Archive of Our Own ^beta

Four words are the first thing that echoes in his ears—nothing ever stays dead. If he wasn’t already, Mike is certain now that he’s in trouble. A big birthday cake with lit candles is displayed right in front of him, the flame of the candles’ wicks consuming slowly. He’s tied to a wooden chair with a bunch of well-tight ropes, and he has his Foxy mask back on. He doesn’t even know where it came from, because he’d lost its track many years ago, but there it is, covering his face, its hollow eye sockets revealing his dull-blue irises underneath. Under his ragged clothes, he sees, shocked, that his skin isn’t rotten anymore, nor purple. It looks human, alive. He was back in his teens. But how…?

A manical laugh echoes behind him, startling him. 

“Little Man…?” he calls. “Are we alone?”

That nickname is the only thing Mike can think of to refer to them. It’s been so terribly long since he hasn’t said his sibling’s actual name out loud that he’s actually gotten to forget it. Everyone seems to have forgotten it. Even his sibling themself. 

Their voice trembles in an overreacted cackle somewhere in the dark. Mike regrets every single time he’d been an awful brother to them. That isn’t what Henry would’ve wanted.

“For now,” his sibling replies in a somber tone. “Maybe forever.”

Mike shivers at that. The Little Man’s voice tone terrifies him.

“Wanna know a secret?” they continue. “Springy Boy thinks he made Cassidy with all his rants and hard-word lessons, with his murders…”

Mike feels the goosebumps crawling up his no longer rotten skin as his sibling swings around his chair. Cassidy means ‘curly-haired,’ and he and his friends used to joke about how, according to them, their curly hair was probably the only cool thing about them. They genuinely believe they’re not worth anything, Mike realizes pitifully. Holy shit, they’ve actually taken that joke too personally.

His sibling doesn’t seem to have glossed over his inner conflict, because they continue yapping, hurting him more and more with every word they say.

“Excise your thoughts, Cassidy,” they mock Springtrap’s sayings. “Be what they fear, Cassidy. Like everything was ever the same as when Henry left him. But he didn’t make Cassidy…”

Mike feels their presence really close now.

“You did.”

Mike swallows, full of guilt.

“I’m sorry, Little Man,” he mumbles. “I never meant to kill you. I never meant to give up on you and leave you behind.”

“You never left,” they say. “I always heard you. Shadows in the pizzeria’s halls, prickles on the back of my neck… Your voice pushing me, picking me up when all the colors went black… You’re the reason I’m still alive.”

Mike sniffles. He isn’t sure what ‘alive’ means anymore.

“I spent so many nights in that shitty office, on that freezing floor, hungry, bloody, counting the hours,” he cries. “The only thing that kept me going was the thought of getting back to you.”

At this moment, the candles are blown. Darkness engulfs him and everything else around him. Then he hears the question, “Are we… still… siblings?”

Mike sighs.

“Nothing is ever going to change that,” he assures, and he’s never been so sure about anything.

Suddenly, the light comes back. A lighter is dangerously close to his face.

“I always knew you’d come back.” He’s being turned around and pushed towards the table on which the cake is. “You’re an Afton, after all.”

“What’s going on?!” Mike yells, and only gets an ominous chuckle as a response.  

Then, everything is lightened up. Turns out the table is full of candles. Turns out they’re still in Fazbear’s Fright, somehow, after the fire. Turns out the cake is bigger than he’d first thought. But that’s not what freaks him out, it’s the five masked kids that are leaning over the table, sitting on their respective chairs, looking eerie, looking dead. Their masks represent all of Fazbear Entertainment’s mascots—Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, Foxy and the Puppet. And then, in the other corner of the table, facing him, is the one now known as Springtrap, tied to the chair the same way he is. 

“He took everything from us,” a creepy mumble brings him out of his sudden trance. “Right here, he stabbed Henry in the back when he killed his daughter. Just like he’d planned to do with me. All the times saying you abandoned me, that you’d forgotten me, when he knew the truth… Liar.”

Springtrap shivers at that. Mike’s never seen him shiver.

“Hmm, we’re missing someone,” his sibling says, and Mike doesn’t like their tone at all.

Just a second later, they’re carrying a covered tray that’s steaming and lets it flop over the table in front of Mike.

“I paid your boyfriend a visit this morning,” they tease with a maniacal smile.

Oh.

Oh, no. 

JEREMY!!

“W-What did you do…?” Mike manages to ask.

His sibling just widen their smile.

“I made him a snack!” they reply with an enthusiasm that’s actually sickening. “And I was ahead of Mangle this time!”

It takes just half a second to pass by for Mike to find out that what he feared would be his boyfriend’s head was, in reality, a bunny-shaped brownie. Bunny Boy, he thinks. That was his nickname for him. What a sick move.

“Sheesh, I’m not that crazy!” his sibling snorts.

And not a single minute later they’re pushing Jeremy to the table on a wheelchair. He’s not only tied up, but also gagged. He’s been given his old Bonnie mask, and he looks like he’s in his teens as well. Must be the appearance in which his sibling remembers them both. Because that’s right, Mike realizes, they haven’t actually gotten to see him in his purple zombie form. 

“LITTLE MAN, LET HIM OUT OF THIS!” Mike yells, panicked, trying his best to put all those thoughts away.

Oof, he just won’t acknowledge their actual name, will he?

“Now,” he hears them say, ignoring his pleas and resting an arm on the back of his chair. “Where should I sit?”

Mike realizes in that very moment that two more chairs are displayed in both his sides, one colorful and childish, the Fredbear plush in front of it, with the word CRYBABY written with chalk; the other’s darker, bloody, mechanical bear teeth spread on the table in front of it and the word CASSIDY painted in half-dried red paint.

“It’s your choice, really,” he hears whispering in his ear, then a taser falls on his hands. “Make him go away. Please, send him on his way and… and you can have your stupid Little Man back.”

Their eyes are covered under their dark curls, but Mike can make out a pouty face underneath. He turns to Jeremy, who’s looking at him with absolute distress through his mask’s hollow eye sockets. His sibling wants him to electrocute him! No, he can’t do that. He looks away and sighs.

“I-I can’t,” he stutters. 

His sibling lets out a disappointed snort, grabs the taser from his hands and points it towards Jeremy.

“No!” Mike yells. “Little Man, listen!”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” they growl, and their grip on the taser’s trigger grows tighter. 

“We- We can just go!” Mike proposes, desperate. “We’ll leave and never come back!”

His sibling loosens their grip on the taser’s trigger. 

“Where would we go?” they ask. “Besides, we’re Aftons, we always come back!”

They tilt their head to the side in confusion, and Mike is certain they’re having some kind of weird, telepathic conversation with the masked kids.

“No, no, no, he’s not saying that!” they say in a shaky tone, the taser trembling on their hand.

“It’s true!” Mike assures. “We’ll put this behind us, you’ll never have to see him again, Little Man!”

He refers to Springtrap, of course, but something tells him that his sibling isn’t really bothered about his presence here.

“Hm!” he whimpers.  

He’s trying to say something, but the gag that has been placed on him doesn’t let him. His kid snorts.

“What do you have to say about that? ” they snarl, and remove the gag from him.

“Their name is Cassidy!” he barks. “He’s lying. You’ll be with him a night before he realizes you aren’t that crybaby anymore, and turns his back on you… again.” 

The Little Man—no, it’s Cassidy, stop denying it already!—sniffles and turns back to Mike, shaking. 

“You aren’t lying,” they say, more to assure themself than to anyone else. “You wouldn’t lie to me… not again.”

“I’m not lying!” Mike assures. “I’m on your side, I promise!”

At that, the Foxy-masked kid bursts out laughing. Cassidy electrocutes him, annoyed. Not like it’ll kill him again.

“SHUT UP!!” they growl. “We’re talking!”

From the corner of his eye, Mike sees Jeremy staring at a broken glass. Clever boy, he thinks. Meanwhile, Springtrap continues with his yapping.

“The Old Man offered me everything,” he informs. “Long-awaited rest, the brightest pit of Hell… All in return for your determination. He and his ghost fish can all burn. Everyone betrays us, Cassidy. Henry. Him.”

He’s looking at Mike with a hateful look now. Mike represses the need to spit him in his goddamn, burnt face. 

“They will never understand,” he keeps going. “It’s only us. You’re my kid. I’ll never forsake your will to keep going, to keep fighting.”

Bullshit, Mike thinks. He’s just saying all that to convince them to keep him alive, if it can be called that. Cassidy sniffs, but that apparent moment of vulnerability is cut short when Jeremy’s scream echoes from behind. He’s gotten loose, and, now with his mask off, the dim lighting from the candles shows the big, nasty scar on his face that the Mangle gave him all those years ago.

“Drop the taser!” he orders.  

Cassidy turns around to find him swinging a rusty timing belt towards them. He must’ve picked it up from among the other mechanical parts that are displayed on the table. Cassidy doesn’t seem to be intimidated at all, however. They just cackle and let out a snort, amused. They look down at Jeremy’s wheelchair, where the ropes are scattered, cut, and then look back up to Jeremy, scoffing.

“No… Please…” Mike pleads, helpless.   

Cassidy looks down at the taser and then at the timing belt Jeremy is swinging. The masked kids share muffled whispers… And just a second later, sparks hit metal as Cassidy’s taser collides with Jeremy’s timing belt.

“NO! STOP!!” Mike begs. 

“Drop the taser,” Jeremy insists, tightening his grip on the timing belt.

Springtrap and Mike share a horrified look, and if it weren’t for the extreme distress and anguish of the situation, Mike would’ve found it hilariously ridiculous. Jeremy swings the timing belt one more time. 

“Wait!” Mike exclaims. “They’re my sibling…”

“Mike, they’re too far gone!” Jeremy yells back.

At that, Cassidy giggles mischievously and lets the taser drop on the table, intimidating, and turns back at Jeremy with their bare hands up.     

What the heck are they doing?  

“No, no, no,” Mike mumbles as he sees Jeremy swinging the timing belt towards them. 

The tension is so palpable it could be cut with a knife. Or sliced open with a smack of the belt, that is. But it gets violently cut short when Cassidy—somehow—turns into their golden bear self and jumps on Jeremy so fast and unexpectedly that he isn’t able to dodge the movement and his head hits the floor nastily. He’s knocked out almost instantly.

“You see,” Springtrap grins. “Now finish it.”

“Damn it, Cassidy, wake up!” Mike yells. The name still doesn’t sound right, and even less coming from his mouth. “Remember who you are! I know you remember!”

The kids sniff and whimper, joining Cassidy’s distress. They still look like a bear—no, like Fredbear—and they’re breathing really heavy. If Mike wasn’t sure before that ghosts can still breathe, he was sure now. 

“Picture Elizabeth!” he keeps going, it’s working.

Fredbear twitches in despair.

“Mom!” he goes on, it’s working, it’s working!

“STOP!” Fredbear shrieks.

“Henry!”

“Shut up! Don’t listen to him!” Springtrap yells, joining in.

“Charlie!” Mike keeps going.

The alluded girl tilts up her head, the Puppet mask leaking dull-purple tears.

“Me!”

Fredbear’s cries are loud now, screams of asphyxiating agony and pure terror. 

Bear jaws. 

Teeth sinking down the skull.

Blood pouring from the head.

Throat sliced open.

Lungs filled with blood.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHH!!!”

A shriek full of anger, a scream full of pain. 

Everything around them melts with the shadows of utter suffering and all the candles are blown, everything fading to black. The only lights that are still on are the emergency lights that are hung on the corners of the room.

What happened?

As soon as Mike’s sight adjusts to the darkness, he sees him—Springtrap. Twitching. Gasping for air even though his lungs can’t filter it anymore. Cassidy’s shadows have reached him, and his burnt Springbonnie suit is now more torn than ever. He’s missing an arm, his skull is cracked and his sight is lost.

Cassidy’s recovered their child appearance and is looking horrified at him. When they realize what they’ve done, they quickly run towards Springtrap, their eyes full of tears.

“No, no, no, no!” they sob.

It’s the first time Mike’s seen them like that since their death. It hurts him more than expected.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” they keep muttering, sniffing.

Springtrap looks at them fondly.

“I never would’ve given up on you,” he mumbles. “Not for anything.”

Liar, Mike wants to say, but he has tears in his eyes too. Stupid eyes. Stupid tears. He shouldn’t care at all! Springtrap’s a monster! He doesn’t deserve pity.

“Don’t cry,” he continues, calming Cassidy down. “You’re perfect.”

And just like that, his light turns off, and he is no more. He will be back, Mike is sure of that. Somehow, someday, he will. But until then, Cassidy will be alone, hurt, thinking they’ve messed it all up again. It’s not your fault, he wants to say, but his mouth says otherwise.

“Cassidy?” he calls.

His sibling's gotten up from being kneeled on the floor, and their gaze is somber. They don’t respond or even bother to look at Mike.

“It’s okay,” he tries to comfort them. “We’ll be okay.”

Cassidy ignores him, grabs the taser from the table and sits on the chair that says CASSIDY, their dark curls still hiding their eyes.

“I thought… maybe you could love me like you used to,” they say, their voice shaky, looking at Mike while the kids cry to share their pain. “Like you loved me before you started acting like… like an asshole! Even though I’m different now. But you changed, too. So, here’s to the new us.”

At that, they put on their Fredbear mask, stands up from the chair and drags Springtrap’s limp body from his dislocated joints, taking him away, and the other kids follow them. Charlie looks back at Mike over her shoulder, and for a moment he thinks she’ll do anything to shed light on this dire situation, but she sighs and heads back to the others.

No, don’t take him! That’s exactly what he wants, Mike wants to scream, but his throat is dry.  

He just wants to cry. He’s lost his sibling again. His once so-called father was about to get away with it, and he was helpless. Goddammit, he’s useless again. Just like he’s always been. Just like he’ll always be.

Between sobs, he feels the touch of someone’s hand on his shoulder. It’s Jeremy, he’s awake. Oh, thank goodness. He’s awake! He unties him and hugs him tight, the scar on his face looks old again and Mike realizes he’s rotting once more. 

Everything’s back to normal, as it should be. He’s dead, but not really. He deserves it. Jeremy’s grip on him loosens. He’s not real either, is he? Of course. It's been all in his head, an illusion Cassidy has induced on him. The making of their agony. 

He wipes out his half-dried tears and gets up from the floor. How long has he been out? He looks at the clock and it reads 6:00 AM. He doesn’t feel relieved at all. The shift may be over, but his mission isn’t. He’ll fix things with his family.

Somehow, someway, he’ll do it.

He swears it.