around her? He was her brother, after all!

Somehow, though, the anger dissipated as quickly as it had settled in. Maybe because she already knew exactly what was so bad about her that Evan couldn’t stand to be near her. 

“I keep doing this, don’t I?” Elizabeth sniffled. “I keep saying I’m sorry, but… I just turn around and do something else that hurts you. No wonder you don’t forgive me.” 

Liz hadn’t expected Evan to say anything back. He did, though, in a voice so small and quiet that Liz had to take several moments afterward to try piecing the fragile sounds that passed his lips into intelligible words. “A-are you mad?” Evan had whimpered. 

“I’m not!” Elizabeth shook her head emphatically, desperate to get the point across to her little brother. A part of her wanted to be, but… no. She wasn’t mad. 

“...You say that you’re not mad, but you– y-you and Michael, you–” Evan’s arms tightened around himself as his shoulders shook and his voice wobbled with every word. “I d-d-don’t know why you h-hurt me out of n-nowhere. Did– did I– do s-something?” 

The question made Elizabeth’s head spin. She had gotten so mad at Evan that she had threatened to tell Daddy about Ev sneaking off to Gregory’s, but when she really thought about it… had Evan done anything to deserve that anger? As Liz stared at her brother, the answer became clearer and clearer, and with the answer came an awful sour taste in the eleven-year-old’s mouth. “No,” she admitted. “You didn’t.”

 Evan didn’t look very comforted by that. Somehow, he looked even more scared. “Then why did you g-get so– so mad when I said I– when I said I was tr-trick-or-treating with Gregory?” 

Liz’s mouth went so dry that the back of her throat started aching. Looking away from her little brother, Liz dropped the broken crayon pieces on her bed and watched as they rolled and disappeared into the folds of her pink blankets. “...Because I wanted to go trick-or-treating with you and Mike,” she finally said once she had worked up the courage. 

When she finally looked up from her blankets, Evan was actually looking at her. His one good eye was wide, and both of his eyebrows were raised high in surprise.  “But… M-Mike says he’s too old for– for trick-or-treating.”

Elizabeth snickered. “That’s just because he’s stupid and embarrassed about how excited he is for it.” 

“Well… I thought… I mean,” Evan stammered. “I thought y-you were going tr-trick-or-treating with your friends again this year.” 

“I changed my mind,” Liz shrugged. “And I told them I didn’t want to.” 

“What? Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking that I don’t want to be around them anymore,” Liz said.

Evan stared up at her in shock. He didn’t say anything, but the death grip with which he was hugging himself loosened as he squinted up at her in confusion.

Elizabeth sighed. “I don’t… I don’t like how they snap at me and push me around any time I say the wrong thing. Nothing I say ever seems to matter to them, unless it’s… unless it’s something they can use to hurt someone else to get a laugh. They always make me feel awful, always, either because they’re pushing me around, or… or because they get me to do something I didn’t even want to do just so they’ll act like we’re friends again.”

“I thought…” Evan’s voice left his lips in a hushed whisper. “I thought they w-were your friends?”

“Well… I’ve been thinking that maybe they aren’t really my friends after all.”

Sniffling, Elizabeth wiped under her eyes in the most dignified manner she could scrounge up. Somehow, admitting it out loud for the first time hurt almost worse than the initial realization had. But she didn’t want to be friends with people that encouraged her to hurt others, especially not when those ‘others’ included her little brother. 

“I don’t… I don’t think I like the person I become around them,” Liz admitted quietly. “So, I told them I don’t want to go trick-or-treating with them. I.. I wanted the three of us to go instead, like we always used to. Things have been just awful, and– and I wanted one night where the three of us could just be happy, for us to make up and have fun, like– like normal siblings. But then you said you wanted to go with Gregory, and… it felt like you were ruining all of that and leaving us behind.”

“I didn’t know you wanted us to go together,” Evan said in a small voice. “You haven’t wanted that since…” 

“Since I became friends with those girls at school.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I know. But… they’re not important to me anymore. Definitely not more important than you, a-and Mike, too. So… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you like that. And, just so you know… you don’t have to let me paint your face if you don’t want to. It’s okay if you’d rather it was done at Gregory’s.” 

Evan looked away. He wasn’t hugging himself anymore, but his fingers thumbed anxiously across the hem of his shirt. 

Elizabeth’s eyes stung again, but she ignored it as she started gathering her face paint supplies. 

Until Evan’s quiet voice stopped her. “I want you to do it.”

Elizabeth’s hand froze in mid-air as she reached for her paintbrushes. Her gaze locked onto the uncertain look on Evan’s face. “...You do?” 

The younger Afton chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds before nodding. “You and Mikey always help me with my costume on Halloween. Even… even if I go trick-or-treating with Gregory this year, I don’t– I don’t want to lose that, i-if you’re still okay with doing my face paint.”

“Of course I am!” Elizabeth squealed. “Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou–! We can even get you a better Scooby Doo collar to go on your onesie, and we can get Mikey to help us make you a box of homemade Scooby Snacks to carry around! This is going to be the best Halloween ever!”

Evan stared at Liz for a few seconds. Then, his lips curled upward in the faintest smile. 

Chapter Text

"Okay, listen." The dying sun shone on Elizabeth’s strawberry blond hair, spinning it into a coppery gold as she turned to Gregory with her hands on her hips. "We tried things your way, and I am sick of only getting bite-sized sweets." 

A frown put cracks in Gregory’s skull-like face paint as he looked at Elizabeth. "What's the big deal, princess?" 

Elizabeth's pink glossy lips formed a small, offended "o" as Gregory stuck his tongue out at her princess costume. 

"It's all just candy," Gregory continued. "And at least this way, we're not walking as much."

"The big deal?!" Liz squawked. "The big deal is that we have one night to get the best sweets, and that's it! We can't waste it on loser candy, dummy!" 

"Evan." Gregory’s eyes were ringed with black and yellow face paint as though his eye sockets were empty with two glowing lights peeking through; he turned these eyes quizzically at his friend. "You agree with me, don't you?" 

"What?" Liz interjected, her tiara wobbling as she shook her head at Gregory. "No! He agrees with me! You want the best sweets, right, Evan?"

"Um…" Evan blinked owlishly between the princess and the space alien.

He was more than a little bit relieved when Vanessa chose that moment to cut into the disagreement. 

"Okay, kids. We're here to have fun, and personally, it's far from fun having to listen to the two of you bicker like an old married couple." 

Gregory and Elizabeth shared a look of horror. 

"Woah woah woah, we are not–"

"Ew! Don't say that!" 

"Quiet!" 

Neither of them looked very happy about it, but both Gregory and Liz stopped their protesting at Vanessa's interjection.

Vanessa fought to keep a smile off her face as she looked between the younger kids. "Now, listen up. We'll finish off the rest of this street visiting every house like Gregory and I normally do. Then we'll give your way a try, Elizabeth." 

Liz's puffy purple dress swirled around her as she took a step forward. "But one of the good houses is right over–"

"Elizabeth," Vanessa said warningly, and the eleven-year-old instantly went quiet. "Like I said, we’ll do things your way, too. But it's definitely not going to be a fun night with you two bickering, is it?" 

"...No."

"Uh-huh," Vanessa said. "Now, get out of my sight, rascals. There's only a few houses left on this street, so you better make the most of it." 

With all the drama seemingly forgotten, a brilliant smile crept up on Elizabeth’s face and she took off running toward the next house, and Gregory quickly followed suit. 

'Thank you,' Evan mouthed the words at Vanessa. 

Finally letting the smile creep onto her face, Vanessa winked at Evan before gesturing for him to follow Gregory and Liz. 

The smile didn't stay for very long, though.

"Wow." A voice behind her whistled. 

Vanessa's eyelids fluttered closed and stayed down for a few moments too long. Then, slowly, annoyedly, she turned around to face Michael Afton.

"How did you do that?” He asked. “You didn't even have to yell, and they just…"

"Listened?" Vanessa took a step forward and grabbed onto the wagon she had brought, both for unloading candy if the kids needed to empty their buckets, and for if the three of them– Evan especially– needed a break from walking. Clutching the handle dangerously tight between her fingers, Vanessa dragged the wagon closer to the house the kids had run off to. "Well, most of the time, it really doesn't take a lot to earn people's respect." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Annoyance crept into Michael’s voice as he picked up on Vanessa's unsaid jab. He jogged forward, trying to meet Vanessa's eye, but the older teen only glared in distaste as she caught sight of his blue and white striped shirt, the pirate hat on top of his head, the eyepatch slung across his face…

"Nothing," she said between gritted teeth. "It doesn't mean anything at all." 

"Right." Michael shot her an odd look as Vanessa came to a stop. "Well. Um. I like your zombie costume. Did you, uh, do it yourself?" 

Vanessa's only response to that was a grunt. She didn't even look at the fourteen-year-old. 

"Oh, come on, Vanny. I'm trying to talk here. What's the matter with you?"

"Don't call me that." Vannessa’s eyes turned on him, their green gaze a cold gray in the half-light and as bitterly sharp as ice crystals. “I am not talking to you.” 

“Yeah." Michael crossed his arms over his chest. "I kinda got that from the way you’ve been glaring at me all night.” 

“And yet you don’t have the common sense to keep your goddamn mouth shut.” 

Scoffing, Michael’s fingers tightened into fists. “What is your problem?”

“My problem ,” Vanessa snarled. “Is that you make me fucking sick. I can’t believe you. After all the bullshit you put him through, and after Evan was kind enough to invite you and Liz both here when he's so clearly better off without the two of you, you still just can’t help but go out of your way to make fun of him, can you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Michael hadn't thought it possible, but Vanessa's glare somehow sharpened tenfold. He could practically feel those eyes cutting into him. “Don’t play dumb with me, Michael Afton. You and I both know exactly what you were doing when you chose that pirate costume. What, would your daddy not let you get away with a Foxy the Pirate mask, too?”

Michael’s jaw dropped. “No, no– that– that’s not what I–?”

Vanessa didn't let him come up with any excuses. Trying to bottle up her ill feelings about Elizabeth after everything she had heard about Evan’s older sister, as well as trying to hold her tongue around Michael to keep from ruining Gregory and Evan’s Halloween, was hard enough. Now that everything was spewing out of her, she couldn't– wouldn't– stop.

 “And I can’t believe you would even think about prancing around with a goddamn eyepatch on after what you did to Evan. This really is some kind of sick joke to you, isn't it?" 

Vanessa stalked another step closer to Michael and jabbed her finger into his chest hard enough to hurt. She hoped it bruised the bastard, and that he'd remember this moment every time his chest hurt. "The only thing keeping me from smearing your pathetic face in the ground is that Evan doesn’t seem to realize that you’re fucking with him, and I don’t intend to be the one taking that away from him when for some goddamn reason he actually trusts you.” 

Michael flinched, but somehow, it wasn't Vanessa's finger jabbing into his chest or the spine-tingling cold glare she was sending him as she invaded his personal space that cut into Michael the most. 

Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, Michael’s hand raised and ghosted over the eyepatch covering one of his blue eyes. "That isn’t why I chose this costume," the fourteen-year-old whispered.

"Oh, yeah right," Vanessa hissed.

"No!" Michael croaked. "No, I mean it!" 

Fingers closing around the black material covering his eye, Michael tugged on the eyepatch, and it came away in his hands. He stared down at the black fabric with a faraway look in his eyes. “I just… I wanted Evan to have one night where he wasn’t the only one wearing a…” 

Faltering, Vanessa stumbled backward half a step. The little demon was lying through his teeth; he had to be. But seeing that look in his eye… He looked haunted. Vanessa almost could have believed him. 

Vanessa narrowed her eyes at the younger teen, struggling to get a read on him. 

Before Vanessa could work out her next course of action, she was interrupted by three pairs of little footsteps. 

“I guess the wagon was a good idea after all,” Elizabeth was saying. “This way, we can dump our candy in it and hold even more sweets.” 

“See?” Gregory started. “What did I tell you–”

“Even if it’s mostly loser candy,” Liz interrupted with a headshake at Gregory. 

“Seriously?! You’re still going on about that?”

Gregory moved as though to say something else, but was stopped by Evan grabbing onto the hem of his blue shirt. 

“Don’t,” Evan said quietly. “Lizzie takes Halloween very, very seriously.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” Gregory submitted, though he couldn’t quite stop himself from sticking his tongue out at Elizabeth, prompting an offended gasp from her and a quiet laugh from Evan. 

Evan’s gaze slid away from the two of them as Liz stuck her tongue back at Gregory, and instead, Evan caught sight of his brother. 

“Mikey?” 

Evan’s voice jerked the eldest Afton back into awareness. 

“You took off your eyepatch?” Evan asked in a small voice. “I thought you… liked it?”

Michael’s mouth went painfully dry as Evan’s shoulders started hunching up self-consciously when the nine-year-old caught sight of the eyepatch fisted at Michael’s side. 

Floundering, Mike’s lips fluttered up and down, but he couldn’t seem to think of what to say. 

Vanessa stared between Michael and Evan for a few tense seconds. Then, Vanessa cleared her throat. “Actually,” she said, moving away from Michael with a shrug. “I think Mikey here likes the eyepatch a little too much. I even dared him seven bucks that he couldn’t go ten minutes without it.”

Mike shot her a grateful look before quickly slipping the patch back on. “Yeah, well. I don’t care about a silly dare from a girl.”

After huffing at the other teen, Vanessa rolled her eyes and looked at the younger kids with a smirk. “He didn’t even last four minutes without his beloved eyepatch.” 

“It’s not my fault that I look amazing in it,” Mike quipped back, jutting his chin out at Vanessa. “Eyepatches are wicked cool.” 

“Never said that they weren’t.” Turning back to the kids, Vanessa was relieved to find that the hurt, self-conscious look had left Evan’s eye. “C’mon, guys; we’ve got a lot of houses to raid before the night is over.” 

Vanessa and Mike watched from afar as Gregory chased a kid who had stopped in the middle of trick-or-treating to point at the ten-year-old and scream 'it's the Space Kook! Run!' 

Gregory and the new kid were running circles around Liz and Evan, who seemed to be cheering on the chase. Everyone involved was laughing their heads off, though Gregory’s chaotic laughter was in imitation of the character he was dressed as, Evan’s laughter was occasionally interrupted with a 'ruh-roh,' and Liz's laughter was interspersed with her cheering Gregory on in his playful chase.

"They look ridiculous," Michael snickered. 

"They really do," Vanessa said. "But at least they're happy." 

A few minutes passed where neither teen said anything, both electing to watch their respective little siblings in silence; their own laughter notwithstanding. 

Then, after Mike had worked up enough courage, Michael took a deep breath in. "Hey, look. I wanted to, um. Thank you, I guess. For helping me with Evan back there."

Vanessa nodded sagely. Then she met Michael’s eye. "Fuck you."

Michael blinked at her. He wasn't sure if he was more taken aback by the absurd response, or that Vanessa's voice had lacked any venom while saying it. "You know, you swear a lot for a girl."

Vanessa scoffed. "I did what I did for Evan, not for you."

"Okay. Then, thanks for helping Evan back there."

Vanessa finally dragged her gaze away from the group of kids and looked at Michael. Mike shifted under her gaze, clearly uncomfortable, but all Vanessa said was: "Huh." 

Michael frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," Vanessa said. "Come on. No point in us being here and not trick-or-treating, too.” 

“Watching over the little ones is one thing, but… aren’t we kinda old for that?” 

“You’re only 14, dumbass," Vanessa said. "Besides, we’re never too old for trick-or-treating.”

Still, Michael hesitated. “... I don’t even have a bag.”

“Lucky for you, I brought extras.” Reaching into the wagon, Vanessa pulled out two plastic pumpkins: one pink and one blue. Holding onto the blue one, she shoved the pink one into Michael’s hands.

Michael flushed as he realized what the older teen had done. “Why do I get the pink one?” 

“Because it matches your skin tone perfectly, you pig." Vanessa smiled sweetly. "And you still owe me that seven dollars, by the way.” 

Chapter Text

"Why do we have to be here?" Evan sniffled. "D-daddy said we could go to the park." 

"We'd have to ask Mikey to take us if we wanted to go to the park," Liz pointed out. "Besides–" Liz paused to usher Evan forward as the line inched further and further– "I wanted us here for a reason." 

Hugging his arms around himself, Evan looked up at his big sister. "Why? I-I don't like it here." 

Liz frowned down at him. Her lips parted, but the answer died on her lips as the last person in line moved away. 

Her frown disappeared, and Elizabeth stepped up to the counter with a smile. "Hi! I'm Elizabeth, and this is my baby brother Evan!" 

Evan ducked his head, embarrassed, but the teen behind the food counter didn't so much as look at him. 

"Okaaaay?" The teen’s brown eyes hovered on Elizabeth for a moment. Shadows danced across the teen's purple and yellow Fredbear Entertainment shirt as he rocked back and forth on his heels. "...Were you going to order something?" 

Liz's strawberry blond hair bounced across her shoulders as she nodded. "We'll have two slices of pepperoni pizza!" 

Quiet beeps drifted from the register as the teen rang it up, but he stopped at the last second and looked at the two kids again. "...You do have money to pay for that, right?" 

Elizabeth gasped. "Did you not hear me? We're Elizabeth and Evan Afton! Our daddy owns this place; we get free pizza all the time!" 

The teen kept staring at them, making Evan fidget under his gaze.

Then the teen sighed. "If you say so," he grumbled. 

Turning away from them, the teen grabbed two paper plates and used a funny, triangle-shaped spatula to grab two pizza slices from the warmer next to the register. The pizza slices seemed to steam into the air as the teen placed the two plates on the counter before them.

(Liz couldn't help but notice that Evan flinched when the teen's eyes accidentally met her brother's. Weird. Evan had always been rather shy, but he had never flinched from people until recently. She tried not to think too much about it.)

Elizabeth grabbed her plate and immediately turned back to the tables. Evan tried whispering a shy 'thank you' to the worker as he grabbed his pizza, but the teen only rolled his eyes. Gulping, Evan tried to balance his plate in one hand and grabbed onto the folds of his sister’s skirt with the other. He didn't want to be left behind, and he definitely didn't want Liz to skip off and leave him lost and alone. Liz did that, sometimes, like she had forgotten he was there at all. 

Finally, Liz found an empty table, and the two settled down beside each other. Liz shot Evan an odd look as the seven-year-old scooted his seat close to hers, but said nothing; instead, she just reached for her pizza. The crust was stiff beneath her fingertips as she lifted it from–

"Wh-why can't we get Mikey?"

The pizza fell back onto the plate, and Liz met Evan’s pleading green eyes.

"Because Mikey’s busy with his friends playing that new game Daddy and Mr. Henry got for the arcades." 

The corner of Elizabeth’s mouth twitched as she said Henry Emily’s name. She hadn’t seen much of their uncle Henry lately. He was… different now. Liz didn’t like it. 

Well, in any case, her daddy had done more in getting the game than Mr. Henry had. Even if Father had been murmuring about something called “expenses” lately. The “expenses” must have been worth it, though. Thanks to her big brother being such a game hog, she hadn’t had the chance to play Daddy’s new game yet, but the game looked really fun and everyone wanted to play. 

Liz had noticed that the food didn’t taste quite as good ever since Father got the game, though…

“I suppose you could try asking Michael to take us,” Liz said. “But you know he’d just put on his mask and make you cry.” 

“Y-You could ask?” 

Elizabeth shook her head, and Evan’s shoulders immediately started hunching up around his ears as he shot her another desperate look that made her heart ache. 

“You shouldn’t be scared, you know.” Liz bumped her shoulder against her little brother’s, but it didn’t seem to stop him from trying to make himself as small as possible. Liz couldn’t understand why he would do that; he was so small already!

“Daddy made this place,” Liz continued. “Just like he made that television show you like so much. You should be proud, not scared.”

Guilt creased Evan’s brows, and the younger child looked away. “I can’t help it…”

Liz shook her head at him. “Why not?”

Evan sniffled. “Th-this is the last place an-nyone saw Charlie.” 

Elizabeth winced at the name before turning from Evan. She picked up her slice of pizza so she could shove it in her mouth and not have to say anything back, both because she was hungry and didn't quite want to talk about this. But despite how hardened the crust along the top was, the pizza slice went limp the second she lifted it, and a glob of cheese and sauce and pepperoni slid onto her plate.

“Something– s-something bad happened!” Evan insisted. “Why e-else would my bad dre-eams be getting more badder?” 

“Your nightmares are only getting worse because you won’t stop asking people if they’ve seen Charlie.” 

With a wince at the uncomfortable texture, Liz scooped the greasy cheese and toppings back onto her pizza crust and took a bite. Then she winced for a different reason entirely. The food really didn’t taste very good lately…

Tears finally started leaking down Evan’s splotchy red cheeks as he hugged his arms around himself. “They k-keep saying that Fredb-bear and the oth-others ate h-her…” A choked sound passed Evan’s lips. “I d-don’t know why– why th-they’d l-laugh at that.” 

“Because they’re jerks.” Elizabeth had heard all the rumors, too. Things like Charlie’s dead body being stuffed inside the animatronic suits, and the even worse ones about Charlie being stuffed inside them while still alive only to be crushed by all their machinery. Somehow, though, none of that was worse than what had really happened to their best friend. 

Elizabeth shook her head as though the simple action would chase away the raw memories of missing posters and empty seats at school.

It didn’t. 

The aching wound in her chest was still there. Sometimes, if she let the wound be provoked, that ache would hurt so badly that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do her schoolwork, or listen to her teachers. Sometimes she would feel so weak from it that she wouldn’t even want to try getting out of bed.

“You wouldn’t be like this if you would just let Charlie go .” 

“I’m sorry…” Evan’s arms tightened around himself as he ducked his head. 

“Evy…” The nickname passed her lips in a sigh as she stared sadly down at her brother. 

Evan didn’t say anything back, and neither did Liz. She just kept nibbling at her pizza until she couldn’t stomach the thought of taking another bite. 

Finally, she dropped the half-finished pizza back onto her greasy paper plate with a plop. “Are you not going to eat your pizza?”

Evan shook his head.

“Not hungry?”

Another head shake. 

“Okay, then I’ve got something for us to do.” Gathering up their plates, Liz stood and made her way to the nearest rubbish bin. Evan kept his tiny fingers fisted in the fold of her skirt the whole way, as though terrified she would run off without him. 

“A-are we going to the park?” Evan whispered. “Or h-home?”

“Not exactly.” Liz smiled down at him. He looked nervously up at her with his wide green eyes, but Liz thought she saw his tears slow at her smile. 

“Th-the liberry?”

“Nope!” Elizabeth grabbed Evan’s hand away from her skirt and held it in her own. “Just follow me, and try to look like you belong. No one ever stops you if you look like you belong, ‘kay?”

Evan’s wide eyes narrowed in confusion, but Liz didn’t give him the chance to ask. Liz dashed through the pizzeria, tugging Evan along by their interlocked hands. They made their way around screaming kids and parents alike, and the colourful carpet blurred under feet as Liz urged Evan on. 

When they stumbled to a stop outside of a door marked “STAFF ONLY,” Elizabeth only paused long enough to make sure no one was watching before ripping the door open, shoving Evan inside, and following him into the darkness. The door shut behind them with a soft click, and the loud screaming and music blaring from speakers were muffled almost to silence inside the room. 

“Lizzie?!” Evan’s panicked, high-pitched squeak grated against Liz’s ears as the seven-year-old’s fingers searched for her in the darkness. 

Right. Evan didn’t like the dark.

“It’s okay, Evy. Trust me.” 

“L-Lizzie…!”

Stepping forward, Elizabeth’s fingers groped through the air in search of the hanging string that would turn on the overhead light. 

‘C’mon, it’s gotta be here somewhere….’

The beaded chain clinked lightly as Liz’s fingers knocked into it, and Elizabeth tugged on the string with a triumphant smile. 

Light flickered into existence around them, illuminating the shelves, tables, and boxes packed with spare parts in the storage room. 

Evan’s fingers fell away from her skirt as Liz skipped toward a table with a Spring Bonnie mask on it. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Evan gasped as she rested her hand on its forehead. 

“I told you, you don’t have to be afraid of them. The mascots aren’t real animals; they don’t eat anyone, and they won’t eat you, silly. They’re just robots in suits.” To prove her point, Liz’s fingers wrapped around the Spring Bonnie mask’s ears. The mask was heavier than she thought it would be, and it came up slowly and revealed the endo head underneath one piece at a time. 

“And when the mascots walk around off the stage,” Liz continued as she lifted the Spring Bonnie mask up over her head, readying to put it on. “It’s not robots; it’s because there are real people wearing the suits.” 

“DON’T!”  

Elizabeth froze with the mask still held over her head. 

“Don’t go near it!” Evan screeched. 

Evan looked pale. Really pale, so that his eyes seemed to leap out of his face like a madman’s. His wild eyes flitted between Liz, the eyeless mask above her head, and the endo head on the table. The endo’s stalky teeth seemed to growl at him in the feeble light, and Evan watched in horror as something dark and thick dripped down the inside of its mouth and stained its teeth. All the while, its wide, big, beady eyes glared at him hungrily. 

Evan took a step back, but no matter where he looked, he was met with another animatronic mask or endo staring at him, a skeletal arm reaching for him, entire suits hidden in the darkness just waiting to leap to their feet and–

Tripping over his own feet, Evan tumbled to the ground and landed hard on his elbow. Evan screamed. His arms wrapped protectively over his own head, Evan curled into as small of a ball as he could on the ground. 

“Ev!” 

The Spring Bonnie mask fell to the ground with a horrible crash when Liz threw it and raced to her brother’s side. 

Evan was trembling, and Liz realized to her horror that Evan was panting so hard, it didn’t seem like he could even breathe. Each breath ripped in and out with a horrible wheeze as the seven-year-old cried into the ground. 

Elizabeth gaped down at him. She didn’t understand; this was supposed to have helped him! He had only been nervous around the animatronics before; usually, Evan only cried like this when he was trying to get away from the actual Fredbear’s building. This wasn’t better at all! 

Not knowing what else to do, Liz grabbed hold of Evan’s elbows and dragged him closer to the door as best as she could with him kicking out at her in terror. Light and music leaked through the crack in the door as Liz swung it open. Finally, Evan snapped out of it, and the seven-year-old jumped to his feet and ran out the door. 

The door slammed behind Elizabeth with a mighty bang when she ran out, too. Faces turned her way, but she barely noticed as she scanned the area for Evan’s messy brown hair or the red dino shirt he had been wearing. 

She didn’t have to look very far. Ev was just a few feet away, tucked between a lonely arcade machine and a corner with his head between his knees. 

“Evan?” Liz asked carefully as she sat in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“No!” Evan rasped. He didn’t look up at her, and his voice came out all muffled. “Why w-would you do that?” 

“I thought it would help! I promise!” 

“It didn’t!” Evan cried. “Why would th-that h-help?”

“I just thought… I don’t know, I thought it would!” 

Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip for a second, guilt tugging at her core and twisting her stomach into knots. ‘You should probably apologize,’ a voice in her head whispered. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, though! …And she wasn’t going to apologize for trying to help; that was silly. 

“So…” Elizabeth started slowly. “I guess this means you don’t want to watch Fredbear and Friends’ next performance with me? It’s on in a few minutes…” 

Evan’s teary and snotty face shot up like a rocket as he glared at her. “NO!” 

Liz sighed as Evan’s forehead fell right back to his knees. 

For a while, the only sound between them was Evan’s uneven breathing and Liz’s gentle humming to the music playing from the speakers. She had been planning for the two of them to sit and watch the show and sing along with the animatronics once Evan had seen that he needn’t be afraid of the singing animals, but… not anymore. Apparently, showing Evan the animatronic endos hadn’t quite been the magical cure Elizabeth had thought it would be. 

Liz was right in the middle of working out how to ask Evan to play some of the arcade games with her instead when her stomach began to growl and churn painfully. 

Her soft shirt fluffed against her fingers as Elizabeth put her hand to her stomach with a wince. But the churning didn’t stop. Actually, she was starting to feel rather queasy…

“Um, E-Evan?” Liz murmured. “Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Evan’s head shot up again, but this time, his eyes weren’t narrowed in a glare but wide in panic. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m going to the Girl’s Room! I told you, I’ll be right back.” 

Elizabeth began to stand, but Evan stopped her by launching himself forward and grabbing onto her shirt with such intensity that the two almost fell over. “You can’t leave me all alone!” Evan rasped. “It’s not safe! For either of us!” 

“What are you talking about?” Liz demanded. “It’s the Girl’s Room; you can’t come with me!”

“Beth, please?” 

“Ev…”

Her brother's name passed Elizabeth’s lips in a whine. It hadn't bothered her while she had been scared that Evan would run away and get hurt on her watch, but now, she could feel everyone around stopping and turning to look at the two weird kids hiding behind the arcade machine. 

She wanted to stop feeling other people's gazes all over her, and more than that, she wanted to get to the bathroom now, before the tickle in the back of her throat got any worse. 

"Okay, okay, you can stand outside the Girl's Room waiting for me, but we have to go now."

Not waiting for an answer, Elizabeth grabbed Evan’s hand and tugged him up. 

Evan stumbled on his feet, but the two kids made it to the bathrooms in record time, and Liz disappeared inside.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

No matter how much air Evan sucked down, his chest wouldn't stop hurting. He didn't understand what was wrong with him, why his heart wouldn't stop racing, why he could hear a loud pounding in his ears, or why he saw that metal monster's beady eyes staring at him every time his eyelids fluttered closed.

Sticking as close to the girls' bathroom door as possible, Evan’s gaze flitted around the pizzeria in unsteady, panicked jerks. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, but the knowledge that he could suddenly disappear and no one would ever know what had happened to him kept his gaze jerking to and fro. Evan kept his back pressed against the wall, relieved that at least he had one direction he didn't have to be scared of. 

"ALRIGHT, BOYS AND GIRLS!" 

A voice cheered suddenly through the speakers, making the seven-year-old flinch.

"It's three o'clock, and you know what that means! Put your hands together for: Fredbear and Friendssssss!" 

A horrified intake of air passed Evan’s lips and sliced down the inside of his throat.

A flurry of movement flashed in the corner of Evan’s eyes, and he turned his head to see the big purple and silver curtains pull aside to reveal Fredbear and Spring Bonnie on the main stage. 

Evan swallowed hard. Where were the others? Wasn't the rest of the Fredbear and Friends crew supposed to be on the stage, too?

Evan found his answer far, far too soon. 

A bunch of giggles and screaming to Evan’s left had his head jerking in that direction. 

Chica and Bonnie– the new Bonnie, the purple one– were making their way toward the main stage, and a mass of kids crowded around the two of them as they crossed the pizzeria. 

Evan’s mouth went dry as he realized the lumbering forms were going to pass right by him. 

He– he wasn't scared. No one else was scared, and he wasn't, either. He wasn't scared. 

Chica looked directly at him with her large, beady eyes. 

Dark liquid dripped down from the top of the endo's mouth and stained the sharp teeth of its lower jaw. 

Endless, soulless eyes stared back at him from the Spring Bonnie mask about to devour his sister. 

"Good thing you asked, because I know exactly where Charlotte Emily is," a voice whispered. Evan had just enough time to hope before the older school kid leaned in uncomfortably close with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "She got stuffed inside one of the suits at Fredbear's. She couldn't move, or talk, or ask for help. She couldn't even breathe with the heavy suit crushing her chest, and the metal and circuits stabbing into her…”

His eyes still locked on Chica, Evan scrambled backward and shoved the girls' bathroom door open so fast he almost fell backward inside. Even when the door swung closed and blocked Chica from his view, Evan couldn't quite breathe.

The bathroom was filled with awful sounds, like when Michael had gotten the flu a few months ago and had gotten sick. Evan hadn't known what the flu was and had been convinced his big brother was dying. 

Ignoring the awful sounds, Evan curled up under one of the sinks and ducked his head between his knees so he wouldn't hurt himself on the countertop above. The spaces where the tiles met dug uncomfortably into his skin, and the tiled floor was oddly wet, but Evan barely noticed as he pressed the palms of his hands against his ears and rocked back and forth. 

Evan’s chest heaved as loud, ugly sobs ripped through him with enough intensity to leave his entire body in shaky trembles. Through it all, he rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

He didn't notice when the throwing-up sounds stopped until one of the sinks turned on with a loud splash of water against the porcelain. 

Evan couldn't get the crying to stop, though, not even when another little body pressed beside him under the sinks. 

"You weren't supposed to come inside," Liz said quietly. Then: "Are you okay?" 

"I wanna go home," Evan whimpered. "I wanna go home." 

"We can't." Warmth spread over Evan’s shoulder where Elizabeth lay her head against him. "Not unless Mikey or Father takes us. It'd be so much better for everyone if you weren't so scared of this place, Evy." 

Hands falling away from his head, one of his fists slammed against the ground as another sob wracked his frame. "That d-doesn't make me f-feel better!" 

"Oh, nooooo," Liz moaned. "Did I say the wrong thing again? I just meant that I wanted you to be happy, Evy. That's why I took you to the storage room– I wanted to show you that the animatronics can't eat people— you know, so you wouldn't be scared of them anymore, and Mikey wouldn't be able to bother you with his Foxy mask, and…I wasn't trying to hurt you." 

"Well, you did! And then you left me all alone out there, and–" Ev choked on his breath as he remembered Chica's purple eyes locking onto him, how her eyes made him go so wobbly at the knees that it was a miracle he hadn't collapsed right then. How weak and powerless those eyes made him feel.

"Evan…" Liz's quiet voice drifted into Evan’s ears through the muffled music and screams coming through the bathroom door. "...Why are you so scared of being alone?"

"Ch-Charlie was alone w-when she– when she– She didn't have anyo-one to h-help her–"

" Stop ," Liz said sharply. "I get it, Evan. You don't have to say it." Sighing quietly, Liz paused a moment before continuing in a softer voice. "And you're not alone, okay? You're not gonna be alone ever again, if that's what it takes to make things better."

Evan finally dared to look up. He was met with Liz's sad but sympathetic gaze as she reached out a hand as though to help him up.

The seven-year-old looked down at her hand for a moment before raising a trembling pinky finger. "Pr-promise?"

Elizabeth blinked down at him, but she didn't hesitate long before she put down the rest of the fingers on her hand and wrapped her pinky around Evan’s. "I promise you."

Chapter Text

The crutch dug uncomfortably into Evan’s armpit, inviting a dull ache to worm its way through Evan’s shoulder with each step he took as he hobbled over to the door on his left.

‘One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four…’

Evan held his breath until his chest ached, too scared that breathing would cover up the muffled sounds of metal scraping closer through the darkness. He stood there for as long as he dared before making his way back to the center of his bedroom.

As he stood there with his gaze darting through the gloom, frantic to find any change or anything lurking there that shouldn’t be, his eye caught on the dark red numbers gleaming down at him from the shadows swarming his dresser. 

11:55.

An exhausted whimper tore from Evan’s throat like a mouse darting out from a cat’s clawed paw.

Ignoring it, Evan forced himself toward the closet in the middle of his room. 

The Nightmares weren’t always consistent. 

Sometimes, one or two of them would lurk in the halls before twelve on nights like tonight, when Evan had been tucked away in bed already and Liz and Mike both decided to retire to their rooms, too. 

Evan had been in his room, watching and waiting with his heart slamming against his ribcage like it could claw its way out and run away somewhere safe, for almost an hour now. 

The Nightmares didn’t come every night. They didn’t even come most nights. But they could come any night, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

The one hope Evan had was that nothing would come for him by three o’clock; that always meant the night would be  Nightmare-free and he was safe for one more night until he would have to do the whole thing over once the sun went down. 

Evan’s heart lept into his throat with all the grace of a sea urchin stabbing its spines into his flesh as he flashed his light over the darkness inside the closet. 

Nothing there but some coats and jackets dangling from hangers and some toys scattered across the ground. Even the vent connecting the back of his closet to the bathroom was untouched with its cover still firmly in place. 

No Foxy.

The nine-year-old exhaled a shaky breath as he retreated from the closet, his crutch moving silently across his carpeted floor. (That was good. He needed to stay silent. If Liz or Mikey or Father heard him, they wouldn’t be happy. Only babies had nightmares.)

Turning, Evan shined the torch over his bed, fearful of seeing an awfully familiar pair of blood-red eyes and flaking yellow skin peering up at him from under the bed. There was no golden animatronic for him to chase back under the frame, though. 

Maybe… maybe there wouldn’t be anything at all. 

Evan kept moving through the darkness. His eyes stayed trained on the righthand door and he clung to that thought the same way he used to cling to his Fredbear plushie. 

‘Maybe there won’t be anything at all.’ 

Evan was only halfway to the threshold when a barely-audible thump drifted into the nine-year-old’s ears. 

The ground disappeared under Evan’s feet as he rushed toward the door. 

Evan’s hand reached out, his fingers just barely brushing against the rounded metal before his door was flung outward and the doorknob soared out of his reach. 

Evan didn’t even have time to cry as the darkness coalesced into a writhing mass and lurched straight for him. 

His eyelids squeezed shut on instinct, as though refusing to look at the monster coming for him through the darkness might stop the horror from coming. Beams of light spun wildly around the room and the torch tumbled from Evan’s fingers as he flinched back so hard he almost fell. 

Evan didn’t know what he expected to happen. Whatever it was, he figured, it would probably hurt. 

He didn’t expect to hear the soft click of his bedroom door shutting, or to hear the soft and happy chime of a familiar laugh. 

When Evan dared to look up, he was met with the sight of his best friend standing not two feet away, his frame slumped against Evan’s bedroom door and his dark brown eyes shining with mirth as he muffled a laugh against one hand and held a torch in the other. 

“G… Gregory?”

Gregory stopped laughing long enough to stick his tongue out in Evan’s direction. “Who?”

Gregory scooped up Evan’s fallen torch. He gave it a curious glance before wordlessly handing it back over.

Evan stared down at the object for a few seconds, his expression blank, as if he had never seen one before. Then he turned his confusion onto Gregory. “What are you doing? H-How did you g-get in here?” 

The older kid scoffed playfully as he pocketed his own torch. “Oh, gee. No ‘nice to see you, Gregory.’ No ‘it’s been a while and I really missed you, Gregory.’”

“Greg!” 

The ten-year-old rolled his eyes, though the self-satisfied smirk never left his face. “Your bedroom may not have windows, but mine does. And so does the hallway outside your room.”

“Wait, you– you came in through the window? On the second floor?” 

“I’m good at climbing.” Gregory shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. “And it’s more fun than using doors.”

“But… we’re on the second floor,” Evan repeated, dumbfounded. 

The grin on Gregory’s face grew wider. “Impressed?” 

The corners of Evan’s lips just barely twitched upward. 

He…

He wanted to match Gregory’s excitement with a smile and laugh. He wanted to call Gregory absolutely insane, and he wanted Gregory to quip something back that would make Evan laugh even harder. 

Evan wanted that more than anything in the world. 

But he could already hear the faint melody of the grandfather clock chiming out in the halls. 

‘Midnight.’

Evan’s mouth went dry. “Gregory, you can’t– you c-can’t be here.” 

“It’s okay. My dad won’t mind, and your dad will never even find out, okay?” Gregory pressed a finger over his smiling lips to indicate that he wouldn't tell a soul.

“No. You d-don’t understand; you can’t be here!” 

“What are you talking about?”

“I– It– it just–" Evan’s face reddened as he stammered. "You have to go, Gregory. Now.”

“I just got here!" Gregory laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze hovered on Evan, something concerned in his brown eyes. "Is there, like, a cultural thing in Britain about turning guests away the second they step inside?”

Evan winced as Gregory plopped into a sitting position on the edge of his bed. His gaze flicked down to the darkness under his bed in a panic, scared of seeing a pair of red eyes or a claw reaching to grab Gregory’s ankles. 

“This isn’t funny! You have to go– before it’s too late.”

Gregory's brows narrowed as he looked at his friend. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Floundering, Evan could do nothing but stare at his friend with his lips rising and falling soundlessly, like a fish out of water gasping for air. 

“Ev?”

Tears stung Evan’s eye and he looked away. His panicked gaze flitted between the doors around his room. 

Why wouldn’t Gregory just listen to him and leave? 

Evan admired his friend’s bravery, but deep down, Evan knew there were sometimes when you could be too brave. Sometimes, being scared kept you safe and out of trouble. 

Gregory didn’t understand that too well. He saw everything around him as a challenge he could rise to meet, even things that were dangerous.

Evan couldn’t tell Gregory the truth. Either Gregory would refuse to leave him alone with those monsters, or Gregory would laugh at him and try to show him that the monsters weren’t real. 

Whether or not his friend would believe him, if Gregory knew how scared he was, then Gregory would insist on staying. And the Nightmares weren’t a joke. If Gregory stayed, he– he would get himself hurt, or– or worse. 

“I c-can’t tell you,” Evan whimpered. “You just have t-to go back. Pl-please, Greg!"

Gregory just stared at him for a second, confused, but… but he wasn’t backing down. “I made you a promise, didn’t I? I can’t go back on it, so you might as well tell me what’s going on with you, because I’m not leaving.” 

"No…" 

"No?" 

"I-I don't want you here, Gregory!" Evan snapped. "Just go!" 

'Please, please, just go. Before it's too late.'

"Ev!" Gregory hissed. "Keep your voice down! You'll wake your entire family!" 

Wake your family. 

An idea occurred to Evan, though it was one that left an awful, empty pit in his stomach. 

Gregory didn’t like his family, and the one person that he really didn’t like was…

"You need to leave, or– or I'll scream for my father.” Evan risked a nervous glance at the clock, but seeing the frighteningly early time only made the pit in his stomach hurt worse. “O-or Mike, and they'll– they'll make you leave." 

For an awful moment, Gregory didn’t say anything. “You wouldn't do that." 

"If it makes you get out of here, then yes, I will!” Evan snapped. “I told you, I don't want you here."

Gregory stared at him. Everything about his expression from the downward curve of his brows to the parting of his lips dripped with utter disbelief. 

Then that disbelief melted into something else. “You mean that,” Gregory whispered. His voice raised, tinted with anger and hurt and betrayal. "You mean that. You– you actually mean it." 

The tears threatened to slip from Evan’s stinging eye, and the nine-year-old suddenly felt sick to his stomach at the hurt look on Gregory’s face. But Evan nodded anyway. If Gregory didn’t get out of here in time…

“You're not telling me something,” the older kid said. “And I'm gonna find out exactly what you're keeping secret. But fine." Gregory slowly rose from the bed. "I'm not gonna stay where I'm not wanted."

Evan stood utterly still as Greg walked back to the righthand door. 

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, Gregory looked back at Evan. 

But the nine-year-old turned his head, scared that if he met Gregory’s eye, his friend would see just how desperately Evan wanted him to stay. 

Gregory shook his head and walked out the threshold. 

The second the door shut, Evan was moving. As he drew close to the white frame, he heard the sounds he had missed the first time, and Gregory was gone with the quiet rattle of the window frame in the hall outside. 

“I’m sorry,” Evan whispered into the darkness as hot tears finally streamed down his face. 

He quickly wiped them away.

There wasn’t any time to cry. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sweat slickened Evan’s palm against the warm plastic of the torch he held against his crutch. The metal frame dug painfully into his armpit as he balanced against the support with the torch fisted in one hand and a rounded doorknob held tightly in the other.

His trembling finger hovered over the on-button as he scanned the darkness. A darker mass of pitch black caught Evan’s eye amidst the shadows, and Evan jerked back in surprise before he remembered that it was only the table and lamp against the hallway's wall. 

Evan’s chest deflated as he finally let out a shaky breath. Nothing there. Yet. 

Small fingers loosened against the door handle, and Evan turned to limp back to the next door. 

Until the pitch-black patch unfurled in the corner of Evan’s eye. 

He didn't have time to think before his fingers closed around the door handle again and yanked inward. 

The door knocked into its frame with a painfully loud bang in the quiet before deflecting against the wooden threshold and bouncing back open. Red light from his alarm clock reflected off the door's handle as the knob shot out from Evan’s stunned hand. 

The torch fell from Evan’s fingers and the base of his crutch slid out from the carpeting as Evan lurched forward and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. Tugging toward himself, Evan frantically pulled the door closed, and this time it shut with a faint click. 

With his crutch lying on the ground behind him, Evan collapsed against the closed door. Each shaky breath burned his lungs. His fingers flew up and slammed over his mouth as a strangled sound passed his lips, but it didn't stop the trembles ripping through him or the heaving of his chest. 

He tried listening– to see if he had woken anyone up, listening for the horrible breathy rasp of the animatronics moving outside his door, listening to tell if the danger had passed– but he couldn't hear anything over the erratic pounding of his heart scraping against his ribcage or the pained wheezing leaking between his fingers. 

Ignoring the aching of his shoulder from abusing his crutch all night and the soreness of his knees from hitting the ground, Evan's head lolled to look at his alarm clock. 

1:24.

A sharp laugh passed Evan’s lips. 

Except it wasn't really a laugh. 

His eyelids slid shut, and the white wooden door pressed coolly against Evan’s sweaty forehead like a light breeze on a humid summer's day.

Snot ran down his nose and oozed between his fingers as he curled into the door and sobbed. 

He was so stupid. He knew it was a bad idea to try slamming his doors closed, he knew that! And he almost got himself caught anyway! He– he didn’t know exactly what those things would do if they caught him, but he knew it would be bad– he knew– 

Grasping for his crutch and his torch, Evan peeled himself off the floor and wiped his other hand clean on his pajama pants. 

Five hours. Just– just five hours, and it would be another day. This would be over in another five hours. He would be safe.

But not if he stayed crying on the floor. 

Flicking on the torch, Evan aimed the light over on his bed and was relieved that the only thing he saw was Snowball sitting right where he had left him. 

You’re okay, the plushie reassured him. You’ve done this before, and you can do it again. Just keep moving.

After giving Snowball a grateful smile, Evan trudged his way toward his closet. He hadn't heard the vent cover being moved around, but that didn't always mean his closet was empty. He would have to be ready, Evan thought, and his hand tightened on his torch. 

Evan barely made it halfway there when a sound froze him in his tracks.

Something behind him rustled. 

Goosebumps rose on Evan’s flesh as the nine-year-old whirled around as efficiently as he could manage. His eye roved across the room, hesitating on his bed, but belatedly realized the sound hadn't come from his room. It had been something in the hallway he had just shut the door on. 

The child shuddered. He couldn't keep the door closed for too long– the things outside would get mad if he did– but he was glad to have a barrier between himself and the monster, even if it was only temporary. 

"Evan!" 

The voice was only a hissed whisper, but it was unexpected enough to make the nine-year-old jump.

"Are you still awake?" The voice hissed. "Evan?"

The nine-year-old’s gaze snapped back to his closed bedroom door in confused horror. "...Greg?"

What was Gregory doing here? It had been over an hour– and– and Gregory had come in through his other door last time, the door that opened into the hallway with windows. Had Gregory really been lurking in the house for over an hour? Evan had told him to go! 

"Gregory...!" Evan took a nervous step closer to the door. "You– y-you can't be here!"

"I know what you said, but– wait, what was that…? Is there…" Gregory’s voice broke off before he continued with a nervous edge tainting his tone. "Is there something out here, Evan?"

'Oh, no.'

The blood froze in the nine-year-old’s veins.

"Evan!" Gregory yelped. "There's something out here with me!"

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Evan limped another step closer to the door. 

"Let me in– Evan, open the door! Help– Help me! Please!"  

Evan’s free hand closed on the doorknob and shoved. It flew open under his hand, and Evan peered nervously into the dark for his friend. He didn't see Gregory.

Possibly because a lumbering mass of twisted, stained metal towered in his field of vision through the crack in the door. 

Evan yanked backward on the door, but he hesitated before it fully closed.

'Gregory?'

Gray, triangular talons wrapped around the wooden door's edge and wrenched it back open. Evan’s fingers stayed wrapped around the doorknob, and the door swung outward with enough momentum that it jerked the nine-year-old forward by the arm. Pain sharp enough to rip his breath away erupted from his shoulder, and Evan tumbled onto the hardwood floor along the hallway.

Metal fingers bit into Evan’s wrist through his pajama sleeves, and with a forceful tug, the child was dangling in the air. The movement was sudden as the animatronic jerked him upward, but Evan seemed to experience it in slow motion. 

He saw every detail of the gnarled metal form plucking him from the ground like a child pinching a resting butterfly by its wings. 

"Well, hello again! Are you ready-dy for a SURPRISE-ISE? "

Gregory’s voice resounded from the creature as it lifted him, but with each word, the voice changed. It became more erratic, echoing more and more as it stammered through the words with an ecstatic tremor. 

A shattered circular speaker with sharp edges sat in the middle of the thing's chest, right underneath the remnants of its purple bow tie. And then the Nightmare lifted Evan high enough for him to stare it in its face. 

White and pink plates formed its metal head, but they were covered in grime, and the white coating had long ago been stained brown and gray. Large gashes had been torn out of its frame all over its body, revealing blood-red wires and a dark liquid dripping from its skeletal remains underneath. Wires and twisted metal poked out of the creature from every hole and joint in its body. Pale blue mechanical eyes gleamed at him from angry, dark hollows set back in its head. 

But the thing that really caught Evan’s attention was its teeth. The outer portion of the mechanical bear's maw had rotted away; the lower portion of the monster's face was nothing but rows upon rows of razor-sharp, blood-stained teeth longer than his fingers and bared as though through sunken gums and lips. 

Evan didn't kick out at the monster. He didn't cry. He didn't breathe. He could only dangle limply with his eyes locked on the thing's giant teeth.

"Hahahahaough, oh b-birthday boyyyyyyy~!"

Tears finally leaked from Evan’s stinging eye and stroked along the curve of his cheek in a mocking display of gentleness. 

'Oh, birthday boyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! You're not gonna hide from your big brother, are you?'

'Wow, your brother is kind of a baby, isn't he?' 

“Bon-Bon,” the monster’s erratic voice screamed. Its mouth didn’t move along with its words, but its mechanical maw was slowly coming apart, opening wider and wider and wider and–

“Say-ay hi to o-our friend!” 

The monster brought its other hand close to Evan’s face, and Evan flinched away with enough force that his entire body wobbled in Funtime Fredbear’s hold. 

He had forgotten about the rabbit in his horror, but it hadn’t forgotten about him. 

Bon-Bon’s form was gnarled, grimy, and stained as well, but there was something fundamentally wrong about the bunny animatronic. Evan had never gotten a good enough look to be able to tell exactly what was wrong with it until now. 

Its eyes were nothing but empty sockets surrounded by cracks and chipped-away pieces of metal. Its lower face was completely broken, with its upper and lower jaw completely detached. A mass of metal wires writhed inside its mouth, and two deep red eyes looked hungrily at him from between the mess of wires. The top of its head was too far away from the rest of its body; it surged upward in a tangled meld of twisted metal as though its body was a squishy toy, and someone had grabbed the center and squeezed so that its head bulged unnaturally. 

“I like him,” the rabbit chirped. “We should take him with us!” 

The bunny’s hands ended in the same sharp claws that Fredbear had, and both sets of talons reached eagerly for Evan’s face. 

Almost as though someone had flipped a switch, Evan’s stunned stupor ended. 

Evan fought. His arm twisted in the monster’s hold and didn’t stop even when the action made Fredbear’s claws dig deeper into his flesh and warm blood leaked down his arm; he kicked against the Nightmare’s metal frame even when it bruised the bottoms of his feet; Evan sobbed in the thing’s hold as he struggled to free himself.

“G-Gregor–” 

The monster slammed Evan against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs and cutting off his cry. Its voice warbled in his ears, but Evan couldn’t make out the words as he blinked the blackness from his vision. 

Fredbear leaned its massive body against him, effectively pinning the nine-year-old to the wall. The creature’s heavy form pressing on him and the eye-watering, throat-burning stench of rot and decay clinging to its metal form was enough to wind Evan once more before he could even properly get his breath back. 

“What a party pooper!” 

Evan’s arm fell back to his side as the animatronic let go. 

Evan didn’t even have time to be relieved before its sharp fingers made their way up to his face. He tried turning away as the thing prodded at his lips, but it was no use; Evan’s eye went wide as it pushed his mouth open and poked its fingers inside.

“There we are! Don’t wanna g-give away the surprise~!” 

His hands flew up to shove the thing away from him, but it was as useless as trying to push down an oak tree with your bare hands. He couldn’t push the thing away, couldn’t scream for help, couldn’t even cry– but that must have been the point. The only thing he could do was choke as the monster ensured no one would be able to hear him cry out. 

“Can we keep him?” Bon-Bon begged. “He’ll be nice and happy with his good friend Mr. Freddy!” 

“Well, let's not k-keep our good friend-end waiting!” 

Fredbear’s sharp claws prodded against his gums and the nine-year-old kicked out at the monster. He whimpered into the monster’s fingers and the corners of his mouth lit on fire. Bitter copper poured into his mouth and Evan’s hands frantically clawed at the hand gagging him– twin lines ripped through his cheeks from the corners of his mouth and tore into bloody strands like a piece of fabric stretched too far as his mouth was forced open wider and wider– his jaw ached and his skull groaned–  it was going to crack apart– it was– his head would come apart just like Bon-Bon's– just like–

“Hey, Bon-Bon! Wh-why don't we help the little-le guy give his pal Freddy a b-biiiig hugggg!” 

Fredbear and Bon-Bon’s eyes both turned to him at once and peered down at him with smiles and glee in their twisted metal faces.

‘You heard the little man! He wants to get even closer! Ha ha ha!’

‘ON THREE! One… two…'

Fredbear’s teeth dug into the base of this neck and scratched along his head as he thrashed. 

Evan could only watch, frozen in horror, as Funtime Fredbear’s stomach ripped open with the deep chortle of metal grinding against metal revealing a–

– a long, sharp claw behind an ice cream cone–

– a gaping chasm inside him that was devoid of wires and skeletal parts and filled instead with row upon row of sharp yellow teeth. 

Evan screamed as Fredbear’s jaws closed around him. As much as Evan pushed and clawed and shoved and kicked, he didn’t move an inch– he stayed there, stuck, trapped; the warm press of metal closed around him and pressed closer and closer against him in a claustrophobic sensation of being within the stomach of a great beast. 

Blue eyes stayed locked on him as the teeth got bigger and bigger and the hands raised him higher and hi

‘No! I don't want to go!’

‘M-Mikey! Let me go! No! Mikey, p-please!’

gher and higher and they got bigger they were on his neck scratching his head no one listened no one was coming no one listened no one was coming the music drowned out his screams and all the screams drowned out the music the teeth were inside him they broke him they bit they bite they bit they

The weight keeping the nine-year-old pressed against the wall disappeared, and so did the fingers keeping him quiet. 

With nothing to support him, Evan fell into a heap on the ground. 

“Evan!” A voice hissed in the darkness. “Are you awake?” 

The nine-year-old curled into a ball on the ground as a fresh wave of sobs ripped from his aching form.

A soft exhale fled from William’s chest as Michael stumbled onto the hallway monitor.

“Evan!”  The teen’s voice crackled through the speakers as he squinted in confusion down the dark hallway. “Are you awake?” 

William cursed. Burying his face in his hands and propping his elbows against his desk, William sucked down one shaky breath after another. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

“Evan! Can– can you hear me? Do you know where you are?” On the monitor, Michael collapsed at his little brother’s side and stared at the crying child’s glazed eye in horror. “...Evan?” 

He hadn’t meant to let it go this far. 

As much as it rubbed William the wrong way, this had been the one time he had decided to dial back his experiments. He had only sent out the singular prototype this time, rather than all four– being restrained to the crutch, his test subject was subpar at the moment, after all. 

He hadn’t expected the child’s reaction to the prototype to be so strong. 

Even now, William’s fingers trembled where they pressed against his face and fisted in his hair. 

He wanted desperately to play the recording back again, to watch his creation in action with the hope that if he rewound it, then it would end differently; that it would end without Michael coming into the hallway and ending the show early by triggering the illusion discs’ failsafes. Just one minor change in detail– adding in the real Funtime Fredbear’s voice mimicry– had worked better than he'd ever dreamed.

Though… he really would need to do further trials to see whether Michael had stumbled into the hallway by accident, or if tweaking the illusion discs had weakened their ability to stifle the sounds of his little experiments with his youngest son. And if it was the latter, then that was yet another problem to fix.

“Evan! It’s okay! You’re at home! Just, um– just– Evan, b-breathe in for three seconds, and– and hold it for four seconds. One… two… thr– Evan!” Evan thrashed against his brother’s hands. “ E-Ev, it’s okay, it’s– why the hell isn’t this working?!” 

Sucking in another shaky breath, William let the high wash over him. 

It had been just a touch too long since he had felt so much. 

So much pride in his creations. Such a beautiful release over the muffled cries for help that would never be heard by ears other than his own, let alone answered. His heart hammering inside his chest, blood pounding in a ceaseless roar in his ears, an echoing chorus as dark red dripped down and eyes widened in animalistic fear so profound and endless–

“Fuck,” William hissed. Fingers slipping from his hair, William raked his fingernails down one side of his face. He closed his eyes and savored the sharp, stinging pain down his cheek; welcomed the new sensation, basked as everything at once washed over him. 

Even the horror and nausea churning inside his gut at what he had done only left him so exhilarated it made his head spin. 

It was all just so much. 

Nothing– nothing – could quite compare to watching them all go from people to animals– to objects– under his hands. 

Of course, it was rather spoiled by the fact that William was stuck pulling the strings and watching through screens in an office, rather than being there to enjoy it in person. 

And William noted that that wasn’t the only thing spoiling the experiment as his gaze flicked back to one of the monitors in his office. 

Elizabeth stumbled onto the screen and looked between her brothers in panicked confusion. The middle child and the eldest squabbled over what to do. Elizabeth managed a single step in the direction of William’s bedroom before Michael stopped her. 

“Don’t! If he was going to help, don’t you think he would have by now?” 

More squabbling. An angry foot stamp on the little girl’s behalf. But in the end, the two picked up their crying brother and brought him back into his room. As though the room itself had triggered something in him, the child lunged at Michael. 

“Nonono! P-please, no! They’re g-gonna get me!”

“Evan? It was just a dream; nothing’s gonna get you.” 

“No!” The child rasped out, but his words quickly faded into unintelligible whimpers. 

Michael and Elizabeth’s reactions to their little brother ever since that birthday party had been… problematic. And in Michael’s case, an utter disappointment. 

His youngest getting so severely hurt had been bad enough. At least if Michael had begun showing signs since then that he was similar to his father in more than just appearance, the incident would have meant something– would have given some kind of result. As it was, William had merely gotten from it one damaged son and an unending stream of problems. 

William sat back in his seat and watched the screen with narrowed eyes as the thrilled tremors racking his body finally began to lessen.

Michael and Elizabeth both curled up next to the child after they placed him in bed, and it didn’t seem like either of them intended to move away. 

One important lesson that William Afton had learned in his lifetime: the last thing you wanted was for your subjects to work together. People were so much easier to control when they were so busy ripping out others’ throats that they weren’t aware you were behind them pulling the strings at all. 

Their little trio was going to end, and it was going to end soon. 

And another thing…

William’s gaze flitted to a different monitor frozen on a single image of a ten-year-old boy. 

In a way, William supposed he should be grateful to the brat. If not for the intruder, there would have been no inspiration for his experiment with the sound illusion discs tonight, and William would not complain about the opportunity to shake apart the foundations of the relationship his son had with that vermin. It had been two birds with one stone, as it were. 

‘Still,’ William thought as he swiveled in his chair to look at a corkboard covered in minute details: a ten-year-old boy’s normal route home to and from school, his father and older cousin’s places of work, a brown car’s license plate number, various hang-out spots attractive to a mouthy young delinquent.

Mr. Afton rarely had to bother putting much thought or effort into who he chose or how he obtained them. This, however, was a different case. An annoying one. Although, William Afton did enjoy a good challenge. It made the victory taste that much sweeter. 

Still, he had the unfortunate feeling that this affair was far from over. 

Chapter Text

They were only two streets away from Gregory's house when they found the cat.

It was a mangy little thing. Its hip bones jutted too far out from its slim body. Mud and dirt and blood caked over the dull fur that clung too tightly against its skeletal frame as it limped away on three paws. 

Gregory was the first one to approach it. He didn't hesitate even when the cat hissed. Crouching down, the nine-year-old lowered himself, raised his hand, and wiggled his fingers as soft sounds passed his lips in encouragement. 

"Gregory?" Evan whispered, looking nervously at the blood on the feline's form. 

But Gregory only shushed him and kept his hand extended, low to the ground, towards the cat. 

After a long hesitation, the thing's fluffy tail lowered slightly and it crept a step closer to the nine-year-old. 

And then another. And another. And then, it sniffed curiously at Gregory’s fingertips before rubbing its face against the child’s palm. 

"Come here," the older child whispered. "Slowly." 

Evan did. He sat beside Gregory and scooted the last few inches closer. The cat paused with its head still against Gregory’s palm, its hazel eyes watching Evan’s every move. It stayed still for several moments even after Evan stopped moving before it jumped into Gregory’s lap. 

"It's hurt," Evan whispered, watching the way the cat's back paw never touched the ground as it moved. 

"She, I think." Gregory’s hand slid down the cat's coat before scratching at the back of one of the cat's ears. "Something awful must have happened to you, huh?" Gregory murmured as he looked at the cat's other ear where it lay limp, bloody, and mangled against the feline's head. 

The nine-year-old looked away from the cat long enough to glance over his surroundings. When he called Evan’s name, he then nodded at a small recycling bin sitting by the road not far away. "Can you go get that? We can use it to take the little guy home; my dad will know what to do for her." 

Evan followed Gregory’s gaze, saw the bin, and hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"We can return the bin later. No big deal." 

"No, I meant… what if the cat has a home? What if we shouldn't take it?" 

Gregory only shook his head. "You can tell just by looking at her that this little guy doesn't have a home. Not yet, anyway. We'll take care of her." 

Evan hesitated a moment more before nodding. Scooting away from Gregory to keep from startling the cat, Evan stood to his feet and crossed to the recycling bin. Guilt stirred in his gut as the eight-year-old dumped the recyclables inside it onto the ground, but he quickly made his way back over to Gregory with it in tow. 

"Thanks." The older child smiled as Evan set the now empty bin beside him. Moving carefully, Gregory picked up the cat and set her inside the bin before moving to stand. He picked up the bin, smiling and cooing down at the cat before holding the bin out for Evan. "You can hold her as we take her back to my house, if you want." 

The cat looked between them, wide-eyed as she wobbled in the bin. Reaching down, Evan let her sniff his fingers. His head tilted his head at the feeling of her wet, black button nose and whiskers twitching against his skin.

The corner of Evan’s lips twitched into a ghostly recreation of a smile as the cat sat down in the bin. One of her eyes was crusted shut, but the other one still looked up at them, curiosity and a glimmer of fear in her gaze. 

"You'll be okay," Evan whispered as he took the bin from Gregory. 

"Are you kidding?" Walking backward so he was still facing his friend, Gregory began to lead the way back to his house. "She's going to be more than okay."

"Do you really think so?" Evan fell into step beside Gregory, and the nine-year-old turned to walk normally again. 

"Duh. We'll take care of her." Gregory reached into the bin and stroked the cat's fur. "She's going to be spectacular." 

Evan frowned down at the trembling cat. She didn’t look very spectacular at all, just dirty and hurt and really, really scared. He tried not to doubt his friend, though. 

As they made their way back to Gregory’s house, the nine-year-old kept up a steady chorus as he discussed potential names for the cat, how cute it would be sprawled out in the sun, what color collar they should get for the cat, whether she would be an indoor or an outdoor pet. 

Evan didn’t say much as they walked back to Gregory’s house, not even after Gregory gave him an odd look and asked if he was okay. Evan just nodded without looking away from the small cat cowering inside the box as Gregory gently pet her. 

“Hey,” Gregory said as they approached the house. “If it’s the cat you’re worried about, then you don’t have to. I told you she’s going to be okay, didn’t I?”

Evan nodded, and Gregory hopped up his porch steps with a smile. 

"DAD!" Gregory screamed the second he had the front door open. "NESS! ME AND EVAN MADE A NEW FRIEND!"

The door hung open under Gregory’s hands, but Evan didn’t walk through the threshold despite Gregory keeping it open for him. “Gregory? What are you doing?” 

Gregory looked back at him with a frown. “What do you mean?” 

“You can’t let them know that–” 

Evan went quiet as Vanessa appeared in the doorway behind Gregory. “...What did you two do?” 

“Nothing,” Gregory griped before turning back to Evan. “Are you coming in?” 

Nervous green eyes flitted to Gregory’s cousin, though Evan kept his head lowered. The annoyance in the teen’s eyes seemed to flicker as she looked at him, before her eyes softened. She took a step back, giving Evan a quick smile as she made enough room for him to shuffle inside the house. 

Once he was in the house, Vanessa’s eyes hesitated on the recycling bin in Evan’s arms. “What’s in the box?”

“It’s a cat,” Gregory said. 

“Oh. Bringing home more strays, I see.” Vanessa leaned forward as though to get a better look inside the box, making Evan shuffle awkwardly on his feet. 

Evan shot an uneasy look in Gregory’s direction– did he really trust anyone else around the kitten? Gregory had said that the two of them, just the two of them, would be the ones taking care of her, hadn’t he?-- but Gregory didn’t seem to notice. 

“She doesn’t look too good, though,” the older boy said. “She needs to go to a vet. And get a bath; she’s really dirty. Where’s Dad?” 

Vanessa took a step closer to Evan and the kitty at the word ‘vet.’ She peered inside, getting her first good look at the dirty cat inside with a sympathetic wince. “Dad’s in his studio. Do you know how bad she is?” 

Gregory shook his head. “No. Dad will, though. We’ll have to go get him. Come on, Ev.” 

Cooing gently at the frightened cat, Evan followed Gregory through the house’s halls. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes until the three of them reached the room that the Fazbears called Mr. Freddy’s “studio,” where he wrote songs. 

Evan couldn’t help but jump a little when Gregory banged insistently on the door. 

“DAAAAAAAAAAD!” 

“Seriously?” Vanessa scoffed at her cousin's overdramatic antics, but Gregory only stuck his tongue out at her. 

"A-Are you sure we should bother him?" Evan's fingers tightened on the plastic bin. "If he's working–"

"Dad won't mind–" 

Gregory’s dismissive remark cut out as the door slid open. 

Mr. Fazbear stood just inside the threshold, one hand still on the doorknob as he looked wide-eyed down at the three kids. "What's going on? Is everything okay?" 

"Evan and I were on a walk when we found this cat–" Gregory gestured at the bin, getting straight to business. "--So we borrowed someone's recycling bin to get her here without her scratching us, because we really, really think she needs help, Dad."

Mr. Freddy’s brows lifted, but the surprise didn’t color his face for very long. A reassuring smile graced the adult’s lips as he nodded at Evan, motioning the child closer.  "Here, let me see her." 

Evan glanced at Gregory and Vanessa, but… neither of them seemed anywhere near as wary as he felt. 

…Evan didn’t really know if that was comforting or not. Vanessa and Mr. Freddy seemed nice, but Evan didn’t know them all that well. Still, Gregory seemed to trust them with this, and Evan knew that his friend really did want to help the kitty, so Evan shuffled close enough for Freddy to get a good look at the cat. 

Just like Vanessa, Mr. Freddy winced at the sight of her. "Ness, will you get the animal carrier from the garage? It'll make her ride to the vet a bit easier."

"Got it." Vanessa left with a nod.

Freddy’s arm snaked out, reaching for the kitten. Gasping at the sudden movement, Evan took a step backward and twisted his body so the bin was angled further away from Mr. Freddy’s reaching hands.

"Evan?" Gregory asked.

"She's hurt. We have to h-help her." Evan’s gaze flitted from Mr. Freddy to Gregory. "You said we– we w-would help her."

"We are?" A confused lilt rose in Gregory’s voice, turning the statement into a question as the older boy stared at Evan in a state of concerned confusion.

Mr. Freddy pulled his arm back and kneeled so he was at Evan’s eye level. Once there, he smiled, though Evan met the sad gleam of the adult’s brown eyes only with wariness.

"It looks like you already care about that cat a great deal,"Mr. Freddy said gently. "You're probably really scared for her. But, this isn't the first time I've had someone come home with a wounded animal."

"Yeah, you should have seen him when I came home with a opossum." Gregory shot a lopsided smile between Evan and his dad.

Mr. Freddy chuckled and shook his head before meeting Evan’s eye again. "Last time, Gregory and Vanessa came with an injured sparrow. I've gotten a lot of practice taking care of sick and hurt animals, Evan. I'll do everything in my power to help this little guy, too. I promise you." 

Evan hesitated at the twisting feeling wrapping his stomach in painful knots. Gregory didn't look nervous in the slightest, though, and Mr. Freddy… didn't look like he was lying. 

For a moment, Evan could only glance helplessly between Gregory, Mr. Fazbear, and the mewling kitten inside the bin. 

Then, with slow, slow movements, Evan lifted the bin toward Mr. Freddy. 

The adult moved just as slow and tenderly as he lifted the kitten out of the recycling bin. 

Vanessa rounded the hallway corner with the pet carrier in hand, but Mr. Freddy didn't look at her. Only at him. "Thank you, Evan." 

Evan swallowed down the lump in his throat as Gregory moved closer to him, his presence a support beam propped against a leaning building on a shaky foundation.

"You said he was 'zoning out' earlier?"

"Yeah. The whole walk back, like he was daydreaming or something. He does this thing where he stops talking when he's upset, but he wouldn't tell me what was wrong." Gregory paused. "So… you want to try talking to Evan?" 

"Yeah, kiddo. Maybe it'll help.” Freddy sighed softly. “Something… something doesn't feel right."

Evan didn’t look up as Mr. Freddy sat on the couch beside him. Dipping cushions shifted Evan’s weight on the beige sofa, but Evan’s worry that the kitten in his lap would be knocked down in the commotion was quickly soothed. The kitten raised her head but didn’t try moving away; in fact, she never stopped kneading on Evan’s leg with her small white and black paws. Her front paws, at least, didn't seem to be injured, but one of her back paws had been sprained. Evan had asked if she would need a cast, but Mr. Freddy had only smiled and said the vet had told him the injury wasn’t that serious. 

She did have a silly cone around her head, though. The vet had said it was to keep her from licking the cut in her side from getting into a fight with another kitty. She didn’t seem to like the cone very much. Evan didn’t like it either– it didn’t look very comfortable– but the cat seemed happier now with her fur all cleaned up.  She had really pretty fur; black and white with splatters of orange fur danced under Evan’s fingers as he carefully pet her. 

“She looks very… content,” Mr. Freddy whispered. “I think she likes you, Evan.” 

Slight fingers glided through the kitten's freshly cleaned fur. "I hope so."

"What about you, Evan? How are you feeling?" Concern thickened the adult’s normally smooth voice. Evan had heard the exact same tone from the adult when he asked Gregory not to stay out too late and when he had asked Vanessa if she was alright when she came home with a bleeding nose; it was strange to hear that tone directed at himself, especially from an adult like Mr. Freddy. 

Something in Evan’s gut twisted, and he stammered, not knowing what to say with Mr. Freddy talking to him like that. No one talked to him like that; especially not recently . “I-I just– want her to be okay.” 

The corners of Evan’s mouth fell as he stared down at the yawning kitten. She looked happier now, but…

Her ear still lay limp against her head, unable to stand perked up like her other ear. One eye stayed crusted shut with sickly yellow-green and black gunk; the vet had said it would need to be cleaned regularly, and that the outside of her eye was so scarred that she would have trouble seeing out of it for the rest of her life. Her injured paw didn’t look too bad, but she kept it tucked against her body as though wary of moving it. 

“She’ll be okay. We’re here to help her.” 

Mr. Freddy’s words drifted in the air like velvety petals on a gentle summer's breeze; they were soft, and kind, and did nothing to ease the steady churning making Evan feel sick to his stomach. Evan’s lower lip disappeared as his teeth bit down on the soft pink flesh. 

“Hey, kiddo?” Mr. Freddy began gently. “Can I ask you a question?”

Evan’s gaze slowly floated from the cat to the adult. That was… weird. A weird thing to say. Weird that Mr. Freddy would bother asking when he could just make Evan tell about anything the adult wanted to know.

The adult’s brown gaze hovered on him, looking so sad that Evan almost forgot to nod in answer. 

"It doesn't seem like you believe me when I talk about being here to help the cat heal,” Mr. Freddy murmured.  “It’s okay if you don’t believe me, and if you’re worried about the cat. But, I’m just wondering… why wouldn't we want to help her, Ev?" 

Evan’s chest suddenly went tight, as though his ribcage had suddenly squeezed on his insides tight enough to pierce his heart. His lips fluttered, but… what was he meant to say to that? A million possible responses flitted through the child’s brain in the span of four seconds, but they were all overshadowed by the pure, panicked horror that Mr. Freddy had noticed. If he had noticed, then he would get mad– then something bad would happen–

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. And if you do want to, you can take all the time that you need. There’s no rush.” 

Mouth snapping shut, Evan looked away from Mr. Freddy. The kitten was curled up in a ball on his lap, her head resting delicately on her own paw, and Evan reached down and kept running his fingers down her spine. 

He didn’t know what response Mr. Freddy wanted from him. The safest option was just not saying anything at all. He couldn't say the wrong thing if he just didn't speak, though he would have to hope the other wouldn’t get mad at Evan for ignoring him. Maybe the silence would stretch long enough for Gregory or Vanessa to come back and distract their father. 

Evan’s eyes stung. His fingers stroked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and he determinedly did not look at Gregory’s father as he pet the kitty. 

After a few minutes, though, Evan’s throat felt a little less like it was on fire as he stopped panicking over what the right thing to say would be. 

(When had Mr. Freddy ever gotten mad at Gregory for not saying the right thing?)

Evan peeked a nervous look at Mr. Freddy out of the corner of his eye, but the adult didn’t seem mad, or even the slightest bit impatient. 

The child’s stomach fluttered. “I d-don’t know… Except…” Evan’s teeth tore into the tender flesh along his inner cheek. 

As he hesitated, his eyes landed on a big black patch in the fur along the calico cat’s side. “One day… a-at Fredbear’s, I saw… I saw a little black kitty in the parking lot. There were paper cups on the ground, and the kitty would chase after them if I threw the cups for it.”

Evan still remembered the way the little kitty had flopped onto the pavement and would roll back and forth on its back, showing off its fluffy, white-streaked belly as it batted the cups around with its claws with enough energy to rival Liz when she ate too much candy and got a sugar high. Tears stung Evan’s eyes, but it was like he couldn’t stop talking now that he had started. 

“Father came to get me,” Evan said. “But, I– I didn’t want to leave the kitty. He tried making me go back inside, except, there was a car leaving the parking lot…”

“Oh,” Freddy whispered. He didn’t say anything else. 

Evan didn’t remember any sounds from the car. No screeching tires or surprised shouts from its driver or passengers. Just a small thump and a loud yowl. 

Evan’s voice shook as he rubbed at the tears dripping from his eyes. "Th-the car didn't stop. It just k-kept going. The kitty ran away, and I followed it, and… Father f-followed me. He g-grabbed me, and I told him we had to help the kitty, but…"

The calico kitten squirmed under Evan’s hands as his fingers brushed too roughly across the cat’s frame. Evan didn't notice. "He told me that who– whoever the cat belonged to would help it. So, I-I asked him, 'But what if the kitty doesn't belong to anybody?'" Evan sniffled. "But Father just said, 'Then he'll just have to help himself.' I asked what wo– what w-would happen if the kitty didn't know how, but– Father didn't t-tell me. He just– s-sat me beside the kitty where it fell, and… t-told me to s-stay there." 

“Oh, Evan.” 

The eight-year-old barely heard the adult’s words as he curled double over the cat in his lap and cried. “She s-stopped moving eventually, and Daddy told me to l-leave her there…” 

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Freddy whispered. “I am– I am truly so sorry that happened.” 

“She’s not safe,” Evan gasped as the cat tried squirming out of his lap. He kept his hands on her frame, simultaneously petting her and keeping her from trying to jump away. “She’s not safe, she’s not safe, she’s not safe…” 

Gentle fingers wrapped around Evan’s, peeling the eight-year-old’s grip away from the cat before he could accidentally hurt her. The cat moved out of Evan’s lap and fell onto the couch beside him, and Freddy’s hands moved to tenderly wipe some of the tears that were steadily streaming down Evan’s face. 

“That should never have happened, and I promise you, it’s not going to happen again. I will do everything in my power to help your new friend, okay, Evan? She’s safe here, Ev. And so are you.” 

Chapter Text

Evan squirmed deeper into the couch cushions as a gruff voice whispered his name through his dreamless sleep. 

He almost ignored the voice entirely. Almost. But recognition shot through his core and, his eyelids snapping open, he pushed himself into a sitting position. 

Even kneeling on the ground before him, Evan’s father towered over the nine-year-old. 

Father nodded wordlessly, but Evan didn’t need words to know what would happen next. The couch cushions dipped under his weight as the nine-year-old shuffled closer to the couch’s edge, closer to Father.

Evan was used to this by now. Michael and Liz weren’t always around to take care of him. Unlike Evan, they still had to go to school.

Evan’s gaze slid over the dark wooden coffee table and the army of gauze, bandages, and a handful of pills that Father had stationed on its polished surface while Evan was asleep. And a glass of water rested on a coaster, too. 

Father hadn’t given him any water for his pills the first times when he had given Evan his medicine. Those times had been filled with crying and choking on pills lodged half-swallowed in the back of his throat as Father’s jaw tensed in annoyance.

It had been a great relief when Father finally started bringing a glass of water with him. 

Though, Father still didn’t like it when he asked for a glass without trying to swallow the pills on his own first. 

Calloused fingers wrapped around the bandage over Evan’s eye and tugged it off. 

Father’s gaze hovered over the wound in Evan’s face, taking in the mass of muscle and healing skin left behind. Evan tried not to squirm under his father’s gaze, though he knew the adult was just making sure everything was healing okay.

“Is the infection going away?” 

“Marginally.” 

Father’s response had been the same nearly every time Evan had asked that. Evan didn’t need to question what the big word meant anymore. 

It meant he was getting better, but not enough. 

Evan took his pills without complaint, though he was secretly glad when Father handed him not just the pills but the glass of water, too. 

“Evan. You don’t clean water from your chin with your sleeves; you ask for a napkin.” 

Evan flushed as he lowered his arm, now with a damp sleeve, down into his lap. “Sorry, sir.” 

A soft sigh passed William’s lips, but he said nothing. Bracing himself against the couch, Father picked himself up from his kneeling position and lowered himself next to his son. 

Evan’s breath caught in his throat. He tried not to stare– staring was rude; people who stared were doing nothing but asking for trouble– but the nine-year-old couldn’t help himself. Father never sat beside him when he was dealing with Evan’s wounds, only knelt or stood nearby. 

Paper shredded with a sharp rip as Father grabbed a bandage from the coffee table and tore it open. Fingers fussed over the paper covering the adhesive pads on the back before William lifted the bandage to Evan’s face. 

The calluses of William’s fingers were rough on Evan’s face, yet the warmth of his touch ghosting across Evan’s skin as he pressed the bandage over Evan’s eye was anything but. Eyelids fluttering, Evan leaned into his father’s touch and savored the gentle warmth of his father’s skin on his own. 

Father pulled away far too soon. Despite the ghostly pressure of his father’s fingers against his forehead that Evan could almost still feel drifting across his skin, the warmth disappeared the second Father’s touch did, like turning away from a campfire only to shudder at the bitter night air as the wind stung against your face. 

Evan hesitated a moment, expecting Father to get up and tell him to help clean up all the medical stuff Father had dragged out for him, as he normally did.

But Father didn’t. He sat there on the couch, close enough that Evan could have touched him if the nine-year-old only reached out for him. 

“What time did you go to sleep last night?” Father asked, his voice careful and cool. 

Evan stared up at his father, too stunned at Father breaking the rhythm he normally followed when helping Evan tend to his wound during the day to speak. Father was meant to leave without saying anything.

“You look tired.” Father’s long fingers gingerly picked up the white dragon plushie laying forgotten on the couch between them. 

Evan’s fingers twitched in his lap, suddenly wanting to snatch the plushie out of Father’s hands and hug it to his chest. 

Evan didn’t, though. He only sat and watched as Father’s gaze slid over the plushie for a moment, poking and prodding at the stuffed dragon’s wings. Though, the child couldn’t stop himself from fiddling and twisting his fingers, wringing his hands where they lay in his lap.

…What if Father didn’t like Snowball? 

Evan’s Fredbear plushie had been a gift directly from Father, after all. The only gift Evan had ever gotten from Father that wasn’t given because it was his birthday or Christmas, but because Father had wanted to.

And Evan had replaced it. 

Evan didn’t think Father looked upset, though. Father wasn’t smiling, but he rarely did; he always looked so tired. He did now, too. His usually carefully slicked-back hair was a mess; strands stuck out in all directions, and some of the short strands of dark brown, silver-rooted hair even dangled down his forehead and over his sharp brows. The lines on his face, especially the frown lines around his mouth, seemed deeper than normal, like someone had carved them into his face and their hand had slipped with the knife.

Father turned the white dragon plushie over in his hands. “Were you up all night playing games again, Evan?” 

Something about the question tugged painfully at Evan’s heart. His head was suddenly too heavy for the exhausted young boy to hold up, and Evan’s head tipped downward; his eyes landed on the plain white socks hanging onto his feet, but Evan didn’t look at them so much as through them as he avoided his father’s gaze. 

“No sir,” Evan murmured.  “I… had a nightmare.” 

That… must have been what it was. He had… woken up in bed, when… when Michael and Beth had been leaving to get ready for school. 

(Elizabeth had tried asking him about the nightmare. Evan hadn’t said anything to her or Michael, though. Not a single word.)

Evan didn’t need to be looking at William to know he was frowning. He could hear it in Father’s voice as he asked: “Did you now?”

The nine-year-old’s eyes unfocused and a whole-body shudder trembled through his small frame. 

"Hahahahaough, oh b-birthday boyyyyyyy~!"

“Yeah…” Evan whispered, his eye stinging at the memory of the erratic voice crooning in his ear. It took the child a moment to remember to correct himself. “Y-Yes, sir. But I– I’m b-better, now.” 

As long as he didn’t let himself think about it for too long. 

That blackness that covered his head in fog sometimes wasn’t as bad as Evan had originally believed. 

Father hummed as though in thought, the melody of his voice soft and dripping with intrigue– with concern? “What was your nightmare about?” 

Evan’s head slowly shook, like the simple action might dislodge the tangled, painful memories still lurking in his mind. “I don’t remember…”

Glassy gaze finally lifting from his feet, Evan risked a glance over at his father.

His eye locked on the plushie still held in Father’s hands. 

Evan’s fingers twitched and he kept wringing his hands.

He wanted his plushie back. Wanted to glide his fingertips across the soft fur, to feel the catch of the dragon’s silky wings against his skin, to hear the delicate clink of his fingernails tapping against the dragon’s glass eyes. 

Why was Father holding onto the plushie, anyway? Was he mad? Had Evan done something wrong? What could he ha–

Evan flinched as pressure locked around his elbow. 

“Are you sure you don’t remember?” 

William’s voice was firm; it didn’t sound like a question so much as a warning as the adult’s grip tightened ever so slightly. 

 “I-I don’t know,” Evan stammered. “I just remember being scared. Mike says it was so bad, I fell and split my lip.” 

“I did notice that,” William said. “I told you you were fragile, didn’t I, Evan?"

Evan didn’t meet his Father’s eye as shame burned in his cheeks. "Yes sir."

“Now, Evan…” William’s voice was clean and crisp, like he wanted to make sure Evan heard every word. "What were you so scared of?” 

Evan’s lips parted, instinctively wanting to be good and answer his father’s question, but… 

He hesitated. Usually, Father never cared about nightmares. Dry your eyes and stop being afraid of the dark, he would say, because it won't do you any good. 

And it never helped Father’s mood when you were a burden on him or if you interrupted his work. 

Sometimes, though, there were times like this when Father would ask after him. Evan never knew what to say. Father used to get upset about how scared Evan was of Fredbear's; recently, Father didn't seem to think much of it at all. But it still made Evan wary to admit exactly what had been the star of last night's nightmare.

Evan shouldn’t be afraid of something his father cared so very much about.

"There was a monster," Evan whispered. 

"Most nightmares have monsters,” William chided. “What made this one so special?"

Evan could only watch, frozen in horror, as Funtime Fredbear’s stomach ripped open with the deep chortle of metal grinding against metal, revealing a gaping chasm inside him that was devoid of wires and skeletal parts and filled instead with row upon row of sharp yellow teeth. 

"It had sharp teeth." Evan’s red, puffy eye stung, and he felt a hot tear slide down his cheek. 

Blue eyes stayed locked on him as the teeth got bigger and bigger and the hands raised him higher and higher and higher and they got bigger–

"And it s-smiled at me.” The words stayed lodged in Evan’s throat like they didn’t want to leave; Evan had to force them out, choking as each word clung inside his throat and refused to let go. “I-It wou– wouldn't stop s-smiling, even when it h-hurt me." 

"And why would that scare you?" 

Evan’s hands couldn’t stay still for a single second. He wrung his fingers, and the next second he twisted the hem of his shirt between his fingers, and the second after that he poked at his jean’s pocket and one of his belt loops the next. He shifted his weight where he sat on the couch, feeling painfully hot as he squirmed in place. 

He really, really wanted Snowball back so he could bury his face in her squishy body and hug her close. 

Evan didn’t want to talk about this, any of this, but… it was a good thing that Father wanted to talk about it, right? It meant he cared enough to listen. It was like when Mr. Fre–

“Hey, Bon-Bon! Wh-why don't we help the little-le guy give his pal Freddy a b-biiiig hugggg!” 

…Like when Mr. Fazbear would encourage him to talk about anything that bothered him. 

It was just like that.

So… why didn’t this feel anything like when Mr. Fazbear would talk with him and calm him down? 

Father’s hand slid down Evan’s arm, going from the child’s elbow to his wrist, and the adult’s fingers tightened at the lack of response. 

Evan tried to stifle his gasp as Father’s fingertips dug into the bruises he had found on his wrist when he woke up that morning. 

He hadn’t let himself think too much about how there were only bruises on his wrist when he remembered Fredbear tearing his wrist into bloody shreds last night.

He didn’t want Father to say he was fragile again.

“I-I don’t kn-know,” Evan whimpered.  “S-Smiles are sup– s-supposed to be n-nice, but it didn't f-feel nice. It was like it…"

William leaned closer as his fingers tightened on Evan’s wrist. "Yes?"

Evan’s head lowered, not wanting Father to see the tears leaking down from his puffy eye. "L-Like it enjoyed h-h-hurting m-me."

"But that's not what really scared you, is it? Sometimes, people do get joy from hurting others. You know that by now."

A million memories flashed in Evan’s mind at once.

Liz asking if they could play together just so she could lure him to her friends so they could make fun of him. 

Michael jumping out at him with his Foxy mask, chasing him around the house, cornering Evan until he had bruises when Mike finally walked away.

Liz tripping him for a laugh.

Michael locking him away inside his room, and the garage, and the parts and service room…

Evan’s head lowered even more. 

"So, I'll ask you again,” William murmured. His hand rubbed up and down Evan’s arm, comfortingly, through the long sleeves of the child's Elmo shirt before the adult's fingers settled back over Evan’s small wrist, and he tilted his head down at his youngest child. “What were you really scared of?"

Evan didn’t say anything for a long, awful moment.

Breathy half-sobs trembled in his throat, and a distant part of Evan worried Father would hear and snap at him to be a good boy and be quiet. 

He didn’t know how to feel.

Father was doing a good thing, wasn’t he? Especially when all of Evan’s 'problems' were silly, and none of them were ever worth caring about…

The Fazbears had never seemed to think that, though…

"...It sounded like my friend," Evan whispered. "I thought it got him, I thought h-he was hurt . And then,  I thought…"

"Yes?" William urged, but Evan only shook his head. 

"It's s-stupid…"

"Tell me." William’s voice was hard, and it didn’t leave any room for argument or hesitation.

Evan’s mouth went dry as shame twisted his core into a heavy, aching mass that settled uncomfortably inside him. "He just wanted to m-make sure I was okay. And for a second, I thought maybe he could, but, it wasn't him– and i-it didn’t keep me safe, it–” 

His hands flew up to shove the thing away from him, but it was as useless as trying to push down an oak tree with your bare hands. He couldn’t push the thing away, couldn’t scream for help, couldn’t even cry– 

Sobs ripped from Evan’s lungs and he shook his head wildly. “I’m sorry,” Evan whimpered, because he knew Father wanted him to, but he couldn’t talk about it, he couldn’t.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” 

Evan’s shoulders shook and his chest heaved; his fingernails dug painfully into the exposed skin of his legs under his shorts one second before curling into fists that he slammed against his thighs the next second as he struggled with the big feelings ripping him apart from the inside. 

William cleared his throat. “If you hurt yourself, then I won’t clean the wounds for you, Evan. An accident is one thing, but otherwise, you’ll have to do that yourself.” 

“....I’m sorry.” 

William stared down at his son, disappointed. He hadn’t even managed to ask about the most important thing he genuinely, truly, desperately needed to know. 

How did it feel to know you were about to die? 

He couldn’t ask it, though. 

He didn’t think he’d ever be able to ask it, no matter how much he wanted to. Because part of him would always be too terrified of what the answer would be.

Looked like the two of them both had limits that they couldn’t bring themselves to cross, for one reason or another.

“That’s enough.” 

Father pulled away, and despite how his father’s grip had hurt, a pang shot through Evan’s core as his father’s touch left him. 

When did Father ever do that?

The aching pain continued as Father tucked medical supplies and pills and trash from the gauze into his arms and under his elbows and went to leave. 

“D-Daddy?” 

By some miracle, William actually stopped. He didn’t just stop, but turned and looked at Evan with a curious gaze. 

Evan swallowed hard as his father looked at him. 

He– he wanted to ask his father to stay, but…

That’s enough. 

Father didn't have to say it for Evan to know that Father was pulling away because Evan had started crying.

He wanted his father to stay sitting beside him and never leave… to wrap him up in his arms and– and talk with him like Mr. Fazbear would, but…

He was scared that if he asked, Father would say no and would never reach out to him ever, ever again. 

“Y-You… you still h-have my t-toy,” Evan stammered. 

William’s gaze flitted down to the toy he had stuffed under his elbow when he had gotten up from the couch. 

“You can have it back.” William’s pale eyes met Evan’s gaze. “But not now. You know the rule about napping all day, Evan. If you wanted to sleep…”

You should have done it at night when you were meant to instead of wasting the day away.

William turned and disappeared through the doorway. 

Evan sat trembling, and fresh hot tears spilled down his face as he stared longingly at his arm where his father’s fingers had wrapped comfortingly around him.

Chapter Text

‘He’s not going to come for you.’

Evan’s gaze stayed locked on the waves of grays and black lining the winding driveway until the river of gravel disappeared behind a bend in the tree line. 

Tall trees towered over him on all sides and cast the nine-year-old in dark, grim shadows. 

The youngest Afton normally loved autumn. Autumn– fall, actually; he was supposed to call it fall– meant comfy jackets and nice, cool, breezes; it meant warm apple cider and green leaves turning into a dazzling array of red, orange, and yellow, like a campfire on a cool night. 

Not this year, though. 

Evan had spent those precious few weeks of early autumn stuck inside. First in the hospital, then in his room as he struggled to adjust to being back home. 

By now, the gentle cool breezes had turned into harsh chills– chills that bit with enough ferocity to make a smaller-than-average nine-year-old shiver. 

Gnarled, bare tree branches swayed in the bitter wind where they loomed over him as though arms reaching ever closer to him, inch by steady inch. The only leaves left on the trees were the long, spindly, and greedy fingers grasping at him from pine trees. Every dazzling hue of red and orange had been sucked out of the trees long ago as the leaves fell and turned brown against the ground like moldy severed hands, reaching for him.

A horrified groan slipped past Evan’s lips. His feet kicked up off the ground, the heels of his shoes resting high up against the bark of the tree stump he was currently sitting on so his feet wouldn’t be touching the ground or the thick layer of brown leaves covering the earth. The nine-year-old curled his body around his white dragon plushie as he slammed his hands over his ears in an attempt to make the awful thoughts stop. 

It– It wasn’t skin or hands, just leaves. And the trees were just that: just trees, not monsters with arms reaching for him.

He would think too much sometimes, that’s all it was. And he would make monsters appear where there were none to be found. 

No one else believed the monsters were real. Why should Evan? 

It was just the forest. The exact same spot in the forest where Evan had always waited for Mr. Fazbear to come and pick him up, just far enough down the driveway to be out of view of the house. 

There was no reason at all for it to seem so scary today, except…

‘Why would Mr. Fazbear come after what you did to Gregory?’

Evan’s hands pressed even tighter against his ears. Mr. Fazbear would pick him up. He always did when Evan called, just like he had said when he first made Evan memorize his number.

And if Mr. Fazbear didn’t come, well… Evan knew the way to Gregory’s house. He’d walk all the way there if he had to. 

Thankfully, though, Evan didn’t have to. It wasn’t long until Evan heard the quiet rumble of the Fazbears’ small brown car creeping along the winding gravel driveway. 

Small hands slowly fell away from his ears and grabbed onto Snowball’s soft fur as Freddy hopped out of the car almost the split second it came to a stop. 

Freddy stood there a moment, the dim lighting deepening the shadows curving through his frowning face.

Almost as though waiting for something, Freddy paused. 

But Evan didn’t jump up from the stump and rush over to Mr. Fazbear like he normally did. 

Instead, Mr. Fazbear was the one to come forward. 

Each crunch of gravel and decaying leaves under Mr. Freddy’s feet brought stinging tears to Evan’s eye. 

He came, each footstep seemed to whisper. He came. He came. He came. He came. 

But why? 

Was it only because he was mad at him for what Ev had said to Gregory?

Mr. Freddy’s voice had sounded concerned, not angry, on the phone when Evan had called him earlier, but… 

The crunching footsteps came to halt as Mr. Fazbear kneeled down in front of the nine-year-old. 

“Oh, Evan.” His voice carried gently across the air. “Your lip… that looks like it hurts, kiddo.” 

Keeping his eye trained on the holes and rips torn into the shoulder of Mr. Fazbear’s orange and blue flannel kept Evan from risking looking Mr. Fazbear in the face. Evan shook his head as he counted the artful rips in the flannel shirt. It had been a few days, so the ache in his split lip didn’t hurt all the time anymore. Just when he ate or talked. 

“Hey,” Freddy murmured. “It’s a bit too cold for us to be out here chatting, huh? Would you be okay moving things to the car, where it’s warmer?” 

Finally, Evan’s gaze slipped from the seven rips in the flannel on Mr. Fazbear’s right shoulder and slid over the adult’s face. Mr. Fazbear’s eyes were narrowed as he squinted down at Evan, but nothing in the man’s hazel eyes or the curve of his brow seemed angry in the slightest. If anything, he just seemed… sad, maybe, but sad wasn’t quite the right word. Somehow, Evan had the sense that it ran deeper than that. 

Slowly, Evan nodded. He did want to go to the car, though not so much because of the cold chill in the air. Evan’s fingers tightened on Snowball. Gregory’s gift to him. 

Gregory.

“Do you want to walk over or be carried?” 

Evan’s heart skipped a beat. 

Being carried was still an option? 

Had Gregory not told him what Evan had done? 

But even if Gregory hadn’t told Mr. Freddy, the adult would know what Evan did soon enough, and once he did… 

Mr. Freddy wouldn’t have any reason to want to be nice anymore.

“Ev? Are you okay?” Mr. Fazbear murmured. “Did you not like either of those options?”   

Evan didn’t realize how badly his throat was starting to hurt from the lump forming there until he swallowed. Was it… wrong to ask Mr. Freddy to carry him just because he knew the adult wouldn’t want to later? It felt wrong. 

“Ca-Carry…?” 

The corner of Mr. Freddy’s lips quirked upward. “Of course, if you’re sure that’s what you want.” 

Evan nodded, and Mr. Fazbear shuffled forward, letting Evan wrap his smaller arms around the adult’s neck. 

One of Freddy’s arms wrapped around Evan, and the other reached down for the crutch where it lay propped against the tree stump.

Freddy’s arm held closer as the adult slowly rose to his feet.

Evan’s eye fluttered closed and he buried his face into Freddy’s neck as he tried to commit everything to memory so he wouldn’t forget. The tickle of Mr. Freddy’s orange-brown curls against his skin. The feel of Mr. Freddy’s arms around him, all warm and secure, like the adult would never ever let go. How soft that flannel was on Evan’s cheek despite all the rips and holes in it. The strange mixture of sweat and dirt and coconut that emanated with every wobbly breath Evan took through his nose. 

The walk over to Mr. Freddy’s parked car didn’t last nearly long enough. All too soon, Mr. Freddy was propping Evan’s crutch against the car before opening the car door and depositing Evan inside. 

As Freddy’s arms pulled away, Evan reluctantly let his arms slip away from the adult’s neck, moving carefully to keep from accidentally dropping Snowball. 

He could already tell it was warmer in the car than it had been outside, but Evan’s trembling didn’t have anything to do with the temperature as he hugged his Snowball plushie against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Freddy murmured. Reaching around Evan, he grabbed a spare blanket and a box of tissues that they always kept in the backseat. 

Evan rubbed at the dampness under his eye with a tissue, embarrassed that it had taken so little to get the waterworks going. Then again, it had never exactly taken a lot, had it?

“I know you’ve been having a rough time, superstar. It’s okay if there’s some things you need to get out. But, first things first…” Freddy glanced almost anxiously down the driveway, where the Afton house lay somewhere beyond the trees. “I’m going to hop in the driver’s seat and get us on the road.” 

They didn’t drive for very long. 

Looking up through his teary gaze, Evan saw long lines of suburban houses stretching down the street on both sides, but none of them had the Fazbear’s big front porch where he and Gregory would pretend to be sailors being tossed on the sea; none of them had the big oak tree with the creaky old tire swing that Vanessa and Freddy would push them on; none of them had the small garden bursting with flowers that Mr. Freddy would spend hours tending until the three of them made Mr. Freddy laugh when they brought him out fresh lemonade. None of them were the Fazbear household.

“M-Mr. Fazbear?”  

A light, airy chuckle left Mr. Fazbear’s lips as he twisted around in his seat. The car was small– way smaller than his father’s, which Evan sometimes thought looked more like a boat than a car– and Freddy turning around like that made him feel close despite the car seats separating them. 

“What did I tell you about the ‘Mr.’, kiddo? I’m more than fine with just ‘Freddy.’” 

“Sorry,” Evan mumbled, only just remembering not to add the instinctive ‘sir’ at the end. Mr. Freddy wouldn’t like that. 

“Hey, that’s never something you have to apologize for. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable, okay?” 

Evan nodded. He couldn’t hold back a sniffle, but Mr. Freddy only smiled. The grin put smile-lines at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes, tugging at his skin so the dark freckles splattered across his face flickered like stars in the light streaming through the car windows. Evan had always liked Mr. Freddy’s freckles. The constellation-like patterns flecked across the soft curves and planes of the man’s face were alluring to a little boy who had always liked stars so much that he begged his father to be allowed to take the extra silver stars leftover from decorating Fredbear’s so he could put them on his bedroom wall. 

“Speaking of–” Freddy pressed a finger to his own lips. “Would you be okay with me coming back there to make sure that split lip is okay?” 

Fighting the sudden urge to hide the wound by sucking his lower lip under his front teeth, Evan nodded.

Mr. Freddy’s lips curved into another gentle smile. “Alright.”

The car door opened and closed with a click before Mr. Freddy climbed out into the sunlight. Then, he climbed in through the back door and settled next to Evan, being careful not to jostle or step on the crutch laying in the footwell. 

“Okay, now,” Freddy said. “I’m going to lightly press my fingers against your chin so I can get a better look. If it hurts too much, or if you just want me to stop, you can tell me to stop at any time, either by saying it, or just tapping me on the knee. Do you understand?” 

Freddy didn’t move again until Evan nodded in affirmation. Only then did his hands carefully float up to Evan’s chin and tilt the child’s head up. 

The cuts on Evan’s inner lip stung as Mr. Freddy poked and prodded at Evan’s lip, but his touch was light and gentle, just like it always was. It lacked the rough impatience that Father and Mike always had whenever Evan came home with a skinned knee, bruises, and scratches. 

Evan’s nose scrunched up the more Mr. Freddy moved his lip, partly from the stinging, but mostly from how awkward the situation was. It was awkward enough to make Evan want to fidget, but he tried to stay still while Mr. Fazbear worked. 

“How long ago did your lip get hurt?” Mr. Fazbear asked as he pulled away. 

“Th-Three days.” 

Mr. Fazbear hummed in thought, his hazel eyes gleaming down at Evan. “Well, it seems to be healing alright, then. Maybe not as fast as it should be, but… have you been cleaning out the wound?” 

“Yeah…” 

Mikey and Liz had, at least. They had gotten some alcohol, the same stuff they always put on cuts and scrapes, and dampened some cotton balls with it to clean the cuts on his wrist and the outer part of his lip. It had made the cuts sting really bad, like they had poured lava inside rather than stuff to help him heal. Evan especially hadn’t liked it when they raised the cotton balls to his mouth; the alcohol being that close to his face had made his eyes sting, too, and he had had to hold his breath, because every inhale and exhale had burned no matter whether he breathed in through his mouth or his nose. 

Evan rubbed at his nose, sniffling, still able to feel that burn even just thinking about it. “M-Mikey and Beth p-put some alc-alc– alceh–”

“Some rubbing alcohol?” Mr. Freddy frowned when Evan nodded. “Oh. Well, that explains why your lips seem so… chapped.” 

“Ch-chapped?”

“Yeah. It means ‘dried out.’ Do Michael and Elizabeth normally put alcohol on your cuts for you?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Ah. It’s not your fault, Ev, so I don’t want you to worry about it, but I don’t think rubbing alcohol is the best thing to use when you have a split lip. It works okay on cuts in other places, but you don’t want the alcohol to dry out your lips, or to risk accidentally swallowing any of the alcohol, okay?” 

Blushing, Evan’s gaze fell to his feet. Despite Mr. Freddy saying it wasn’t his fault, it still felt embarrassing to learn he apparently hadn’t been taking care of his lip well enough. “I’m sorry…” 

A sympathetic hum passed Freddy’s lips. “It’s okay. I just want to make sure you know in case Mike or Elizabeth try using alcohol for your lips again. We can get some ointment to help clean the wound and keep your lips from getting chapped again, and you’ll be as good as new.”

The corners of Evan’s lips twitched upward as he nodded. If Mr. Freddy said it, then Evan knew it was true. 

“I do want to ask, though… how did you get hurt, Ev?” 

Pressure ached inside Evan’s chest in a way that had nothing to do with how tightly he squeezed his dragon plushie against his chest. Evan swallowed, every muscle in his throat tensing from the painful movement.

“I know," Mr. Freddy murmured gently, remorse dripping from his voice like golden honey from a honeycomb. "I know, it’s a hard question to answer, but I wouldn’t ask it unless I thought it was important to help you, kiddo.” 

“I… I f-fell," Evan stammered. "I had a nightmare. A bad one.”  

Funtime Fredbear’s sharp claws prodded against his gums and the nine-year-old kicked out at the monster. He whimpered into the monster’s fingers and the corners of his mouth lit on fire.

Yes, a… nightmare. That had been all it was. Just a nightmare. Just like Father and Mike and Liz had said.

Just a nightmare.

So why did his back still ache from how Funtime Freddy had thrown him against the wall? Why could he still feel the thing suffocating him if he let himself think too much about it?

“That sounds awful,” Freddy said. “I’m sure it must have been really scary for you. Does it hurt anywhere else beside your lip, Ev?” 

Evan's hand floated up to his injured wrist, shuddering at the memory of the monster's claws wrapping around him and lifting him into the air with the ease of a child plucking a grasshopper from the ground by its leg. 

The movement didn't go unnoticed by a pair of perceptive brown eyes.“Does your wrist hurt? Do you mind if I check it?” 

Tears stung Evan's eyes. His fingers fisted none too gently into the fabric of his sleeve, hesitating. 

He couldn't hide the wound on his lip, just like he couldn't hide his scars or his missing eye or his crutch. Mr. Freddy didn't have to see the ugly wound on his wrist, though. 

For once, Evan knew that he could say no if he wanted, and Mr. Freddy would accept it. Despite that– or maybe… maybe because of that… 

Evan trusted Mr. Freddy. He knew the adult only wanted to help.

Still, Evan's movements were slow and hesitant as the arm hovering protectively over his wrist fell away, and he raised his injured arm out to Mr. Freddy.

Cupping Evan’s small hand in his own, Mr. Freddy reached up his other hand and gently pushed the cuff of Evan’s long black sleeve up his wrist. 

The child's face burned a humiliated red. He kept his gaze downward, locked onto the light gold shoes on his feet– light gold with Fredbear Entertainment logos and slogans plastered on the toes and down the sides; he still wore the same cheap Fredbear Entertainment shoes that Father had bought him ages ago, as though the events of his birthday had never happened – instead of on Mr. Freddy. Blood rushed to Evan’s face at the thought of Freddy seeing the ugly greens and blues staining the skin of his wrist, or the gross reddy-brown scabs growing over the small cuts criss-crossing the bruises.

Freddy's voice was small when he spoke. “And this is from…?”

“Father said I landed on my hand wrong when I fell,” Evan whispered. 

“Right,” Mr. Freddy murmured back. “Of course. We can get some ointment for the cuts here, too.” Freddy carefully maneuvered Evan's carefully chosen long sleeve back over the child's wrist before letting Evan take his hand back. “Does it hurt anywhere else, bud?” 

Sniffling quietly, Evan debated with himself. He didn't need to bother Mr. Freddy any more than he already was. But Mr. Freddy had already seen his wrist, and he hadn't seemed particularly bothered by it.

Mr. Freddy just wanted to help.

“Just my back," Ev admitted.

“Mind if I check?” Freddy asked again. 

And again, Evan let him. 

The child nodded nervously before undoing his seat belt and twisting so his back was toward Freddy. 

“Okay, Ev; I’m just going to lift up your shirt a bit so I can see your back. You’re probably going to feel my fingers against your back when I reach for the hem of your shirt, and it might feel a bit weird and ticklish.”

“Alright.” 

“Okay, kiddo; I’m reaching for your shirt now, and…” 

Evan shifted slightly in his seat as Mr. Freddy’s fingers ghosted against the skin at the small of the nine-year-old’s back. Cool air washed over Evan’s back with every inch that Freddy tugged the thick black material upward. And Mr. Freddy’s voice immediately cut out and faded into silence. 

“M– F-Freddy?” Evan turned his head, trying to see Mr. Fazbear from over his shoulder. His fingers tightened around Snowball, wondering why the adult had gone quiet. 

“Y-Yeah, sorry, Ev.” Mr. Freddy cleared his throat, but it didn't do much to make the far-away, lost-in-thought tone in his voice go away. “I can see why it hurts; you’ve got some pretty bad bruises. It must have been a nasty– fall.” Soft material fell down Evan’s back as Mr. Freddy let go of Evan’s shirt.  “Unfortunately, we can’t do much for the bruises, other than leave them for time to heal.” 

Nervousness tugged Evan’s lips down into a deep frown and twisted his gut into a nauseous meat pretzel. The child had known his back had been aching over the last few days because of the Funtime , but… his back was actually bruised? 

But why was he surprised? Father had always said that Evan bruised too easily. 

Evan turned back to face the right way in his seat. Shame burned across his face– if Michael was here, Evan was certain Mike would tease him for the tips of his ears being red– and in his stomach, making Evan’s restless fingers run anxiously through Snowball’s fur. But Evan almost forgot about that entirely when he saw Mr. Freddy’s face. 

Freddy’s brows sloped down over his eyes at an angle, furrowing so much that it left wrinkles carved deeply across his forehead. Freddy’s coffee-colored eyes shone far too brightly, dangerously so, as they looked at him, and a hollow sort of sadness drowned in the shimmering reflection of unshed tears in Freddy’s eyes. 

“Ev, I know it’s been… I know it’s been a rough time, and I want to make sure you know that, what’s been happening at home, it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to deserve it; you don’t deserve it.”

Evan’s throat tightened as he stared up at Freddy. He still wasn’t used to seeing an adult cry, and something about seeing someone as kind and strong and put-together as Mr. Freddy with tears shining in their eyes felt very, very frightening.  “I…” Ev stammered. “I don’t understand.”

A small sigh shook the air as Mr. Freddy gave the child a sympathetic look.  “Gregory told me a little bit about what happened. I know things might be a little bit confusing, maybe a little scary, between the two of you right now. So, before we go back home to Ness and Greg…”

Evan’s eye rounded in surprise. 

That word echoed in Evan’s mind. Home. Had he… had he called the Fazbear’s place Evan’s home, too? 

“I wanted to give you some time and space if you need it,” Mr. Freddy continued. “To talk about anything that’s been bothering you. Like how things have been at your father’s, or how physical therapy has been going; or if you wanted to talk more about that nightmare, or about what’s been going on with your sibilngs. Or if you’d just like to have a few minutes to just breathe and relax before seeing Ness and Gregory again, then we can do that, too.” 

Evan couldn’t lie, not even to himself. The thought of seeing Gregory again after what Evan had done twisted the child’s stomach into a dense, heavy mass of gnarled knots that pressed down far too heavily on his insides. He felt so sick, he could practically taste the vomit in his mouth already. 

But the only thing worse than the idea of facing Gregory after what had happened, was the idea of never seeing Gregory again. 

Gregory had looked so hurt when Evan snapped at him to leave. The nine-year-old struggled to remember a time when Gregory had ever looked that hurt. 

Evan needed to apologize. He had to. 

Ignoring the anxiety building in his chest, Evan shook his head. “I j-just want to see Gregory again.” 

Mr. Freddy stared at him for a few moments, that sadly soft look never once leaving his eyes. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.” 

The child immediately nodded before he could change his mind. 

“Okay. Back home it is, then. And, Evan…? I’m really proud of you, superstar.” 

Standing too stiffly in the threshold, Evan sucked on his lower lip, tasting the sweetness of the strange strawberry-flavored stuff Mr. Freddy had put on the cut there after they had gotten to the Fazbear house. 

Evan couldn’t get himself to look at Gregory until the other boy spoke. 

“You can actually come inside my room, you know. I’m not going to stop you or shove you out.” 

The Afton child winced at that. Slowly, Evan’s gaze lifted from the wooden floor with its stray clothes, papers, and action figures scattered around the room’s perimeter. Almost like the floor had been messy, but Gregory had kicked everything against the walls so it would be easier to walk around.

Especially if you were walking around with a crutch.

A pair of golden brown eyes stared Evan down through narrowed slits and furrowed brows. Despite the sharpness of the features, though, something about Gregory’s expression was off. Evan almost thought Gregory didn’t seem mad enough . The way Gregory leaned back in the chair beside his desk felt too lax for the chaotic boy who would lash out with words and fists when he got angry. 

The other’s expression was almost… blank. His face didn’t seem angry so much as annoyed. Or disappointed. 

Holding onto Snowball with his free hand so he knew that he wouldn’t drop her, Evan crept forward.

Gregory watched Evan approach, and that hard look on the older child’s face didn’t waver. 

Evan did, though. He and Gregory had never fought before. There was the occasional scuffle over what they would watch on tv or what game to play or who got the last cookie, sure, but never anything like this. 

Once he got within arm’s reach of Gregory, Evan stopped. And he held out the dragon plushie to his friend. 

Frown deepening, Gregory’s dark brown unruly hair fell over his face as the child tilted his head at the plushie. “What are you doing?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Evan stammered. “I’m sorry that I th-threatened you, and that I said mean things to you, and I’m s-sorry that I told you I didn’t want you around anymore. You– you’re the nicest and the coolest person I know– you’ve always been there for me, and I know that you were there to help me, and a-all I d-did was hurt you. I know– I know you don’t have any reason to f-forgive me, but… I need you t-to know that you didn’t deserve any of that. I get it if you– if you don’t want me around anymore, so…” 

Tears seared the nine-year old's eye and his arm trembled almost as much as his voice did as he held the dragon plush out to Gregory.

It– it wasn't a big deal; Evan knew it wasn't. He had to give Snowball back; that was how it worked. 

Mikey used to give Evan plushies from Fredbear's. The last one Mike had ever given him was a Foxy plush three years ago on Evan’s birthday. 

…His first birthday without Charlie. 

Lots of kids from his class had come to the party; lots of kids always came to his and his siblings’ parties. But they hadn’t come for Evan, just for the games and pizza and prizes, and they had all made sure Evan knew it.

Evan had tried not to let it bother him. Instead, he had set up a plate next to him, fought the other kids for a slice of pizza and cake, and had busied himself making a name tag with one very special name on it. 

Charlie. 

He wrote her name in green, her favorite color, and drew pictures of her favorite Fredbear characters– the big, rosy-cheeked puppet, and the purple version of Bonnie– and put glitter all over it, like if he just made the name tag pretty enough, then Charlie would show up at his party. 

The other kids all made fun of him for it. Even Liz had hissed at him to stop and hadn’t seemed to want anyting to do with him afterward. 

Then, one of the older kids snuck up and stole Charlie’s plate of pizza and cake, and when Evan had tried to stop them… 

He could still hear that awful, sharp sound of Charlie’s name tag being ripped to pieces. 

Evan had bawled his eyes out surrounded by the green and purple shards of Charlie’s name tag as the older kids laughed at him, until… 

Until Michael told the bullies to get lost. And then Mikey had done something really weird. 

Evan thought he had vague memories of playing with Mikey’s Foxy plush when he was younger, but those memories must have been something from a dream, because Mikey never let anyone touch his Foxy plush. So Evan hadn’t known what to think when Mikey gave him his Foxy plushie to hold as his big brother grabbed a napkin and wiped away his tears after the bullies left. 

After that, Evan had taken the Foxy toy with him everywhere that he went. He curled it against his chest when he slept, gave Foxy his own seat at the table, and his Foxy always got the privilege of being carried in his arms rather than having to ride in his backpack like Chica and the Bonnies had to. 

One day, Evan had been playing with the Foxy plush and the new Fredbear plush that Father had given him– and it hadn’t even been on Evan’s birthday! Father never gave presents outside of birthdays and holidays! Never!-- before Mikey came up to him. 

Ev still didn't know what he had done to make Mike mad, but Michael had demanded that Evan give the Foxy plush back. And when Evan refused to let the fox go as Mike tried tugging it away, the plush’s smiling red head ripped away in Michael’s hands with enough force to send Mike stumbling on his feet while younger, clumsier Evan had tumbled into the ground in a cloud of plushie stuffing and tears. 

If someone gave you a gift and you made them mad, then you didn’t deserve the gift and you had to give it back. 

It was only fair. 

Gregory’s confused gaze looked between Evan and the plushie. “So you’re… giving the plushie back to me?” 

Evan nodded.

Gregory just stared at him for a frightening few seconds.

Then something in the older boy’s face softened. 

“It’s your plushie, Evan. I gave it to you.” One of Gregory’s hands unattached itself from the arm of his desk chair and moved toward the plushie. But he didn’t take Snowball away. Instead, Gregory nudged Evan’s arm, and the plush, back to his side. “I want you to have it.” 

"But…"

"No buts, except for sitting." Gregory nodded at another chair beside the desk. "Go on," the older child prompted when Evan stood there, frozen as he stared at Gregory with wide eyes and Snowball still half-suspended between them.

Evan obediently, bewilderedly lowered himself onto the extra seat.

“So,” Gregory began as Evan propped his crutch against the wall. “Those cuts on your lip and your wrist…” 

Evan’s tongue darted over his lips instinctively, feeling the odd gel-like stuff Mr. Freddy had put on his lips before letting Evan come into Gregory’s room. Mr. Freddy had point some cream on Evan’s wrist and wrapped it in a mummy-like bandage, too. 

“You said you got those cuts three days ago. That’s when I snuck into your room, right?” Gregory paused, his hazel eyes latching onto Evan’s green one. “...Did you get those because of me?” 

Evan! Are you still awake? 

Let me in! Evan, open the door! Help– Help me! Please! 

Evan’s head shook as though in an attempt to dislodge Gregory’s– not Gregory’s– voice echoing in his head. 

“N-No…” Evan whispered around the tightness wrapping around his throat.

Gregory’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. Something bad happened that night, and you knew it was going to happen, didn’t you?” 

Evan’s lips fluttered soundlessly, his fingers tightening on Snowball as he tried to work out what to say with Gregory’s piercing gaze locked onto him. 

“...That’s why you wanted me gone?” Gregory asked.

Evan didn’t answer. But the nine-year-old’s silence must have been evidence enough in Gregory’s eyes. 

“But I don’t get it. Did your dad do that to you?”

“What? No, he d-didn’t. He w–” 

He would never. 

The child’s voice caught in his throat and a flash of fear stabbed through his chest, sending his heart racing. Evan’s voice suffocated under a biting cold avalanche of memories that the young child had always tried very hard not to think about. 

Father’s silvery eyes flashing. Michael screaming and yelping. Bruises poking from under shirt sleeves and hems, from under skirts and socks and collars. Father’s voice saying that everything was alright and humming happy songs as he gestured for them to come closer. Father's caring hands quickly turning to fingernails drawing blood once they did come close. Locks sliding shut from the outside after bedroom doors slammed with a deafening bang. 

Father would never. Unless you did something bad to make him mad. 

“Did Michael do it? Or your sister?” 

“N-No. I told you guys, I h-h-had a nightmare, and I fell. That’s i-it.” 

Gregory’s frown deepened, edging on a scowl as he looked at the Afton child. “I’m not dumb. That’s not all there was to it, Evan. I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me.” 

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Evan’s gaze could only focus on the reflective lights shining in Snowball’s glassy eyes for a moment before his vision blurred with tears. 

Gregory paused a moment, processing what the younger had said. “What?” 

“You wouldn’t believe me. No one does. Y-You’d think I’m crazy, or that I’m lying, or…”

“What are you talking about? You can’t just assume I won’t believe you without giving me a chance.” 

Evan’s fingers tightened on Snowball. Only to loosen ten seconds later as the child wondered whether he should try giving the plushie back again or whether he could hug it to his chest one last time before Gregory changed his mind about Ev keeping it. “You won’t believe me,” Evan whispered miserably. 

A frustrated huff emanated from the older child, making Evan wince. 

‘You’re annoying. He’s mad at you, now. You ruined everything.’

But when Evan looked up, Gregory’s golden eyes weren’t looking at him. Sun-kissed arms crossed over Gregory’s chest as the child leaned back in his seat. His eyes stared dead at a wall, away from Evan, as he sucked in one deep breath after another, just like Mr. Freddy had been trying to get the ten-year-old to do when he was angry or frustrated. 

Evan frowned in confusion as hot tears spilled down his cheek. Why was Gregory holding back after what Evan had done? 

Slowly, Gregory’s golden brown gaze slunk back to Evan. “Well, fine. How’s this. If you take a chance on me and trust me enough to tell me what happened– what really happened– then I’ll take a chance and trust that you’re not crazy, or lying to me, or whatever else you’re afraid of. Deal?” 

Evan’s lips fluttered soundlessly. The way Gregory said it… made sense, but… 

Gregory leaned closer as Evan hesitated. The frustration never quite left his eyes, but his gaze softened as he looked at Evan. “Look, Ev, I’m not mad at you for what you said back there. I mean, I was for a while, but– not anymore. I don’t want us to stop being friends because of it. That’s why I’m not taking Snowball back, okay?”

Tears burned in Evan’s eye as his head ducked down, looking at Snowball’s dozy smile. 

Gregory… still wanted to be his friend…?

That didn’t make sense. 

Evan thought about Liz, and Michael, and even Father. 

Even his own family would get mad and not want anything to do with him whenever Evan would mess things up. Gregory wasn’t even related to him by blood, so why… why would he… why would Gregory want to be friends with him still after what Evan had done? 

Gregory chewed on his inner lip for a moment before sighing. “Now, I’m just– I’m just mad about that night because I thought you trusted me, but… I guess you’d rather push me away than talk to me about what's happening, even if you have to say something awful to me to do it. I mean…  that’s what friends do, right? Trust each other?” 

“I do trust you,” Evan whispered.

“Then prove it. Just… trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you?”

Evan's eye stung as he met Gregory’s gaze, trying to find a way out. Were these really the only options he had? Lose Gregory because his friend thought he didn't trust him, or lose Gregory by telling him the truth? He had come here prepared for Gregory to hate him, but… this… this was…

"Okay," Evan whispered, defeated. Or maybe, just maybe, daring to hope. 

Gregory's gaze roved over Evan’s face, suspicious. "Okay?" 

Evan nodded. Even so, it took him a minute of squeezing Snowball to swallow down the lump in his throat mangling the air he breathed.

“Sometimes," Evan murmured, so quietly that Gregory leaned closer to hear better. "S-Sometimes, I have these– these bad dreams. I’ll be in my room, and I can hear things roaming around in the halls outside. Monsters. Except– except they’re not monsters. They’re the things my father built for his diners. Fr-Fredbear, and Chica, Foxy, and the F-Funtimes, and… and they'll be out in the halls, or in my c-closet, or u-u-under my b-bed, trying to g-get me." 

"Yeah?" Gregory frowned, his confusion plain on his face in the furrow of his brow and his squinting eyes. "You've told me about that before. Has Michael been using them to scare you again? What do your nightmares have to do with anything?"

"I–"

Evan lowered his head as his voice wobbled and broke.

Was he really doing this? He knew what Gregory would say. 

Evan was a stupid, pathetic little kid making monsters out of nothing in the dark. That's what everyone always said. 

That's all it was. Evan had always had an overactive imagination. He turned jackets hanging from chairs into an intruder hunching in the dark; he turned wind rattling window panes into fingers pawing at the glass; he turned tree branches and brown leaves into fingers and hands reaching to grab him; his imagination turned Fredbear's into a death trap just because it was the last place he had seen his only friend. 

Even Mr. Freddy mentioned it, sometimes, when he had to calm Evan down because Evan had gotten frightened or anxious; Freddy said it was Evan's head feeding him "bad thoughts that weren't true."

That was what Evan did. He took normal things and made himself scared for no reason. 

That was all this was– wasn't it? Stupid. Stupid, and crazy, and stupid, stupid, stupid–

"Evan?" 

The younger child flinched as something bumped against his hand. Looking up, though, Evan tried to relax as he saw it was only Gregory’s hand. 

"I c-can keep them o-out, somet-times, by closing the d-doors on them. But– but s-somet-times, they--th-they sn-sneak in-in– inside and g-get me. I a-always wake up i-in bed after they do, so I– I know they're just dreams– they have to just be d-dreams, but–" 

Evan trembled as the words tumbled out. He didn’t know anymore if he was trying to convince Gregory that he was sorry, or if he was trying to convince Gregory that he trusted him, or maybe a mixture of both. But now that the words had started, Evan couldn’t get them to stop; it was like trying to stop water from leaking out of a big crack in a dam, or trying to stop a monster from bringing you closer and closer to giant sets of sharp teeth. 

"S-Sometimes I'll see these– these sc-scratches on the w-walls or m-my doors where the m-monsters were, but F-Father always says th-they're just from us kids p-playing. But, in the d-dreams, sometimes I-I’ll be so sc-scared that I'll make a m-mess– I'll throw up or wet myself–" 

Evan sniffled, barely even aware of the embarrassing details he had just admitted to as he rambled in a terrified, confusing jumble. "And then I'll wake u-up, and– the carpet will smell w-weird, like– like the cleaning stuff that F-Father keeps. Or somet-times those th-things will h-hurt me, and I'll wake up w-with bruises where the things grabbed me, like– like it wasn't a dream. But Fa-Father will say the br-bruises are j-just from play-ying r-rough with Mikey, and M-Mike and Liz say it's from b-bullies at sk-sk-school, and I don't– I don't know–" 

Evan met Gregory’s wide brown eyes as the elder child squeezed Evan’s trembling hand. 

"I don't kn-know if those things are real or not," Evan whispered somberly. "But I didn't want you to get h-hurt if they were. I-I’m sorry I hurt you; I r-really am. I'm crazy, a-aren't I? You're gonna think I'm crazy–" 

"Hey, hey, woah. Let's get one thing straight: I don't think you're crazy. I just… it's a lot to process. Your… your dad's big robots are attacking you? How?"

Evan shook his head. He didn’t know. Tears leaked down his face, and the nine-year-old lifted Snowball up and buried his nose in her soft fur to hide his tears and the runny mucus dripping down his nose. 

"I wish you had told me that night,” Gregory said. “If– If those things are real, then they hurt you. This is serious. You didn't have to send me away; I could have helped you." 

"A-And what if you h-had gotten hurt?" 

"But what if I had been able to stop you from getting hurt?" 

Evan swallowed hard. He supposed… if he hadn't pushed Gregory away, then there was no way that he could have fallen for Funtime Fredbear mimicking Gregory’s voice…

"Well, whatever," Gregory muttered. "We could argue all day about who could have protected who. What happened, happened. Just… can you promise me that from now on, we're going to have each other's backs?"

Evan’s teeth prodded into the chapped skin of his split lower lip, wincing slightly at the pain. "I… I wasn’t sure– wasn’t sure you'd want to a-anymore."

Gregory pursed his lips, pretending to be offended in a playful look that Evan knew well. “I don’t abandon my friends. Like I said earlier. I'm not mad at you for trying to protect me, okay? We're in this together, just… just so long as we trust each other. And… “ Gregory shrugged. “You trusted me enough to tell me the truth, so I'm gonna try my hardest to help you figure this shit out." 

A mass of white synthetic fur and two floppy ears quirked upward as Evan lifted Snowball’s chin, tilting her head back so he could look into the white reflections on her glassy eyes as though asking the dragon if she could believe this, either. 

"Really?" Evan whispered as he looked back at Gregory through his teary gaze. 

“Of course.” Gregory nodded without missing a beat. His chair screeched across the ground as Gregory jumped to his feet, grabbed the yellow box of tissues off his desk, and walked them the few steps over to Evan. 

"I didn't wait by your hospital bed for months just to let this come between us, okay?” Gregory said as Evan shakily pulled a tissue from the box. “We're gonna figure out what's been happening, and if there are any robots coming after you, we're gonna kick their butts. I promise."

"So… you want me to do what?"

Slim fingers ran up and down a bundle of soft brown and white fur. Charlie the cat’s quiet, gentle purring vibrated through Evan’s fingertips as they glided through her fur and scratched under chin. Charlie leaned into his touch, tilting her head and purring even louder. Evan didn’t have Snowball– Mr. Freddy had wanted to put her in the wash after Evan had gotten snot on her while crying– but he was happy to see Charlie the cat, and she was just as happy to see him. And it didn’t hurt that Vanessa had let Evan curl up against her side where he and the younger Fazbears were sitting on the couch. 

“You know that friend of yours?” Gregory’s smooth voice said from Evan’s other side. “The one that’s good with tech stuff?”

Above Evan’s head, Vanessa squinted down at her younger cousin. “You mean Luis?” 

“Yep.” Gregory popped the ‘p’ as he nodded up at Vanessa, his brown bangs hanging wildy across his face. “I need to talk to him.” 

“What?” Vanessa asked. “Why?” 

“It’s for me,” Evan murmured. “I’ve been having– nightmares. About… the things my f-father makes? And Gregory…” 

“I thought Luis might be able to help,” Gregory piped up when Evan’s voice fell silent. 

“Luis? I mean, he’s a nice guy, but… why him?” 

Gregory clicked his tongue as he smirked up at Vanessa with all the smug confidence of Robin Hood cornered by the King’s men but with plenty of tricks still left up his sleeve. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Nessy?” 

Evan burrowed his face deeper into Vanessa’s side. He really didn’t like the idea of keeping things from her, but Gregory had said that it would be best if they kept their plans to themselves for now. 

Recognizing the nickname that Luis called her, Vanessa scowled down at Gregory. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Come on, the guy’s in love with you; he’ll do anything you say! He’d eat mud if you asked him.” The playful smirk slowly left Gregory’s face as he stared up at Vanessa. His lips pursed, and sadness wavered in his golden brown eyes like a drowning form only half-seen through murky waters. “I’m just trying to help Evan out, okay?” 

Ness’ piercing green gaze flicked over Gregory’s face, dissecting him. Then, finally, she sighed.  “Yeah. Okay. I’ll… talk to him, I guess.” 

Clearing her throat, Vanessa jostled her shoulder just enough to get Evan’s attention. 

Evan slowly lifted his head, his nose twitching at the cold air that assaulted his cheek after he moved away from Vanessa’s side. 

“Speaking of,” Ness murmured. “You’ve been having nightmares, bud?”

Evan’s chin dipped. Immediately, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face into Vanessa’s side again so he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes. Instead, Evan’s green eye stayed locked on Charlie. The black and white kitten lay curled up on her side, her claws delicately kneading into Evan’s jeans before, occasionally, grabbing Evan’s hand and dragging his fingers close enough to lick before letting him go. 

“Yes,” Evan whispered. 

“Sorry to hear that,” Ness murmured back. “Have you been keeping Snowball with you to protect you?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“That’s good." Reaching over, Vanessa’s fingers scratched gently at the little hairs on Charlie the cat's forehead. "I know she’s just a little dragon," Ness murmured. "And she looks really sweet, and a bit dozy, but she’s a fierce one. She's a fighter where it matters. I can tell.” 

Evan’s gaze slid up from Charlie where she was licking and gnawing at his fingers. “You can? How?”

Lips quirking into a playful smile, Vanessa smirked at him. “Because she reminds me a lot of you.” 

“What? But–” Evan paused a moment, yawning. “But how?” 

“Well, for one, she may have droopy, exhausted dragon eyes, but her eyes are always open and on the lookout, making sure everyone around her is okay.” 

Heat rose to the nine-year-old's cheeks, and he shook his head as his cheeks and the tips of his ears turned red. “But I don’t–”

“And,” Vanessa interrupted. “She has big ole paws and wings, perfect for wrapping people in hugs when they need it most.” 

Embarrassment burned in Evan's chest and face at the inadvertent compliments from Vanessa. Snowball might have been all those things, but not him. Sure, he didn't like seeing people hurt or upset, and he tried to help those people where he could, but– but Vanessa was making him seem way too nice!

Protests build on Evan's tongue, but Gregory spoke up before Ev could voice them.

“And!” Gregory chirped. “Dragons can breathe fire!” 

Evan blinked at him. “I don’t breathe fire!” 

Gregory’s legs kicked over the side of the couch, and he looked at Evan with a smirk. “Well, you should. It’s pretty cool. You could burn any monster that came at you, or any person who was a jerkwad to you.” 

The nine-year-old paused at that. Evan didn’t know if he’d burn the monsters that came into his room at night if given them the choice. He wanted them to stop, though, so maybe he would. But… but not…  Evan frowned, his mind stuttering on the last thing Gregory had said. You could burn anyone who was a jerkwad to you.

“I don’t think I want to burn them,” Evan whispered. 

Gregory shook his head at him. “Well. You could make smores any time you wanted to, I guess.” 

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “The point is, I know Snowball is watching over you. And for the nightmares that are too big for her to handle, we can get you some monster spray.”

Monster spray. 

It sounded like something bad, like it would draw monsters to you, but Evan knew better. 

Mr. Freddy had given him some of his secret monster spray the first time Ev had a nightmare at the Fazbear house. 

The nine-year-old didn't know how it worked or what was in it, but he knew monster spray was something special that Mr. Freddy knew how to make. Mr. Freddy said that there were secret ingredients in it that monsters didn't like the smell of, and spraying it at night would make them stay away. 

It– it didn't keep the monsters away entirely. Not the Nightmares. But Evan liked to think that it helped. 

It was the only thing anyone had ever done to try protecting him from the monsters; in the end, that was help enough.

Evan looked up at Vanessa with hope brimming in his eye. “Can you?”

Vanessa ruffled his hair with a sad smile. “Of course, Ev."

A shaky sigh passed Evan's lips as he burrowed into Vanessa’s side again. "Thank you, Nessa."

Vanessa wiggled her shoulder as Evan’s eyelids started slipping closed. "How are you feeling, kid?" 

Evan paused. Even his fingers froze in Charlie's fur, and the little cat began to shift and wiggle impatiently. 

He… he didn't know the answer to that. 

Gregory still wanted to be friends.

None of the Fazbears were mad at him. 

Evan was still as welcome in their house as he had ever been.

None of the things he had been so afraid of had happened at all. 

It should have been a relief. And it was a relief, just maybe… maybe so big of a relief that Evan couldn't feel it all at once. 

If he was honest, he still felt sort of… numb, and shocked, and… 

"I'm okay," Evan sniffled as he squeezed his eye shut tighter. "I'm j-just– tired." 

"I think you might be in need of a nap then," Vanessa said. 

Evan shook his head, feeling the soft fabric of Vanessa’s sweater against his cheek. "But I wanna be here with you guys… b-before I have t-to go home again…"

"I know you only have so long here before you have to go back, but taking a nap isn’t going to be a waste of your time here," Vanessa said. "If you need a nap, take one."

"But…"

"As much as I haaaaaaaate to say it…" Gregory's voice danced with a playful forced reluctance. "Ness is right." 

Gregory paused a moment before poking his finger into Evan’s side. Finally, Evan forced himself to sit up enough so that he could meet Gregory’s gaze, once he blinked the exhaustion from his drooping eyelids.

"Besides," the ten-year-old continued. "I'd be okay with hanging blankets from the top bunk of my bed so we can just hang out in a blanket fort until you fall asleep. I don't mind."

"And, I think Gregory has some leftover monster spray in his room that you can use until our dad makes you some," Vanessa said in a playful stage whisper. 

Evan looked away from the two of them. His teeth nibbled into the flesh along the inside of his cheeks as he thought it through, but… he had the feeling the decision had already been made for him. 

"Okay," Evan whispered. "But…" 

The nine-year-old's gaze hovered on the black and white kitten where she sat in his lap, grooming the fur down her sides and her legs and occasionally looking up at him with her cute, green gaze. 

"....Can I take Charlie with me?" 

Beside him, Vanessa snickered. "We couldn't keep that kitten away from you if we tried."

"Is Evan asleep?" 

"Yeah." Vanessa leaned against the counter beside Freddy with a sigh. "He’s curled up in Greg’s bed with Charlie. Finally. The poor guy could barely keep his eyes open. He looks like he hasn't slept in days." 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t.” Freddy lifted up the pitcher of ‘monster spray’ he was making for emphasis. 

The monster spray wasn’t anything more than water with dried flowers and leaves from his yard. Freddy would have put lavender scent in like he used to do when he made monster spray for his younger sister, or as he did when he would make some for Gregory, but the adult was too nervous about what Mr. Afton might do if he were to smell the lavender fragrance in Evan’s room. Freddy couldn’t imagine that any parent could exist who would be angry at their child for spraying a little bit of scented water in their room to keep imaginary monsters at bay, but… it was better to be safe than sorry. For Evan’s sake. 

“Yeah, I’m sure the nightmares he’s been having are making it hard to sleep,” Vanessa murmured bitterly. “And that’s on top of whatever the hell his dad’s been doing to him. He has to be having nightmares about the things his dad made for a reason. His dad is such a monster; it doesn’t surprise me that Evan’s mind turned his animatronics into monsters, too.” 

Freddy’s lips twitched. While he didn’t ordinarily enjoy the idea of labelling anyone off as a monster… well, he could certainly make exceptions to that rule. 

Mr. Freddy knew a bit about the incident that had seemed to spark Evan’s fear of animatronics. A friend of his had gone missing at a Fredbear’s location, and Evan’s view of the place had never been the same after that. That being said, it wouldn’t surprise the man if Evan’s nightmares about his father’s creations were a manifestation of a nine-year-old not knowing how to handle the fear of his abusive father. 

“And that’s not even considering if his brother or sister gave him any of those bruises,” Vanessa continued. “I still don’t know how to feel about those siblings of his.” 

Freddy sighed as he gave the pitcher of monster spray one last stir. 

He knew that Evan had said he got the bruises and cuts from falling during a nightmare. But he also knew that both he and Vanessa wordlessly, instantly saw through the untruth. The split lip could be the result of an innocent fall, but the split lip on top of all the other bruises and cuts? No way. 

“I’d like to think that his brother and sister are trying,” Freddy murmured. “It can’t be easy for them growing up in that house, no more than it is for Evan.” 

Freddy hadn’t forgotten the way Michael Afton had broken down in tears that day in the hospital, when he had burst into Evan’s hospital room and frightened the nine-year-old. 

I needed to know that he was okay, Michael had said. I needed him to know I’m sorry.

He wanted to think that Michael had learned better, and that the young teen was trying to be better. 

Assuming he even had a role model to learn how to be better from . Freddy doubted that Michael or their sister Elizabeth had much access that in the Afton household. 

“What are we going to do?” Vanessa demanded. 

Freddy grabbed an open plastic spray bottle and a funnel, which clattered as he dropped them onto the counter. 

“We can’t let him go back there,” Vanessa said. “But he’s not going to admit that his dad hurt him, is he? Not to us, or to any authority we try reporting that bastard to.” 

Freddy froze with the plastic funnel held halfway to the spray bottle, and his eyes slid closed. 

Mr. Afton was well-liked in Hurricane. The entire town adored him, and he had a lot of influence. A lot of ties. A lot of people who might rise to his defense. Freddy had always thought it weird that Fredbear’s was barely shut down for a day after Evan’s near-fatal birthday, especially after learning about Charlie Emily’s disappearance there– shouldn’t there have been more done? Investigations? Inspections? Something ?

And as much as it enraged Freddy, reprimanding your child for crying, or refusing to save a kitten for him, or keeping your kid shut up in the house after such a bad injury, or letting your kids ‘play rough’ with each other, none of that was strictly child abuse– not legally speaking . And certainly not to a town that adored Mr. Afton and his company. 

As awful as they were, those bruises were evidence against William Afton, but…

Freddy had tried asking Evan about the bruises he would sometimes find on Evan before. It had always ended in Evan completely shutting down and refusing to talk. 

Evan loved his dad, despite all the awful things Freddy knew happened in the Afton house behind closed doors. 

Father said I landed on my hand wrong when I fell.

If they tried reporting William, and Evan was too scared or nervous to do anything more than regurgitate his father’s lies, and if William got away free… what would happen? Who would pay the price for defying William Afton? 

Evan would pay for it, and his siblings. And… god only knew if a man like William Afton would try making Freddy and his kids pay for it, too. 

Freddy placed the funnel inside the spray bottle before meeting Vanessa’s eye. 

“I think I’m going to try talking to his siblings.” 

Vanessa’s brows lifted as surprise painted her features. 

“Really?” 

The adult nodded slowly. “They might have seen Evan’s ‘fall.’ Or even have taken some ‘falls’ of their own. Someone should make sure that they’re okay, and…” 

“And they might be a bit more willing to talk,” Vanessa finished for him. “Will that work?” 

“I don’t know,” Freddy murmured. “I hope so, honey.” 

Chapter Text

“Is putting my stuff next to your dresser okay?”

“Yeah. It always is, isn’t it?” Mike’s reply to Evan’s question was instant– instinctual, even. 

Heat rushed to Evan’s cheeks as he dropped his blue suitcase beside Michael’s dresser. Mike’s confidence was one of many things that awed Evan about his older brother, and Evan floundered at the reminder of how gawky he himself was and would always be.  

“I’ve never stayed over for a whole week before,” Evan offered by way of explanation. “I-I just wanted to make sure.” 

With his thumbs buried casually, nonchalantly inside his front jeans pockets, Mike nodded. “Yeah, I get it. ‘S no different than any of the other times you’ve stayed over, though.”

An awkward smile split Evan’s lips. "I know." 

Evan had stayed over with his siblings at Roxanne Fazbear’s countless times by now– sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for a weekend, and now, for a whole week. The longer length of time was new, but the house and the people in it were as familiar to Evan as the sticker- and acrylic-paint-covered cane that he walked with. 

That cane tapped softly against the hardwood floor as Evan made his way over to Mike’s bed and flopped down onto the soft mattress. "This is new." Evan ran his fingers across a fluffy blanket depicting a dark green forest. A lake sprawled across the blanket's center, with a dark gray and black wolf lapping up a drink from the pristine blue water. "You had a black blanket the last time I was over." 

“Yeah.” Mike’s eyes rolled slightly, but a smile split the teen’s face as he carefully grabbed Evan’s cane and propped it up against the nearby wall within the twelve-year-old’s reach. "Roxy got it for me." 

“It’s really soft.” Evan could have sworn he was running his fingers across a fluffy layer of clouds. “I like it." 

Evan’s seafoam eye darted around the room, seeking out anything else that had changed in Mike’s room since Evan had been here last week. There was another poster on the wall, from the Top Gun movie Mike had made him and Liz watch not too long ago, and the room itself was neater than it had been last week. Less clothes on the floor, all the trash gone, and even the figurines and brushes on the dresser were all neatly arranged, like Miss Roxy had made Mike clean up before the sleepover. Other than that, everything was just how Ev remembered it, though. 

Mike ran a thoughtful hand over the blanket.  “Roxy said she thought it suited me. I-I dunno; she likes wolves, and I think she's the type to give other people presents that she wants, to be honest. Like if she thinks it's cool then obviously everyone else will, too."

Ev sat up enough to look Michael in the eye. "You don't like it?" He asked, curious.

“I didn’t say that. I do like it.” Mike shrugged. “Wolves are badass."

A teasing smile tugged at the twelve-year-old’s lips.  "More, um… you know… than foxes are?" 

Mike laughed. He looked embarrassed, but not by Evan’s teasing– more like he was embarrassed by what Evan didn’t say. “Oh my god. You can say 'badass', you know. Roxy doesn't care."

“Nooooooooo!” Sitting fully up, Evan dragged his feet onto the bed and sat criss-cross applesauce with his fingers looped loosely around his socked ankles. “That’s a bad word, Mikey!” Evan protested, laughing. 

“Barely.” The teen shook his head down at his little brother. “What’s the big deal? I know for a fact that Gregory says worse, you know." 

Evan stuck his tongue out at Michael before puffing out his lower lip in a pout. “Well, I’m not Gregory.” 

“Nah, you're too short.” 

“Heyy!” Evan kicked out and knocked his socked foot against Mike’s leg. “Meanie!” 

“Am I wrong?” Mike smirked. The older teen pushed Evan's foot away, and Ev’s laughter rang in his ears. Mike plopped down onto the bed, too, making Evan wobble as the mattress dipped. “I wouldn't say wolves are more badass, but… they are pretty cool. I just…”

Mike's head shook as a heavy sigh heaved through his chest. Evan blinked, startled at the sudden change in tone.

“‘M’ not used to getting presents, I guess?” Mike murmured. “It's weird. I still can’t stop wondering if I was supposed to do something back, after..." 

Evan tilted his head at Mike in confusion. "You mean, like getting her a thank-you present?" 

Mike stared at him. For a second, the elder's intense blue gaze almost made Evan feel uncomfortable– like– like Mike was searching him for something. But Michael quickly looked away.

"I guess. She didn't seem to– I mean, if she does expect– something– she hasn't made it very clear.” Air huffed through Mike's nose, and the teen shrugged. “Maybe I'll get her a thank-you present. Couldn’t hurt.”

Evan frowned for a moment. “Well– Liz and I can help you brainstorm ideas, if you want!”

The entire bed shifted as Mike pushed himself higher up, closer to the pillows piled up at the headboard and farther from where Evan sat at the foot of the bed. “Yeah. I’d like that.” He picked up a red plushie from amongst his pillows. His fingers ran thoughtlessly, subconsciously, over the toy's triangular ears and rubbed the soft fur between his fingertips. “I’m not so good with presents.”

Leaning forward, Evan knocked his hand against Mike's knee. “Don’t be dumb; of course you are.” 

The teen blinked slightly at the teasing tap but didn't pull away, laugh, or joke back. He just– stared blankly at his lap. “Yeah…”

Unease twisted inside Evan's chest. “...Mikey? Are you okay…?” 

“Yeah. Duh.” Mike's eyes shot back over to Evan. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I…” Evan withered under Mike's gaze. Evan couldn't have said what, but something about the too-quick response stung. “Just checking in.” 

“Well, I'm fine.” 

Evan trained a wary look at his brother. He couldn’t pin his finger on what, but… something just felt wrong. Maybe it was how quiet Mike was, or the way the elder wouldn’t quite meet his eye, but something just– didn’t feel right. Still, if Mike had said he was fine, then maybe his brother just… didn’t want to talk about it. 

 “Okay,” Ev said carefully. Evan waited a moment, but Mike didn't say anything else. Just kept poking at the red furry plush in his hands.

The plush moved back and forth under Mike’s hands. Its face briefly turned Evan’s way, showing off a mischievous fanged grin. A million memories danced through Evan’s mind, and his lips quirked into a small nostalgic smile at the familiar face. “I’m really glad you got ole Foxy all fixed up.” 

“Wasn't me,” the elder child said with a shrug. “Liz did it. With some help from Roxy and Monty, I think.” Mike tossed the plush up in the air and caught the toy in his hands. “Foxy’s all good as new. Better, even.” The teen cast an appraising glance Evan’s way before holding out the plush. “Wanna see?”

“You– don’t have to show me. Only if you want to.” 

“‘S fine.” With a jerk of the wrist, Mike sent the plushie flying Evan’s way. 

Evan’s hand shot out to grab the plush. The soft fabric bounced off Evan’s palm before he could latch his fingers around the toy; heat crawled across Ev’s cheeks as he fumbled the catch and floundered for the toy, but the Foxy plush tumbled neatly into Evan’s lap. 

“Nice catch.” 

“Thanks,” Ev said dryly. Evan tried very hard not to imagine that the fox’s smiling face was laughing at him as his fingers lifted up the toy. 

After all this time, it was strange seeing the plush with its head firmly attached to its body. He had grown oddly used to the pale stuffing bleeding from the toy’s shattered neck over the years, and– if he was honest– he had almost forgotten what the toy’s face looked like. In his head, the fox’s smile had brimmed with sharp teeth and narrowed eyes had glared from the toy’s blood-red face. 

The toy before him wasn’t anything like that. One perfectly round yellow eye sparkled up at Evan, and Ev found now that the toy’s smile didn’t have teeth at all– just two cute little fangs poking out from the fox’s muzzle. Its face wasn’t twisted in the angry snarl that had stained Evan’s memories. If anything, the toy looked silly in the best of ways– a bit like Charlie the cat: empty, oblivious eyes without a thought in her pretty head. 

Something else was different about the plush, too, but this time, the change wasn’t caused by false memories. 

Golden yarn circled all around the fox’s neck and dripped down its chest, the yellow strands holding the once-tattered flaps of fabric together. A shining golden skull and crossbones hung from the looping necklace of yellow yarn, and it danced across Foxy’s torso as Evan poked at the plastic charm. 

“It’s amazing,” Evan whispered, his voice quiet but genuine. He had never seen anyone fix a plushie like this before. Making the stitches a part of the toy (and a treasured part of the toy at that!), rather than hiding away the wounds and the stitches holding the toy together, wasn’t something Evan ever would have thought possible. But staring down at it, Evan knew it was perfect for the pirate fox. “I like how the necklace matches Foxy’s gold tooth.” 

Faux-fur curled around his fingertips as Evan ran his hand along the plushie that had made up such an important portion of his childhood. His green eye stung as his fingers slid over the gold necklace and the scratchy black eye patch and the tuft of fur on top of the fox's head. Maybe it was silly, but holding the plushie felt almost like holding a part of himself, his history. The child knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was one of the most important plushies in the world.

When he finished holding onto the emblem of his childhood and running his fingers across its bittersweet fabric one last time, Evan carefully passed the plushie back over to Michael. 

“I was thinking,” Mike murmured, grabbing the toy back. “About trying to add in some earrings. Keep the gold theme going, you know? I’d have to ask Roxy and Monty; see if they can’t give me some advice on how to give him some gold earrings.” 

Evan grinned up at his brother. There was something so sweet about seeing him being so passionate with his plushie. 

Having a plushie be so important to you was something Evan could relate to.

“That sounds awesome! You should do it, Mikey. I know anything you do will look great.”

Mike's blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t think it’d be kinda dumb?”

“What? No way!” Evan gestured at the golden necklace sewn into the red fox plush. “Your Foxy is one of a kind now. I like that.” 

“Huh.” Mike only looked at him for a moment. “...Thanks.” 

“So…” Evan nudged his knee against Michael's. “You're happy to have him back?” 

The teen nodded. “Yeah. I think so.” 

“That's good,” Evan murmured. Teeth dug into his lower lip, eliciting small sparks of pain through his nerves as the twelve-year-old debated with himself. 

He had been wanting to bring this up since Mike had first mentioned that Liz and the others were fixing up the Foxy plush two weeks ago. He had never been sure when the right time would be, but– surely there wouldn't be a better time than this?

 “Hey, Mike…?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Ev said quietly. “For all those times you asked for Foxy back, and I– I refused to– to give it back. I’m sorry you went so long without him.” Evan swallowed down the lump of guilt and pain that had settled in his throat. “It was wrong of me to do that, and… I don’t think I ever apologized for that.” 

Mike blinked at him. For several moments, the teen only sat there, frozen, looking like Evan had slapped him. “It’s– okay. It wasn’t your fault. You thought I gave him to you as a birthday present, remember?” 

Evan frowned.

Maybe… maybe that had been true at first, but… even as a seven-year-old, Evan hadn't been blind to the way Mike had looked at him and the Foxy plush those weeks after his birthday. Ev had known deep down, even before Mike asked to have the plush back, that the Foxy plush wasn't his– that it was Mike's, and Mike wanted it back. 

But Evan had refused to admit it. Mike switching back and forth so suddenly between kind and mean had been so hard to understand, and Evan had so desperately wanted to hold onto the kindness that Mike had shown him during his seventh birthday and never let go. 

Those bullies had hurt Evan so badly, tormenting him by saying no one cared and no one even wanted to be at his party, and it was so much worse with Liz shunning him and with Charlie–

…

…Mike making the bullies go away and giving Evan his beloved Foxy had felt almost like Mike was giving his little brother a piece of himself, like giving Ev that plush had been Mike's way of promising that he would always be at Evan's side. And Evan… Evan hadn't wanted to let that fantasy go. He had wanted to keep pretending that as long as he had that Foxy plush, his big brother still loved him. 

And Evan had chased that fantasy even though it meant hurting his big brother.

The twelve-year-old shook his head. “Still, though. I knew how much you loved that plush. When you asked for it back, I-I should have listened. I’m– really sorry that I kept it from you for so long.”

Evan ducked his head as he thought of those weeks he had kept Foxy away from Mike, and all the years afterward that the plushie had spent torn into pieces.

“Evan.” Mike's voice was thick with emotions that Ev couldn't quite name. “You were just a kid, Ev.” 

“I know, but…”

Mike waved his hand as though to dispel Evan's words. “Besides, it was mostly my fault anyway. I’m the one who ripped Foxy apart, right?” 

Evan's frown deepened as he stared at his older brother. “That's not fair. It took the both of us pulling at the plushie to tear it, Mikey.” 

“Whatever. It doesn’t really matter.”

“It–” Evan blinked at his brother, perplexed. How could that not matter? “Doesn’t it?”

Mike held up the Foxy plush and gave it a slight shake, the skull and crossbones charm jangling across the toy's chest as he did. “I've got Foxy, and he’s all fixed up now, right?”

“That’s not…” 

That’s not the point, Evan wanted to say.

He– he couldn't pinpoint how, exactly, but Foxy being all fixed now– it didn't fix any of the things Evan had been apologizing for. 

It didn't matter that everything was all better now. He had still hurt Mikey, and… and he had never even told Mike he was really, really sorry for it. That was the point, wasn't it?

Evan wasn't sure anymore. He had practiced this conversation with Mike in his head a million times by now, but the conversation had never gone quite like this any of the times he had imagined it.

“Like I said.” Mike flashed Evan a tired smile. “It's fine, Ev.” 

The teen propped Foxy up against his pillows before standing from the bed. Mike’s knees popped as he stood, and Mike grimaced at the sound before reaching a hand out to his younger brother. “Here, come on. We better head to the kitchen and help with dinner before Roxy burns it on us.” 

Evan stared down at Mike's outstretched hand. Something about the conversation still didn't sit right with him, but… but Evan didn't know what. Mike wasn't worried at all, and he was clearly ready to move on with the conversation. Ev gnawed on his lip as he wondered if he was just overthinking. 

“Ev?”

“Sorry.” Ev shook his head and pushed the unease out of his mind. “I'm coming.” Evan said, chuckling at himself to make the tension go away. His hand settled gently in Michael’s own, and he let Mike pull him to his feet before reaching for his cane.

Foxy beamed a smile painted with oblivious mirth as the two brothers left.

Chapter Text

Plaster snaked across the sterile white drywall like pale, half-formed scars. The wall must have been cracked and broken then hastily filled and repainted. 

Maybe too hastily. Darkness splintered through the scars, the cracks reopening ever so slowly despite all the work put in to cover them up. 

It had been dodgy for much too long, but Evan had been doing fine in his hospital room. Until he crashed again. 

Freddy didn’t know the why or how. If he hadn’t come into the waiting room at just the right– or perhaps wrong– time with Vanessa and Gregory, then he wouldn’t have known that Evan had suddenly taken a turn for the worse at all. 

Non-relatives only got so much luxury inside hospital walls, it seemed. Before all this, if you had shown Freddy a picture of a packed hospital waiting room and asked him to guess about its occupants, Freddy would have thought that the occupants would be mostly the family of patients. By now, though, the man couldn’t help but wonder how many people in this limbo were not family but were friends denied access to their loved ones’ rooms because of the genes locked inside their veins. 

The man’s fingers rubbed at his eyes until he had to blink stars out from his closed eyelids. 

Ness and Gregory had fallen asleep by now. Freddy’s leather jacket hung delicately across their forms where the two lay huddled up in the stiff waiting room seats. Ordinarily, Gregory’s sleeping head laid across Vanessa’s shoulder might have drawn a chuckle from the man, but not now. Freddy couldn’t manage to do much more than squint at the cracked walls and wonder if they had been so badly cracked the last time he had been in this waiting room. 

For all the time he had spent within these same four walls over the last few months, you’d think he would be able to remember. But somehow, whether it was the stress or exhaustion or something else, Freddy couldn’t. 

Freddy’s dead gaze stayed locked on the wall until the screaming started. The man was too dead on his feet to even register the screams and growls at first, and when he did, Freddy’s eyes immediately turned to his children. 

Ness’s fingers tightened around Gregory’s hand, stirring slightly in her sleep, but neither of them woke. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” A nurse’s sharp voice drifted into the waiting room. “He isn’t ready for any visitors at the moment.” 

“But, I– I just want to see him!” 

“Again, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait. For the kid’s sake.” 

Freddy glanced up in time to see a nurse– was that Nurse Regina?-- turn away from a man and leave him in the waiting room’s threshold. 

The man moved forward half a step as though to follow after her, but then he paused. He only stood there a moment, his stained orange flannel the brightest thing in the plain hospital room and the fluorescent lights shining off his sandy hair. 

Then, his foot rose and stomped into the ground. “Dammit! Dammit, dammit!” 

Eyes all around the waiting room turned to look at the stamping man; some were nervous, scared of him, almost, and others gleamed with annoyance and anger at the disruption. 

Freddy glanced again at his kids. Gregory’s head had ducked further down on Vanessa’s shoulder, and a patch of Vanessa’s light blue sweater had darkened where drool had dripped from the ten-year-old’s lips. They were still sleeping. 

Bracing his hands on the plastic arms, Freddy raised himself to his feet, taking care to ensure the chair wouldn’t creak or groan too loudly under his movements. Then, Freddy made his way over to the man blocking the doorway. 

The man had his face buried in his hands, rubbing at his eyes and temples. He flinched when Freddy tapped his shoulder. 

“Hi there.” An exhausted smile twitched on Freddy’s face as the man peeked out from behind his hands. Those hands were large and stained– not dirty, exactly, but tinted dark as if from years of constant exposure to dirt or oil. Brown, bloodshot eyes met Freddy’s own from between the man’s stained fingers. 

“I’m sorry about all… that.” Freddy glanced beyond the threshold where the nurse had disappeared. “And, I’m sorry to intrude. But you don’t look so good. It’ll be no good to your kid if you fall over and get put into a room here yourself. Why don’t you take a seat?” 

“What would you know?” His hands dipping down from his face, the man’s glasses fell back into place on the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows narrowed, glaring. 

Anger ignited inside Freddy’s chest, but he used oxygen to smother the fire. He counted to four, taking deep breaths in and out. “I can assure you, most of the people in this room are scared we’re going to lose someone. I was only trying to help.” 

The brunette man blinked at him. All at once, the anger drained from his hazel eyes. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know why I…” 

Freddy sighed. The last of the tension melted from his form, and he shot the strange man a tired smile. “It’s alright. I think we’re all rather worn and stressed. That’s why I thought it might be good to sit down.” 

“Right.” Sniffling, the man pushed his rectangular, black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Right, yes, that– that sounds like a good idea.” 

“There’s an empty seat next to me, if you’d like some company.” 

Freddy himself wouldn’t mind the company, especially with Gregory and Vanessa both asleep. It wouldn’t hurt to have something to take his mind off of Evan until the kid was allowed visitors again.

The man nodded, though his shoulders hunched as though in embarrassment. 

Still, Freddy had only offered, not demanded. It was within the stranger’s ability to refuse if he so chose. 

As he made his way back to his seat, the stranger’s footfalls echoed Freddy’s own. Glancing at his kids, Freddy was somewhat relieved to find that both of the kiddos were still fast asleep. His jacket had drifted down around the kids’ laps, so Freddy carefully tucked it back around them as best as he could before sitting back down. 

The man hovered behind him, not sitting down until Freddy did. When the man did sit, he purposefully left an empty chair between himself and Freddy. 

“Are they… yours?” 

Freddy nodded. 

“Ah. Right. I just– wasn’t sure.” 

Waving his hand, Freddy dismissed the man’s trepidation. Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that uncommon for people to do double takes upon learning that a man of very obviously mixed race was the father of two white kids. Freddy was used to that– and to a whole lot worse. 

“I’ve got these two kiddos here,” Freddy murmured. “And a third, but he’s in a hospital bed, unfortunately.” Freddy paused a moment before giving a rueful smile. “Well. He’s not technically my kid, but he’s a part of the family in every way that matters.” 

“Oh…” The man’s eyes widened. “I'm– sorry. I didn’t know…”

Freddy frowned at the man as his hazel gaze suddenly turned away. He couldn’t help but think that this stranger seemed almost familiar. 

A tangled mass of light brown, almost dirty-blond hair shot from the man’s scalp in every direction, as though he hadn’t brushed his hair in ages. The beard clinging to his face wasn’t any tidier. He was a portly man, already starting to look uncomfortable in the too-small waiting room chairs. Just like his hands, the man’s orange flannel and dark blue jeans were covered in smears and stains. 

All in all, the man gave the sense of someone who should have looked kindly, like a messy but warm and caring uncle in a Hallmark movie, but the illusion was spoiled the instant you looked at the man’s face. The man’s brows furrowed and his lips angled downward into a perpetual frown, if the frown lines on his face were anything to go by. He held himself tensely, and there was something in his eyes, an almost withdrawn look, like he was carefully holding himself at a distance and would rather be anywhere else in the world. 

This time, Freddy frowned at himself. His own social battery was rather short from all the stress he was under, waiting to hear word about Evan. It wasn’t his place to judge others so harshly, was it? 

“I, um,” the man stammered. “I hope he comes out okay.” 

“I do, too,” Freddy murmured sadly. 

His hand wiped surreptitiously across his cheeks as his eyes began to sting. Evan. The poor kid. He didn’t deserve any of what happened to him. Not for the first time, Freddy wished that things could have been different– that he and his family hadn’t been so late to Evan’s party, that he had been more successful when he requested William Afton move his son’s birthday party elsewhere, that he could have long ago let Evan stay with him and his family forever. 

Freddy gave the man a sympathetic look. “And I hope the same for your kid, too.” 

The man stiffened. “I-It’s not– not my kid that I’m here for. Evan is my friend’s kid– my nephew.” 

Evan.

Freddy startled at the name. It wasn't a terribly uncommon name, no, but what were the chances that they were here for two different Evans?

Squinting, Freddy took in the man's sandy hair, the unkempt beard sprouting from his chin, the glasses perched haphazardly across his dirty face. Deja vu crept under Freddy’s skin for several moments before recognition finally shot through him. 

He knew where he had seen that face before. 

“Emily.” 

The name left Freddy’s lips before he even realized he had spoken. 

The man’s brown eyes snapped to him, startled. “Pardon?”

“You’re Henry Emily.” 

Henry leaned away from him and his eyes narrowed. “Yes, and– you know that how…?” 

“Right,” Freddy murmured. “Sorry, I don’t suppose you would remember me. I didn’t even recognize you at first, and we only met once, when I was hired.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Clearing his throat, Freddy kept his chin up and tried not to wilt under the intensity of the man’s gaze. “My name is Freddy Fazbear. I’m a composer for the Fredbear and Friends show; have been for the last three years now.” 

Henry’s brows shot upward, and surprise tainted his brown eyes as he looked over Freddy one more time. “I… sorry, I’m not sure that I remember.” 

Freddy waved a hand as if to dispel the issue. “It was a long time ago.” 

“Yes,” Henry murmured. “I suppose it has been.”

Freddy nodded, though it was admittedly more distracted than he would have liked. 

Although he had only met Mr. Emily once before, Freddy found that he couldn’t quite take his eyes off the man that Evan would talk about so dearly. 

Henry Emily had become something of a phantom in Freddy’s mind: someone that Evan talked about but whose existence had never been felt. Thanks to Evan, he knew that Henry Emily hated to cook; he slapped his knee when laughing and reached out for whoever or whatever was closest as though his laugh might shake him all the way to the ground; Henry Emily was terrible at doing impressions when reading stories but loved doing them anyway, and he gave the Afton kids presents ever year for Christmas and their birthdays. 

Or at least, Henry Emily used to, until a couple of years ago. 

For everything Freddy knew about Henry Emily, there were glaring things about him that Freddy didn’t know, like why Evan hadn’t seen his Uncle Henry in the entire year that Evan and Gregory had been friends. 

Freddy couldn’t take his eyes off the man, not with those questions burning his tongue. 

Evan missed you. Why hasn’t he heard from you in over a year?

Where have you been in all the months Evan has been hospitalized? 

Where were you in all this time when Evan needed you?

Maybe Freddy would have voiced the questions right then and there. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. 

He wouldn’t know, because right then, a yawn finally drew Freddy’s gaze off of the man. Beside him, Gregory was sitting up, lifting his head from Vanessa’s shoulder and wiping his arm at the drool under his lips with a wince. The movement stirred Vanessa, too, and the teen stretched her arms up high with a groan as she blinked her green eyes open. 

“Dad?” Gregory’s voice was still slurred with sleepiness, but it didn’t take his brown gaze long to travel to the man sitting next to his father. “...Who is that?” 

“This is Mr. Henry Emily,” Freddy gestured at the chair beside him. “He’s–” 

“Evan’s uncle?” 

“Evan’s Uncle Henry?”

The kids both squawked over one another, but it only took Freddy a moment to work out what they said. “Yes. Mr. Emily is here to see Evan, too.” 

“Too?” Henry said in surprise. “Evan Afton is the child you’re here for? The one you said was like family? I didn’t realize you even knew him…?” 

Gregory scoffed, and– shooting his son a nervous glance– Freddy rushed to fill the silence before Gregory had the chance. 

“I don’t mean any disrespect,” Freddy said carefully. “But you’ve been away for a long, long time, Mr. Emily. I think there’s a lot that you’ve missed in Evan’s life.” 

Henry’s startled gaze locked onto him, staring with such intensity that you’d think Freddy had slapped him. “I came as soon as I heard what happened!” 

“It’s been four months since he was put in a coma!” Vanessa’s eyes narrowed at the man. “Were you overseas or something?”

“Ness.” Freddy met Vanessa’s offended gaze as the warning passed his lips. 

“She’s not wrong.” Crossing his arms, Gregory frowned at Henry Emily with eyes just as miffed and uncertain as his sister’s. Clearly, neither of them really trusted him. 

Freddy extended his warning gaze not just to Vanessa but to Gregory, too, though even Freddy had to admit that the expression was half-hearted. He didn’t know how to feel about Henry Emily, either, and the same questions his kids were asking were burning on his tongue, too. 

“Mr. Freddy?”

Jumping a bit at the sudden intrusion, Freddy glanced up and saw Nurse Regina right in front of him. Freddy almost physically sighed in relief at the distraction. “Yes? Is everything okay? How’s Evan?”

“He’s still stable, thankfully. And his condition is improving.” Regina cast a nervous glance at Mr. Emily, though it was so quick that Freddy wondered if he had imagined it. “If your family wanted to see him, Mr. Fazbear, then I think he could handle the visitors.” 

“And me?” Henry asked. 

“The Fazbears have been here for longer. And, Evan specifically asked for them.” 

“Would it be alright if Mr. Emily joined us?” Freddy asked. “We wouldn’t mind the extra company.” 

Regina hesitated. “Four visitors at once might be a bit much…”

“If you don’t think that Evan could handle it, I understand,” Freddy said. “But Evan cares about Mr. Emily a great deal. I think seeing him again would mean a lot to him.” 

Pursing her lips, Regina stared down at Freddy with burning intensity. Her harsh hazel eyes stared at him for several moments too long… but then she sighed.

“...Alright,” the woman said hesitantly. “But only because it's you we're talking about here, Freddy. I trust you to look out for the kid.”

Freddy smiled. “Thank you.” 

“But,” Regina says. “Ground rules. He's on pain meds, so he might be a bit out of it still, and we don't want him overwhelmed. If it starts seeming to be too much, give the kiddo some space. Understood?” 

Regina waited until all of them, Henry included, acknowledged the rules before waving them onward.

“Greg! Nessa!” 

Evan’s excited yelp was the first thing Freddy heard as he followed his kids through the doorway. 

The kids rushed to Evan’s side instantly, chattering away in excited flurries. 

“Evan!”

“Are you okay?”

“How are you?”

“God, we missed you, pipsqueak.” 

Evan smiled shyly from the sea of white blankets. “I'm so glad you're here!” Ev said, his voice a bit slurred from the medicine but no less excited.

The child’s one-eyed gaze flitted over to Freddy. Freddy offered him a smile and a wave, and Evan waved back. Then, his gaze caught on the doorway behind Freddy. 

Evan’s seafoam eye widened. His fingers pawed against the sterile-white bedsheets as he struggled to sit upright, as if his eye might be lying to him, and sitting up would clarify the image. “U-Uncle Henny?”

“Oh, E-Evan…” 

Henry Emily’s voice took to the air with all the grace of a buoy tossed amongst the waves during a storm: his voice wobbled and shook with a fragility suggesting he might break apart at any second. 

The sandy-haired man rushed to Evan’s other side, but when he did, one oil-stained hand clamped over his mouth, and the other hovered uncertainly over Evan, like he wanted to reach out but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Oh, g-god, Evan. I’m so sorry…” 

Freddy moved quietly to stand behind his kids. 

Henry’s brown eyes drowned in tears and horror and grief. Freddy could understand where the man was coming from; seeing Evan for the first time in here, with those red scars spidering across his face and neck, the bloody medical eyepatch taped firmly over his missing eye, how small Evan’s broken form was in the big hospital bed… even in a hospital, the kid had been one split second away from dying, and that undeniable truth had breathed down the necks of everyone in his vicinity. Freddy still had nightmares about it, and he had lost count of the nights when Gregory and Vanessa had, too. 

Now that he had woken from his coma, Evan looked a little bit better. The angry red lines splitting his face had softened, though they were still visible, and would be for the rest of his life. Less bandages wrapped around his head, and thankfully, less blood stained them, too. But Evan’s eye was red and bloodshot; deep purple shadows curved around his eye on all sides, making it appear so sunken into his face that one could almost believe one was looking into the deep cavity of a skull’s empty eye socket. Small tubes wound around Evan’s face before disappearing deep into his nostrils to help him breathe. Needles and tubes stuck out of Evan’s flesh periodically and connected him to the countless large machines surrounding him, like greedy fingers of some big metal monster digging into the nine-year-old and preparing to drag him away. 

Evan’s current condition was a… difficult, painful reality to accept. Freddy knew that. 

And, unfortunately, Evan knew it, too. 

Ev flinched away from Henry’s horrified gaze. The child’s hand flitted up to his face, the wires on his arms snaking along his body as he moved. “I-I’m sor– sorry…” 

“Oh, no, no.” Henry’s trembling hands wrapped gently around Evan’s as he moved the child’s hand to stop hiding his face. “D-Don’t be. It's not your fault, Honeybunch, okay? Okay? I'm just– I’m– so sorry this happened to you.” 

Evan's green gaze locked onto their interlocked hands before his teary eye settled on Mr. Emily's face. “You've been gone s-so long. I m-missed you so much, Uncle Henry. Where– where have you been?”

“It doesn't matter, Honeypot.” 

A frown tugged at the corners of Evan’s lips, and his lower lip seemed to wobble a moment. 

It didn't seem to be the answer Evan was hoping for. 

Lifting his hand, Henry gently ruffled Evan’s short hair before the child could say anything.

Freddy himself glanced at the sandy-haired man, annoyance held in the seam of his pursed lips. It did matter; it was important to Evan. Did Henry Emily really not see that?

“What kind of answer is that?” 

Henry's eyes snapped to Gregory a moment when the ten-year-old scowled. 

Freddy's hand floated onto his son's shoulder, though he wasn't entirely certain whether in doing so, he was protecting Gregory from Henry Emily's critical gaze or trying to keep his son from further antagonizing the man. 

“I'm here now,” Henry said lowly, his gaze slowly turning back to his nephew. “I came as soon as I could. That's all that matters.”

“W-well, that's okay.” Evan’s tentative gaze hovered on Henry Emily for a moment before drifting over to the Fazbears. “I– I have some friends I've wanted you to meet, Uncle Henry. This, this is Gregory, and Vanessa, and Mr. Freddy. They're my friends. I think you’ll like them.”

Evan blinked slowly. He slurred their names a little bit, clearly tired from whatever medication he was on at the moment, but his gaze was no less enthusiastic for it as he stared between Henry Emily and the Fazbears. 

“We met Mr. Emily briefly in the lobby, waiting to come see you,” Freddy said gently. “We were all quite anxious to see you again, Mr. Emily included.” 

Freddy wanted to think that was a good sign. It meant that Mr. Emily genuinely cared about Evan. God knows the kid needed people who did. 

Of course Henry Emily cared; you could see it in how gentle Mr. Emily was being, ruffling Evan’s hair and holding his hand. It was heartwarming– or, it should have been heartwarming and encouraging, but somehow… Somehow, Freddy wasn’t so sure. 

Something about Mr. Emily rubbed him in all the wrong ways. 

“Evan’s talked about you a lot,” Freddy continued. “Always very fondly…” 

It’s great to finally meet the uncle he loves so much.

Freddy stumbled on the next words. He meant to say them; maybe part of him even wanted to. Part of him wanted to have a pleasant meeting with the family friend who would give Evan presents every year for Christmas and his birthday, would sit Evan on his knee and bounce him as a child, give him special merch for his favorite Fredbear Entertainment character, and ruffle Evan’s hair. 

But Evan had told them other things about Henry Emily, too. Things that raised all kinds of red flags.

That part of Freddy didn’t think this would be a very pleasant meeting at all. 

“If only I could say the same about you,” Henry said. “But I don't know you very well.” 

“I wonder why.” Gregory muttered under his breath. 

Evan only reached out and tugged on Henry's wrist. “I met Greg at school! We– were playing– a-a game– ball-dodge!” 

“We were playing partner dodgeball.” Gregory's brown eyes gleamed as a smile tugged at the child's lips. “And we kicked butt!” 

Evan giggled. “We got kicked out!”

“Well,” Greg shrugged. “Chester shouldn't have aimed that dodgeball at your face. Creaming him was worth getting banned from the game.” 

Chuckling, Freddy ran his knuckles in affectionate circles down Gregory’s back. It should have been only one of many times that it had happened, but Freddy remembered that particular intervention at the principal's office very well. Freddy was still of the opinion that instead of tackling it himself, Gregory probably should have gotten a teacher to deal with the situation with Chester, but Freddy couldn't deny the positive outcome of his son's actions. Two very lonely boys had gotten a much-needed friend because of it. 

And Freddy had gotten another addition to his rag-tag family. 

Henry's brow raised at Gregory for a moment. Then, the man shook his head, his lips twitching upward into the ghost of a smile.  “It’s… nice to see you’ve made some new friends,” he murmured to Evan. “I don’t think I’ve seen you get along with anyone so well since…”

“...I know.” Evan’s voice was quiet, low, and sadder than any nine-year-old had the right to be. His gaze tipped downward for a moment in grief, but only for a moment. 

Freddy didn’t ask, but he thought he knew already what the two were talking about. 

Charlie Emily.  

An old friend of Evan’s, another awful chapter in Evan’s bitter life… and the girl he had named their cat after. 

Looking up, Evan reached a weary hand out to Gregory. 

“You sap,” Greg murmured. Yet everyone in the room knew he didn’t mean it; the gentle smile alighting Gregory’s face as he interlocked their fingers and squeezed Evan’s hand was evidence enough of that. 

Mr. Emily stared between the two boys, then Vanessa and Freddy. A look that Freddy wasn’t sure how to interpret saturated Henry Emily’s eyes, drowning inside the brown, bloodshot orbs. 

He seemed almost… lonely, Freddy thought. Lost. 

For the first time, Freddy thought that inviting Henry Emily along might not have been such a good idea. Maybe Mr. Emily and Evan really should have had a moment alone together first.

Henry didn’t quite seem to know how to exist with so many other people in the room. 

Not that Freddy was certain he trusted Henry Emily around Evan yet. There were so many things that didn’t make sense about the man yet, no matter how much Freddy wanted– needed– to believe the best about him. Not for his own sake, but for Evan’s, Freddy needed to believe that Henry was everything Evan thought he was. 

Using one hand, Gregory leaned down and dug into his open backpack. “We got you some more movies to help pass the time. And I got some more crayons for your coloring book– bigger crayons this time, so you should be able to hold them easier than the last ones. The doctors said that might help.” 

Evan sat taller, perking with the enthusiasm of a puppy as he watched Greg and Ness lay on the nightstand a couple of DVD cases– Garfield, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and a couple of older ones they had lying around the house that Evan liked watching when he stayed over– and a box of crayons big enough that Evan would hopefully be able to draw and color with them despite the fine motor difficulties he was having.

“You shouldn’t have!” The child whispered, smiling down at the treasures. “But– thank you!”

“And, one more thing!” Vanessa chirped. “So, I thought I’d try getting into knitting, and I wanted to make you something, but– uh–”

“It didn’t go well!” Gregory sing-songed, and his eyes shone with teasing mirth. “Like, it was a catastrophe. And she tried stabbing me with her knitting needles!” 

Lips pursing, Vanessa glowered at Gregory. “If I had tried stabbing you with them, then I wouldn’t have missed, I can promise you that. And the blanket I tried to make wasn’t a catastrophe, you pest!” 

Gregory hummed, the sound screaming I’m wouldn’t be so sure about that.

Ness only rolled her eyes at him. “I’m ignoring you.” 

“Rude!” Greg pouted up at her, but Vanessa only looked back at Evan.

“Yeah, so, the knitting thing didn’t end up working out. But, I did find this at a yard sale. Thought you might like it better.”

Leaning down, Vanessa fiddled with a bag at her feet and pulled out a gift of her own. A long length of blue fabric came away in her hands, and the teen quickly flicked it out and lay it over Evan’s bed. 

The child gaped down at the new blanket covering him. Then, his fingers ran across the soft fur, feeling it tickle him as he traced the varying shades of blue and yellow swirls that danced across the fabric, arching and chasing each other like the sky of a Van Gogh painting. 

Tears shone in Evan’s eye, but a smile split his face in two, one so big that Freddy felt his heart melt as Evan looked up at Vanessa. “It’s so pretty! Are– are you sure you don’t want it? Is it really mine?”

“No, it’s all for you, pipsqueak.” Vanessa smiled. “And I’ll make you a hat or a scarf or something once I’m a bit better at this knitting thing, I promise.” 

Freddy chuckled to himself– he had thought it a bit ambitious when his daughter had decided to pick up knitting needles for the first time and thought she’d be able to make a perfect blanket in a week, but she had lived and learned, and he knew she’d be able to make anything she wanted in the future if she kept practicing. 

“Thank you, Nessa. I love it.”

Evan’s fingers were still running up and down the blanket’s soft fur, and Freddy was reminded briefly of how Evan used to do the exact same thing with that Fredbear plush of his. 

Freddy’s breathing stuttered in his chest for a moment. But he quickly shook his head, casting the events of Evan’s birthday out of his mind. 

He was just glad Evan was safe now. The sudden dip in his condition was over, and the child could keep healing.

“Of course.” Vanessa smiled sadly. “Anything to– to make your stay in this place a bit more bearable, right?”

“It’s not so bad.” 

Seafoam eyes drifted to the window in the door. The corners of Evan’s lips ghosted upward. 

“I like when the nurses come over to talk to me,” Evan murmured. “They read to me a lot, and s-sometimes, they’ll even sneak me an extra Jell-O. It’s quiet here, and calm. Better than it is at home.” 

At that word, the tender peace melted from Evan’s face. He frowned down at the swirls in his new blanket, his brows furrowing in worry. When he spoke next, his voice wobbled and cracked. “I wish I didn’t have to go back.” 

“Evan!”  

On the other side of the bed, Henry Emily stiffened. He stared at Evan with eyes widened by alarm, as if Evan was an animal chewing at a light socket. 

“You don’t mean that,” the man chastised in a hard voice. “Your family is worried sick about you; imagine if they heard you talking that way. What would they think? You shouldn’t act as if you don’t want to see them again.”

Evan blinked up at him. His mouth moved silently, a fish out of water, unable to make a sound even as he gaped for breath. “But…” A tremulous whisper faltered in the air. “But I… I don’t w-want to see them. I don’t like when they come.” 

~

Evan’s terrified screams pierced Freddy straight through the heart. He had been with the kid through many different stages of panic and fear, but nothing had sent chills through Mr. Fazbear’s veins the way Evan’s screams did as he was surrounded by figures in long white coats. 

“Get them out of here! Give the kid some room!” 

Heart rate monitors screamed alongside Evan in his panic, and it was all Freddy could do to hold onto Gregory as his son thrashed in his hands, trying to get to Evan’s side. 

Evan’s muffled cries for help cut through the air as Freddy and Gregory were forced to wait outside with Michael.

~

The Fazbears’ visits to Evan hadn’t overlapped much with the Afton family's visits to the child, but the last time it had– the time when Mike storming into Evan’s room had been enough to send the poor child into a PTSD-induced panic– was still seared into Freddy’s mind.

And it wasn’t just Michael. Evan had plenty of reason to be scared of his entire family. 

Of course the kid wouldn’t want to see them. 

“Evan.” Henry’s voice was harsh and thick with disappointment when he grabbed Evan’s hand and squeezed. Maybe it was supposed to be a gentle move, a comforting one, yet it felt like anything but as Freddy watched Evan flinch at the contact. “You mustn't say that; you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Evan’s eye swam with tears, and he looked down, unable to meet the man’s eye. “I… I’m s-sorry, Uncle Henry…”

“I can’t believe you, Honeybunch. They’re your family, and they’re trying their best–”

“Mr. Henry. Can we talk in private for a moment?”

Mr. Emily's worried gaze turned upward. Brows furrowing, Henry didn't let go of Evan’s hand as he cocked his head at Freddy. “Evan and I are–”

“No,” Freddy snapped. “You aren't . We need to talk. Now.”  

Bewilderment twisted Henry’s face into a soft frown. He looked Freddy up and down, hesitant and taken aback, like a child staring down at a puppy that had met petting hands with gnashing teeth. 

“...Alright.” Trepidation dripped from Henry’s voice. Clearing his throat, the man turned to Evan and ruffled his hand through the child's stubbly hair. “We'll finish this later, kiddo.” 

Evan didn’t look up as Henry stood, his hand pulling away as he moved away from the bed. 

The child kept looking down even as Vanessa reached for his hand, and Freddy’s blood kept boiling inside his veins. 

Oblivious to the glares the two Fazbear children sent his way, Henry shuffled through the open doorway, but the last thing Freddy saw as he closed the door behind them was Vanessa’s clenched jaw. 

Freddy didn’t need any physical words to know what the smug, enraged glare behind her green eyes meant. 

Get his ass, Dad. 

The door clicked shut behind them. 

“Alright,” Henry murmured. “What is it–”

“Not here.” Freddy interrupted, voice sharp and curt. 

For the kids’ sakes, they weren’t going to have this conversation within earshot of the hospital room. 

Turning on his heel, Freddy marched down the hall, following the sterile white twists and turns. His feet kept moving on until they were far enough away that there was no way they would be heard by the kids, no matter how loud things got. 

Only then did he whirl around on Henry Emily. 

Emily’s brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed into a glare, seemingly more annoyed than ever by the sudden long hike from the hospital room.

Freddy didn’t care. He returned the glare right back. “What are you doing?” Freddy asked, because it was the only thing he could even think to say. “How could you say that to him?” 

Harsh fluorescent lights gleamed off Henry Emily’s sandy hair as the man shook his head. His eyes went wide momentarily, taken aback and confused. “Say what?”

“Evan’s brother put him in the hospital for a coma. I think Evan’s allowed to be afraid of his family right now. How dare you treat him like he's done something wrong?” 

Henry diverted his eyes for a moment. Clearing his throat, he continued: “I understand that Mike– he shouldn't have done that. Dear god, he shouldn’t have done that. But, they– Evan’s family almost lost him. You can't begin to even know what that's like, how d-difficult that is–”

“Can't I?! I spent months, months, sitting at his bed side, speaking to what could have been a ghost, not knowing if Evan was ever going to wake up! Don't you dare presume the things me and my family– any of my family, Evan included–  have been through!” 

Henry was silent for a moment, gaping, his lips soundlessly fluttering. But when he spoke again, it was with the same firm conviction as before.  “Evan already has a family. One who needs him, after what happened. They need each other.” 

“Evan is a child!” Freddy growled. “A child who's hurt, who got hurt by people he was supposed to be able to trust. He needs the chance to heal himself, not the responsibility of healing anyone else for them. Not even his father or his siblings.”

“They're his family!” Henry shot right back. “You're making it out like they're– like they're out to get him. What is wrong with you?”

Freddy’s jaw clenched at the insult. His fingers tightened into fists, and Freddy grabbed desperately at the rough denim of his jeans to keep those fists in check through the fire raging in his chest. “Do you have any idea what happens in that household?”

Henry flinched. He looked away. “I… Things– aren't perfect, alright? Ever since Fran died… But Will's been trying his best. That’s all any of us have been trying to do.”

Despite himself, Freddy paused. “...Fran? Who…?”

“Francine? William's wife?” A scowl twisted Mr. Emily’s face into harsh lines, and he looked back up at Freddy with a glare. “Looks like you don't know nearly as much about my best friend's family as you think you do.”

“Maybe I don't know everything,” Freddy said, glowering. “But at least I'm trying. What about you? Why hasn't Evan heard from you in over a year?” 

“I was busy. And like I told Evan– I came as soon as I could.”

“Busy?” Freddy gaped. “Busy doing what?! Evan needed you! He trusted you! All three of those kids did!” 

“Fredbear Entertainment is a large company!”  Henry snapped. “We have so many locations across several states– there are so many things to check, so many places things could go wrong–! A-after Charlie, I couldn't let another kid be hurt– I had to make sure things were safe! I couldn’t stay here anymore, alright?! I had to!” 

Trying to make things safe?

Clearly Henry Emily had done a good job of that when he designed an animatronic that could rip straight through a nine-year-old's skull.

There were so many goddamn things about Fredbear Entertainment and the Aftons and the Emilys that didn't make sense. 

But Freddy forced himself to take a deep breath.

“I– I know that you lost your daughter,” he said as carefully as he could through the anger still putting trembles through every inch of his form. 

Maybe Freddy had never met Charlie Emily, and he hadn't known much about Henry Emily either, but thanks to Evan, the man knew enough.

“What happened to her,” Freddy continued. “It– it was awful and it wasn't fair. But what you did, you just– left and never looked back? All that talk about keeping kids safe, but what about the three kids who needed you the most? Where were you?”

“Stop it!”

Something desperate and panicked and angry blazed behind Henry's brown eyes, but Freddy couldn't– wouldn't– let himself be stopped.

“I can't, Henry. Those kids are hurting so badly, and you don't even see it. How do you expect to be able to help them?”

“I said that's enough!”

Henry turned on his heel and walked away. 

“Where are you going?”

Moving forward, Freddy's hand clasped down on Henry's shoulder. 

Almost instantly, Freddy's hand floated back to his side, stinging– it took the adult a moment to realize what had happened. 

Henry had slapped his hand away.

“You're insane if you think I'm going to listen to a total stranger  talk down to me about my own life.”

Freddy’s teeth gritted as Henry turned and kept walking away– in the opposite direction from Evan’s hospital room. 

“You can't just go–!” Freddy screamed after him. “Evan’s waiting for you to come back– Henry! HENRY!” 

But Henry didn't stop, and soon enough the man was gone. 

Chapter Text

Discomfort laced through Evan’s veins. He tossed and turned, squeezing his eye shut as if to block out the sensation, and tried to fall back asleep. 

A few seconds passed. His eyelids fluttered open. 

He didn’t know quite what it was or why it was happening, but there was a hollow inside his chest, something cold and aching, telling him that something was very, very wrong. 

Evan tried to swallow, only to wince when his entire throat ached. 

Maybe he had slept with his mouth open. His mouth and throat were much too dry. 

Carefully, Evan untangled his yellow and blue blanket from where it had somehow gotten wrapped around his leg. The dark blanket melded into the air as he cast it off and raised himself by his elbows to a sitting position. 

Yawning, the twelve-year-old tossed his legs over the mattress’ side. Right as his feet hit the cold hardwood below, the child realized he was on the wrong side of the bed– Michael’s side. 

Evan’s dozy gaze flitted across the bed, where his brother was nowhere in sight. Next, his gaze moved across the room. The desk where Mike would read and the corner where he would sit on his Nintendo, both things Mikey was prone do doing when he couldn’t sleep at night, were empty. 

Maybe he was watching television on the couch. 

Parched throat begging for relief, Evan decided to grab a glass of water and look for Mikey on the way. 

Evan’s cane clicked quietly against the wooden floors. The child tiptoed as quietly as he could to keep from waking anyone and being caught, though the need to sneak as quietly as possible, technically, shouldn’t have been a concern on Evan’s mind. That need should have disappeared alongside his father, but old instincts couldn’t be easily forgotten. 

When Ev made it to the living room, he found that Michael wasn’t watching tv on the couch after all, but he didn’t have time to be disappointed or confused. Right behind stood a little half-wall separating the living room from the kitchen, and a stream of light splayed into the dark living room from the kitchen’s overhead lightbulb. 

Michael was there under the light, sitting on top of the counter, looking intently at the oven. 

Ev ghosted across the room before his feet pattered on the kitchen tiles. 

Mike didn’t look up when he came in. Mike was so invested in looking straight ahead that Evan thought he must have been making some late-night snack, but when Evan glanced over at the oven, he realized quickly that it wasn’t even turned on. 

Brows furrowing, Evan looked back at his older brother. “Mikey?”

Mike jumped– not badly, but still enough that Evan was sure he saw it. The teen’s blue gaze flitted wildly across the room for a moment before settling on the younger. “Evan? What are you doing awake?”

My throat hurts. 

The words rose on the tip of his tongue, but Evan managed to squash them at the last moment. 

Mikey… he always acted weird when Evan admitted to being hurt. Especially if Evan complained about headaches, or anything to do with his head hurting.

Ev didn’t have to ask why. And he didn’t want to be another voice in Mike’s head, feeding his brother’s inflamed sense of guilt. 

“I was thirsty,” Ev whispered instead. The same message, but with different– safer– words. “What are you doing out of bed?” 

Mike looked away. Then, after a pause just a moment too long, he shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” Bracing his hands against the table, Michael pushed off. His bare feet slammed against the tiles with a quiet slap. He moved a couple steps over and pulled open a drawer that creaked only a little in the silent night. 

“So you came to the kitchen?” Evan queried. 

“Didn’t want to wake you.” 

A dark blue plastic cup came out of the cupboard in Michael’s hand before the teen glided to the kitchen sink. The faucet turned, and clear water rushed into the blue cup with a quiet roar of a shrunken waterfall. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way into the kitchen for that. You could have stayed in the room; I wouldn't mind.”

“I was bored. Wanted to walk around. I was checking the time when you came in; thought I’d try heading back to bed.” 

Mike held the cup out. 

The surface was cool to the touch, and slightly damp, as Evan wrapped his fingers around it. “Thanks.” 

Micheal didn’t say anything back. His only reaction was a nod. 

Cold water slid down Evan’s throat, which felt good in the moment, but his throat still ached after he swallowed. 

Ev’s gaze flitted to the glowing green numbers of the digital clock, right above the oven. Four o’clock. 

“How long have you been out here?”

“Not long.” Mike’s reply was instant. “I was just about to head back to bed, anyway.” 

“Right…” 

Turning, Mike grabbed onto a red and golden plush from the counter where Ev had found him. 

Over the last few days, that Foxy plush had followed Mikey wherever he went. 

“C’mon, twerp. Best not to stay up all night.” 

Michael didn’t look Evan’s way as he pushed past, heading to the doorway. But he hugged his Foxy plush tight against his chest, his arms practically strangling the toy, in a way that was familiar, if only vaguely, to Evan. 

For a moment, Evan looked at Michael and saw not a teen but the way he was as a kid, holding onto his Foxy plush so tightly, whispering quietly to it as he hid from Father’s gaze. 

“Mikey?” Mike had already pushed past, so Evan was forced to turn around. “Are you okay?”

The back of Mike’s light gray pajama shirt shifted across his back as the teen breathed a deep breath in and out. “Yep. Just tired. You coming or what?”

“It’s just…” Evan’s anxious fingers tightened on his cup. “You’ve been acting… I don’t know. Different. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Fluorescent light glimmered and danced across the locks of Michael’s long, dark hair as he turned. “Yes. You don’t have to keep asking that, you know. It’s getting old.” 

Nervousness sent Evan’s heart racing, and his gaze ducked down to the contents of his half-full cup. Maybe he should have let it go like Mikey said. 

A year ago, Evan probably would have.

Biting his lower lip, Evan hesitated for only a moment before looking back up at Mike’s narrowed blue gaze. “...I wouldn’t have to keep asking if you’d tell me the truth.” 

Mike's blue gaze pierced into him. “I am. Can you just stop it, Evan?”

The annoyance dripping from Michael's tone sliced into Evan's confidence, chipping away at it and leaving the younger hesitating. 

It was best to be as small and unobtrusive as possible. Best to fade away and disappear before he could be annoying, before he could be a burden. Before he could give anyone a reason to hurt him. 

But Evan wasn't that same little kid anymore.

“I w-would, but…” Evan's voice stammered, but his green gaze locked onto Michael's blue one and didn't let go. “I don't want us to be the kind of brothers that just– watch movies and play video games together. I want us to– to be able to talk to each other, about important stuff, stuff that matters. I want us to be there for each other, not j-just– not just tolerate each other. So, if I can help you, even if just by listening to what's bothering you, then I-I want to do that.” 

Michael's icy eyes softened into something warmer, hopeful. 

At least, that's what Evan thought. 

But Michael’s arms crossed tighter against his chest. Shaking his head, Mike quickly looked away, casting his face in shadow. “Yeah, Ev, I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

Something about Mike's words pierced straight through Evan's chest, but the child shoved the hurt away. “Mikey,” Evan whispered in a last-ditch effort. “I don't get why you can't look me in the eyes and just talk to me.” 

Shadows danced along the curve of Mike's cheek as a dark smirk split the teen's lips. “Don't you mean ‘look me in the eye?’” Michael lifted a brow in Evan’s direction. “Unless you think that gaping hole in your face still counts."

The words rang in Evan’s ear, resounding as sharply as a gunshot. Shock roared through Evan's veins, drowning out the words that echoed, unprocessed and unbelieved, in the child's ear canal. 

The reality of what Mike had done hit him all at once. 

The twelve-year-old’s trembling hand slammed his half-empty cup onto the counter and turned on his heel. 

“Ev?” Mike called as the other pulled a dark green phone off its mount on the wall. “What are you doing?”

As he stabbed at the phone's numbers, Evan’s fingers trembled not with fear but with anger. “I'm calling Dad to pick me up.” 

“What?” Gasping, Mike took a step forward. “Wait, wait, don't!”

Evan glared at his older brother through the tears stinging his green gaze. “I'm n-not going to let you do this to me anymore, Mikey.”

“I'm sorry,” Mike whined, his blue eyes pleading. “That– that was a really shitty thing for me to say, okay, I don't even– I don't know why I did, but I won't say it again, I swear. I'm sorry, Ev; I won't say it again.”

“I don't care about what you said!” Ev squeezed the phone in his hands, Freddy only a single button push away, but didn't hit the call button just yet. “I've heard a million worse things at school, Mike.”

“I'm sorry,” Mike said cautiously. “I was just– being dumb, okay?”

“You always do this,” Evan whispered. Then, louder: “Anytime that Liz and I try to talk to you, to help, you never let us in! You always push us away, always, n-no matter how m-much you have to hurt us to do it!”

Mike floundered for a moment, his lips moving silently as if unsure what to say. “That– that's not true.”

“Yes, it is!” Hot tears spilled down Evan's face, and it seemed that nothing could hold back the words tumbling past his tongue now that he had gotten started. “I don't understand why you don't trust us enough to let us in. Do you really hate us that much?”

“No!” Mike gaped. “No, of course not!”

“Then stop pushing us away!”

Lights flickered on in a hallway behind Michael. 

The others were waking up. 

Michael's gaze roved over Evan with the panicked desperation of a fox with its leg caught in a bear trap. “I…”

Evan set the phone down on the counter, plastic clinking softly against the granite, and took a step closer. “Please, Mike.”

The teen's wide eyes locked onto Evan's own.

“...Sorry, Ev. I can't. I w-won't.”

“If not me, then tell me you'll talk to someone?” Evan tried to ignore the hot tears rolling down his cheek, knowing that his efforts to get through to Mike didn't seem to be working at all. “Roxy, Monty, our therapist…?” 

Michael’s head shook frantically. “Why can't you just let it alone?!”

Because I know you, Evan wanted to say. And you won't talk about it if no one nudges you.

“Michael…?” Roxy's voice followed the creak of her opening bedroom door.

“The therapy's for you and Liz, to keep me from hurting you again! That's it!” Mike snapped. “It's not for me to burden you with my problems! Otherwise I'll only drive you away!” 

“That's not true!” 

Mike's breathing had been getting more and more labored, and by now, his panting gasps were audible to Evan. Each shaky inhale and exhale sounded to Evan like a wheezing sob, the sound made by an animal trapped and in pain with no hope of a way out.

Evan blinked up at his brother's panicked form in horror. “Mike, y-you're scaring me. You–”

You're not gonna drive me away by opening up to me. 

Evan didn't get to finish, though.

“That's why I didn't want to say anything!” Mike shrieked. Foxy crumpled onto the floor in a flash of red and gold, and Mike's fingernails raked at his wrist underneath his long gray sleeves. “That's why I shouldn't have said anything!” 

“M-Mikey! You're hurting yourself– stop! Mikey, stop it!” 

Evan didn’t even hear Miss Roxy enter the room over his own frightened screaming. One second, Mike stood frantically scratching at his own arm, a fox in a trap desperate to chew off its leg to escape, and the next second Roxy was there. 

“Mike, Mike, hey, I’m right here. I’m right here with you.” Roxy’s voice was firm but gentle as she knelt down in front of the teen. “Mike, hey, look at me. I know it hurts, but it’s not going to last forever. Just breathe with me, okay?”

A drop of something dark dripped from Michael’s arm onto the white tile floor. 

Evan paled. 

He stumbled a step closer to his brother– he needed to do something, what should he do, what could he do? What was happening ?!

Something green moved to Evan’s left. 

Turning his head, Evan was greeted with the sight of Monty’s green and red pajamas coming right to him. 

Monty’s gaze lagged, caught for a moment on Roxy and Michael, before his tired but soft gaze turned to the twelve-year-old. 

“M-Monty– I d-didn’t mean to– I don’t know what I– Mikey–” 

Evan stammered, unable to form a complete thought as more blood dripped from Michael’s arm and splattered against the tile floor, staining the bright white floor in dark speckles. 

“Hey, little guy,” Monty’s voice was gruff but gentle. “It’ll be okay. Your brother’s gonna be safe with Roxaroo.” 

“No!” Evan could hardly speak around the lump clogging his throat, choking him. “He’s h-hurt– I h-have to hel-lp–” 

“Kid, no. What we need to do is give Roxy and Mike some space, yeah?”

“No!”

 Evan cried enough tears to drown in, but Monty only reached out and pulled Evan into a hug. 

The twelve-year-old trembled in the hug, terrified (Mike, Mikey, is he okay he’s bleeding what did I do I didn’t mean to oh god where’s Mike make him stop).

Monty murmured something that didn’t quite reach the kid’s ears. Evan didn’t make it out until it was too late. 

Alright, little guy. I’m gonna pick you up now. 

Evan’s gaze blew wide. He went to shove Monty away, but the adult’s arm was already pressed against the back of Evan’s knees, lifting him up. 

“Mikey!” 

The twelve-year-old thrashed in Monty’s arms. Evan’s free arm slammed into Monty’s shoulder. Vibrations rocketed up his other arm as his cane whacked against something solid, and Evan thought he heard Monty grunt. 

But Monty didn’t put him down until they were out of the kitchen, past the living room, and into the hall that housed the bedrooms. 

Evan couldn’t see Mikey anymore, but he could hear him. 

“No!”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, why did I say anything–”

“It’s my faultit’smyfault–”

Monty set Evan down, taking care to ensure that Evan’s feet and cane were both under him. The adult’s hand stayed on Evan’s arm, rubbing comfortingly up and down, but keeping Evan in one place when the child tried pulling away. 

“I need to be with Mike–!”

“No,” Monty said, voice firm. “I’m sorry, kid, but that’s just gonna make things worse. Mike’s gonna be fine, but he needs some time to calm down. And, hate to break it to you, but so do you.” 

“But–” 

“But nothing,” Monty interrupted. “Roxy knows what she’s doing, she knows how to help Mike come down. You don’t.” 

“Monty’s right, you know.” 

Evan blinked. He hadn’t realized it, but Liz’s bedroom door was open. And there she was in the threshold, her pink frilly pajamas hanging off her tired form as she leaned against the doorway and watched them both with sad green eyes. 

“Roxy’s gonna help Mikey, Ev. She always does.” Liz nodded at Evan before glancing up at Monty. “You can come in.” 

Monty tugged at Evan’s hand, and this time, Ev didn’t fight as the adult led him into Liz’s room. 

Backing up from the threshold, Elizabeth jumped up onto her pink and blue blankets. Monty sat beside her, then led Evan to sit on his other side. 

“Wh-what’s happening?” Evan whimpered. 

“It’s called a panic attack,” Monty murmured. “It looks really scary, but it won’t last forever.” 

Evan shook his head. Monty had his arm wrapped carefully across Evan’s back, but the child could hardly feel the embrace. “I kn-know what p-panic attacks are. I-I have them, and they n-never looked like that.” 

“They look different to everyone, and they can look different every time you have one.”

“I didn’t mean to do that to him,” Ev cried. “I sh-should be the-ere, to h-help–”

“No-can-do, kid,” Monty murmured. “You can bring him snacks, water, rock albums. and whatever else he needs when he calms down. That’s how you’ll help him. But until then, Roxy’s got the show, and you don’t come in until later.” 

Evan’s eye squeezed shut as he leaned into Monty’s side. He understood what Monty was saying, but he didn’t like it. How was he supposed to know if Mikey was okay?

“I’m sorry…”

“Accidents happen. We can patch up what happened when things are a little calmer.” 

Evan didn’t open his gaze until he felt a hand brush against his own. Then, he found Liz looking right at him. 

“Mikey is going to be okay,” she said. “He just needs some time, and some help from Roxy. I promise.” 

Ev gaped at her. The Liz he remembered never would have said that. That Liz would have snapped at him for antagonizing Mike, would have blamed him and yelled at him to stop crying or go away so she could pretend this wasn’t happening. 

The twelve-year-old clumsily wiped a fresh wave of tears from his cheek and nodded her way. “Th-Thanks, Lizzie.” 

Evan felt Monty’s body shift as the adult nudged Elizabeth. 

“What about you, darling? How are you holding up?”

“I’m used to it, remember?” Lizzie held her chin up high. “I’m fine.”

A concerned frown tugged at Monty’s lips, and, tilting his head down, the adult looked at her from over the rim of his glasses. “Are you?”

Elizabeth blinked. Her chin stayed high for a moment, but when Monty held out his free arm, inviting her into a hug, her chin dipped. Lower lip wobbling as her eyes shined with tears, Lizzie buried herself in his arms. 

“I’m really proud of you kids for how brave you’re being,” Monty murmured. “But it’s okay to be scared. What’s happening now is really scary, even if you know things are gonna turn out alright.” 

Through his tears, Evan reached out for his sister. His hand found his way in hers, and they clung to each other as Monty held them close.