Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Michael Afton was the kind of kid who laughed when something broke. A window, a rule, a promise, it didn’t matter. If it cracked, he grinned. 

The world didn’t give him much to work with, so he gave up trying to play nice a long time ago. At seventeen, with a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a pocketknife in the back of his boot, Michael had turned survival into an art form. Long shaggy hair that hadn’t seen a comb in weeks, gray tank tops that hung off his shoulders, and jeans that were more rips than denim, he looked like a walking, smirking warning sign. 

He didn’t care. Not about school. Not about cops. Not about neighbors who crossed the street when he walked by. He especially didn’t care about David, the whiny little brother who couldn’t keep his mouth shut or his eyes dry.

“Quit crying, loser,” Michael muttered one morning, shoulder-checking the ten-year-old as he passed by in the hallway. “You’re not gonna survive past twelve if you keep acting like a baby.”

David, pale and skittish, didn’t respond. He never did. Not with words, anyway. Just stood there, wringing his hands, eyes too wide, like a puppy that’d been kicked one too many times. Which, in Michael’s opinion, was exactly the problem.

Soft.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Michael didn’t hate him, not really. He just didn’t have the patience for dead weight. Not when their house felt like a pressure cooker with no off switch.

Elizabeth was better. Sharper. She knew when to keep her mouth shut and when to speak. She had their mother’s eyes.  Michael didn’t like her, but he respected her, and that was more than most people got.

Their dad, though? William Afton?

That was complicated.

Michael followed orders. Always had. If his father told him to clean the blood off the tools in the workshop, he did it. If he said "Don't go in the basement," Michael didn't ask why, he just made sure the door stayed locked. If William told him someone was "important" or "his," Michael knew better than to question it.

He didn’t fear his father.

He probably should. 

Instead, he admired him. Feared being him.

William Afton didn’t raise children. He sculpted them, like little machines. Wired tight, taught to obey, programmed to protect what was his. Michael learned early that love came with conditions, and failure meant silence. Long, empty silences that could stretch for days until his father’s voice returned like static through a busted speaker. Low, crackling, and just short of human.

But Michael still craved it. The nod of approval. The rare, gruff "Good work, son" that lit his brain up like fireworks even though he pretended it didn’t mean a thing.

He lived to impress a man he hated.

That was the rebellion, wasn’t it?

Michael wasn’t stupid. He knew people whispered about their family. About the pizzeria. About what happened behind closed doors after hours. He knew things went missing. People, too. But he didn’t ask. He didn’t want to know. Knowing meant being responsible. And Michael wasn’t responsible for anything. He just followed orders.

At night, when the town shut down and the shadows stretched long across the driveway, he’d sneak out through the kitchen window and loiter behind the old Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The place was boarded up now, paint peeling, metal rusting. But something about it still buzzed, like it was alive, humming with unfinished business. He liked it there. It was a place where things made sense. Where monsters wore fur suits and rules could be broken without anyone caring.

He’d sit on the cold concrete and imagine a different life. Not better. Just different.

Mike Schmidt.

He’d seen the name on an old security roster taped to the wall inside. It was stupid, fake, meaningless. And that was why he liked it.

Mike Schmidt didn’t have siblings. Didn’t have a dad with a god complex. Didn’t carry the stink of the Afton name like a disease. Mike Schmidt was a nobody.

And in a world like this?

A nobody had a chance to live.

But Michael Afton didn’t.

Michael Afton had a role to play.

And the curtain hadn’t even risen yet.

Chapter Text

The alarm clock didn’t even get the chance to go off before Michael slammed it against the wall.

The thing shattered into three ugly chunks of plastic, a metal spring pinging off somewhere behind his dresser. He rolled out of bed with a grunt, hair a nest of knots and sweat, mouth dry with the taste of last night’s cigarette ash.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he muttered to himself, flipping the middle finger at his reflection in the cracked mirror. His own face looked like it hadn’t slept in a week. Which, to be fair, was accurate.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. Not peaceful, but quiet.

He trudged through the hallway, stepping over David’s toy cars on purpose. One cracked beneath his boot. He smirked.

The kitchen smelled like eggs and old rust. William sat at the table, sleeves rolled up, fingers stained with black grease. He didn’t look up when Michael entered, just kept scribbling in his leather-bound notebook, the one with no title and no end.

“Sit,” he said, voice dry and low like gravel in a blender.

Michael obeyed, slouching into the nearest chair and kicking his boots up on the table.

“You’ve been skipping again,” William said after a moment. “Three days this week.”

“Four, actually.” Michael smirked. “Math’s important, right?”

His father finally looked at him. Just a glance, but it held weight. The kind of weight that could crack a skull if you weren’t careful. William didn’t yell. He never had to. His silence did the work for him.

“You’re going,” he said flatly. “End of discussion.”

Michael didn’t answer. He just picked up a fork and jabbed it into the table, dragging deep scratches into the wood grain. Right next to Elizabeth’s cereal bowl.

She sat beside him, quiet and observant like always, her eyes fixed on her father the way cultists looked at gods. She wore her school uniform perfectly. Hair brushed. Socks matching. Always the little perfectionist.

“You’re gonna get suspended,” she said without looking at him.

Michael leaned over and knocked her spoon off the table. “And you’re gonna get cavities if you keep eating that sugar trash.”

“Children,” William warned, though there was a twisted fondness behind the word. Like he liked the chaos.

David finally crept into the kitchen, eyes puffy, hair flat on one side. Michael turned in his seat and barked: “Took you long enough, crybaby.”

David flinched.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Grow up.”

“Why? You all need me exactly like this.” Michael stood, stretching until his joints popped. “Besides. Someone’s gotta add personality to this haunted dollhouse.”

William sighed. “Enough. Everyone out. Michael, grab your backpack. You’re going. No more excuses.”

“Fine.” Michael rolled his shoulders, grabbed his ratty backpack, and stormed out the front door, pausing only to flip the bird over his shoulder.

----

Clouds hung thick over the streets, the color of dishwater. Cars idled. Dogs barked. Sprinklers ticked and sputtered across manicured lawns.

Michael didn’t belong here. Never had.

He walked to school the long way, detouring past Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The building stood like a corpse. Windows boarded. Paint peeling like old skin. He could almost hear the laughter, ghostly echoes from birthday parties that never really ended.

He walked up to the locked front doors and rested his palm against them.

“Still here, huh?” he muttered.

Sometimes he felt like the building was watching him.

Sometimes he liked that.

----

Teachers hated him. Students ignored him unless they needed something stolen, smuggled, or broken. Michael didn’t mind. He passed notes, kicked lockers, carved names into desktops. One girl told him he had “devil eyes.”

He took it as a compliment.

During third period, he fell asleep and dreamed of wires wrapping around his fingers like veins. Of a voice, his father’s voice, whispering numbers, dates, and names he didn’t recognize.

He woke up sweating. Teeth clenched.

Something was off lately. He could feel it. In the way the lights flickered for no reason. In how David screamed in his sleep. In how Elizabeth had stopped talking like her age.

And William?

William was building again.

Something big.

----

Michael barely made it to lunch without punching someone.

His hands were still twitchy from the dream, wires wrapped around his fingers, that whispery static in his ears, and his brain wouldn’t stop looping the words: You won't die. It wasn’t a threat, but it didn’t feel like a choice either.

He dropped into his usual seat in the back corner of the cafeteria: table 12, next to the window with the cracked edge and the broken blind that rattled when the wind hit it right. Michael always loved the cafeteria, windows unexpected but welcomed. 

A tray slammed down beside him.

“Guess who got detention for throwing crayons again?” Simon asked, grinning under a faded yellow Chica mask propped up on top of his messy curls like a crown.

“Let me guess,” Michael said, not looking up. “Was it the kid with rabies or the one pretending to be a giant animatronic chicken?”

“Hey. Chica’s underappreciated,” Simon argued, biting into an apple like it had personally wronged him. “She’s got depth.”

Max slid into the seat across from Michael, hoodie sleeves covering his hands, a chipped plastic Bonnie mask hanging from his neck by a string of frayed elastic. “Simon, shut up. You’re annoying.”

Simon responded by throwing a carrot at Max’s face.

It bounced off the Bonnie mask with a dull clink.

Michael rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, letting his head hit the brick wall behind him. “You two ever consider what it’d be like to be normal for once? Like, full-on boring. Play baseball. Talk about girls. Get grounded for cheating on math homework.”

“Normal is for future insurance agents and guys who marry their high school sweetheart and die in a recliner,” Simon said through a mouthful of food. “We, my friend, are cursed. Embrace it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Max muttered. “I’m just here so no one notices when I fail senior year.”

“Michael’s already halfway to dropout status,” Simon added cheerfully. “He’s our fearless leader.”

Michael gave a lazy two-finger salute. “Dropout with style.”

That was when Jeremy slid into the seat next to Max, quiet, composed, and always just a little too observant. He was the only one without his mask today, though his old Freddy Fazbear mask hung from the side of his backpack like some kind of mascot. His eyes met Michael’s for half a second. That was all.

Michael didn’t look away.

He never did with Jeremy.

Because Jeremy knew things. Not in the way Max or Simon guessed or joked. Jeremy saw things. The way Michael’s hands sometimes shook. The way he stared at nothing for a little too long. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when they talked about the pizzeria.

“So what’s the plan today?” Jeremy asked, unwrapping a PB&J with surgical precision.

“No plan,” Max said.

“Simon’s grounded,” Michael added.

“For?” Jeremy asked.

“Firecrackers in the teacher’s lounge toilet,” Simon said proudly. “They called it vandalism. I call it public art.”

Jeremy smirked, but only a little. “You're lucky they didn’t call the cops.”

“We know a guy who could hide a body,” Simon said with a dramatic wave toward Michael.

Jeremy didn’t laugh. He just looked at Michael again. Longer this time. “You good?”

Michael blinked. That question always threw him off. It felt... real. Dangerous.

He flicked a grape at Simon’s forehead and shrugged. “Never better.”

But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

They met up behind the school when the bell rang. Max was dragging a busted skateboard. Simon was juggling two spray paint cans like he’d won a dare. Jeremy leaned against the chain-link fence, arms crossed, watching traffic like it might give him answers.

Michael lit a cigarette and stared at the distant clouds.

He wasn’t sure where they were going. He didn’t really care. The important thing was movement. Distraction. Noise.

“Freddy’s tonight?” Max asked.

Jeremy didn’t answer. He just nodded slowly.

Michael smirked. “Then it’s a date.”

----

Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Silence.

Michael cut into his meat and swore it bled too much. He met William’s eyes across the table.

“Hey, Dad,” he said casually. “You ever wonder what it’d be like to just... disappear?”

William smiled. Just a little. “Not anymore.”

Elizabeth looked between them, cautious.

David didn’t eat. He just stared at his fork.

The hum of something mechanical drifted up from the basement vents, low, slow, steady.

Michael smiled back. Not because he was happy.

Because he was starting to understand.

And that scared him more than anything else.

Chapter Text

The old Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza loomed at the edge of town like something left behind on purpose. Its garish cartoon sign hung at an angle, rust spreading like a rash across Freddy's smile. The chain-link fence was overgrown. The windows were blacked out. To most people, it was just a condemned building with a bad story.

To Michael, it was familiar.

The others followed close behind. Simon bouncing with adrenaline, Max trying not to look like he was scared, and Jeremy, dead quiet as usual.

They slipped in through the side entrance, the security door Michael remembered from a time he didn’t like to think about. The keypad still worked. He punched in the code by muscle memory.

2-1-4-0.

His father’s birthday.

The door beeped once and clicked open.

“After you, fearless leader,” Simon said, flicking on his flashlight and mock-bowing with the chipped yellow Chica mask hanging from his shoulder.

The smell hit them fast. Old grease. Dust. Mildew. Something else. Something metal and thick like dried blood behind tile.

“Charming,” Max muttered, tugging the drawstrings of his hoodie tighter around his neck. The Bonnie mask bumped against his chest like a warning bell.

Inside, the pizzeria was frozen in time. Party tables still set, chairs knocked over. Faded streamers dangled from the ceiling, and the stage where the animatronics used to stand was empty. Just a dark platform surrounded by silence.

Simon wandered toward the arcade, his flashlight sweeping over broken machines. “So weird. It’s like they just left everything.”

“No one wanted to clean it after the kids went missing,” Max said. “Would you?”

Jeremy didn’t speak. He stuck close to the entrance of the main room, eyes scanning the walls, taking it all in like he was waiting for something to happen.

Michael drifted.

He didn’t say where he was going, just walked. Past the dining hall, through the party room, toward the back hallway. The smell grew worse the deeper he went. There were stains on the floor. Dark ones. They might’ve been soda.

They probably weren’t.

He felt eyes on his back. The hallway narrowed. The overhead light buzzed once, then died, and in the flicker of darkness he saw it, a tall shadow at the end of the hall.

When the lights flickered back on, it was gone.

His throat clenched.

It had looked like a suit. Golden. Slouched. 

It almost looked like a decrepit version of...Fredbear.  

“No, no, not now…” he muttered to himself, pressing his palm against the wall, trying to breathe. “You’re tired. You’re just tired.”

But the walls, they felt warm. Like they’d absorbed screams and were still digesting them.

And the floor creaked in a way that wasn’t from him.

Michael turned to leave, fast.

That’s when Jeremy was there. Standing halfway down the hallway, flashlight lowered.

“You good?” he asked.

Michael flinched, barely, but Jeremy caught it.

“I’m fine,” Michael snapped, too quickly.

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”

Michael didn’t answer. He looked down the hallway again. Empty. Just walls and dust and the flickering light.

“Just weird being back here,” he finally said, shrugging like it meant nothing. “Place gives me the creeps.”

Jeremy nodded slowly but didn’t press.

Back in the arcade, Simon was laughing nervously. “Okay, not to freak anyone out, but the screen on this photo booth just turned on.”

They all gathered around.

The machine was cracked and ancient. The screen was low-res, scratched, and flickering, but it was clearly showing a still image.

Five kids.

Faint, grainy, all in party hats. One of them had a face that looked… wrong. The smile too wide. The eyes too dark.

Max backed away. “That’s one of the missing kids. I swear to God I saw her picture on the news.”

Jeremy leaned in closer. “The power’s off, right? None of these machines should work.”

“Nope,” Simon said. “That’s what makes it fun.”

Jeremy looked at Michael again, a glance, not suspicion, just curiosity.

Michael didn’t say a word.

Because one of those kids looked like the Polaroid stuck to the corner of William’s workbench. And Michael had told himself that it didn’t mean anything. That it wasn’t real. That the stains on the tools, the ones he’d helped clean, were from old projects, from props, from anything else.

He lit a cigarette outside ten minutes later, hand shaking slightly as he lit it.

“You’re off tonight,” Jeremy said, joining him on the curb.

Michael didn’t respond.

“You don’t get scared,” Jeremy added.

“I’m not scared,” Michael muttered. “I just don’t like wasting time on dead places.”

Jeremy stared down the road. “Sometimes dead places still move.”

Michael looked at him.

“Did you see something back there?” Jeremy asked.

“…No.”

And that was the end of it. Jeremy didn’t believe him, but he didn’t push.

The four of them walked under the dull buzz of the streetlights, the night thick with quiet. Freddy’s sat somewhere behind them, out of sight but far from forgotten.

Max shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, muttering under his breath. “Still say that photo booth thing was rigged. Somebody’s idea of a sick prank.”

“Right,” Jeremy said, dry. “Because someone just snuck in to a locked-down pizzeria to jump-scare four teenagers with an 8-bit ghost JPEG?”

Max scoffed. “Whatever. Just saying. Place is creepy, but ghosts? Come on.”

“Five kids disappeared there,” Simon cut in. He kicked a rock down the sidewalk, the Chica mask bouncing against his backpack. “They found, like, nothing. Not a trace.”

“Yeah, well…” Max trailed off. He didn’t have a counter for that.

After another block, the road forked. Max and Jeremy peeled off left, Max grumbling something about nightmares and needing a shower. Jeremy shot Michael a last glance, not suspicious, just watchful, then followed.

That left Simon and Michael.

Michael exhaled, pulling his hoodie over his head a little more, cigarette burning between two fingers. The streets were quieter now, the houses more spaced out, dim porch lights blinking like tired eyes.

“You were real quiet back there,” Simon said casually. “Spooky building finally get to the fearless Afton?”

Michael smirked. “Nah. Just thinking about how you almost pissed yourself when the screen turned on.”

“Almost?” Simon feigned offense. “Excuse you, I was being tactically cautious. Big difference.”

Michael let out a soft chuckle. “Right. My bad. You were bravely tiptoeing behind the pinball machine.”

“Hey, someone had to guard our flank. You’re welcome.”

The joke sat in the air for a moment, then faded with their laughter. The quiet slipped back in.

Simon looked over at him. “Seriously though… that photo? Those kids? That wasn’t normal, man.”

Michael flicked ash off the side of his cigarette. “Place is old. Machines are busted. Wires cross. Static shows something weird and everyone screams ghosts.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “You really believe that?”

Michael paused.

No.

Not for a second.

But he nodded anyway. “Sure.”

Simon didn’t believe him, but he didn’t press. He kicked another rock. “If we start seeing creepy kid drawings in your house or hearing birthday music at 3AM, I’m out, by the way. No horror movie logic. I’m not dying for lore.”

Michael laughed again, short and dry. “Good to know.”

They walked a few more blocks in silence. The Afton house came into view, tucked behind overgrown bushes and half-lit windows. The porch light was out.

Simon glanced at it, then at Michael. “You alright?”

“Yeah.”

Simon gave him a skeptical look.

Michael stopped at the gate. “Seriously. I’m fine. I’ve seen worse.”

Simon nodded slowly, then slapped Michael’s shoulder in that awkward, lopsided way teenage boys show concern. “Well, if something eats you in your sleep, I’m telling people you cried.”

Michael smirked. “Make it sound cooler than that. Say I went out swinging.”

“Fine. ‘He died screaming, but heroically.’”

They shared one last look, then Simon turned to head down the street, his footsteps fading.

Michael watched him go.

The air felt thicker near his house. Still. Quiet. The kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being listened to.

He glanced back once.

Just trees. Streetlights. Simon already vanishing over the hill.

Then he stepped through the gate, up to the front door, keys in hand, and paused.

From somewhere inside the house, he heard the faint chime of a birthday song. Out of tune. Slow. Mechanical.

He blinked.

It stopped.

The house was silent again.

Michael didn’t move for a full ten seconds, heart pounding.

Then he shoved the door open and walked in like nothing had happened.

Because if he acknowledged it, if he let himself believe something was wrong, it might mean facing what he already feared:

That his father hadn’t just created monsters.

He had unleashed them.

----

The Pizzeria. 

It had changed when he walked in. Like it had recognized him. Like it had been waiting.

And deep in the back of his head, a voice whispered a truth he didn’t want:

You know what your dad did.

But he turned his back anyway.

Because it was easier to pretend he didn’t.

Chapter Text

The Afton house was quiet.

Michael shut the door behind him, the creak of the hinges trailing down the hall like an echo. He kicked off his worn boots and tossed his hoodie onto the banister, leaving the faint smell of cigarettes and dust in the air.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a fish tank that hadn’t held anything living in years. The water hummed, the filter chugging slowly like it was dying. Like everything in this house.

"You're late."

The voice came from the kitchen.

Michael didn’t flinch. He moved slowly, deliberately, like a cat crossing territory he didn’t quite own.

Elizabeth sat at the table, her legs swinging, a fork twirling in a bowl of instant mac and cheese. She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes on the television that flickered in the adjacent room, half-muted cartoons casting blue shadows across her face.

“You were at the pizzeria again,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Michael leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Don’t tell him.”

Elizabeth snorted. “I’m not stupid.”

“You’re twelve.”

“Exactly. And you’re not subtle.”

Michael let the corner of his mouth twitch. That was as close to a laugh as he ever gave her. He walked to the fridge, grabbed a soda, and popped the tab loud enough to startle the cat asleep on the windowsill.

“You’re gonna get caught eventually,” Elizabeth added, glancing sideways at him now. “And when you do, he’ll make you clean the workshop again.”

Michael took a long drink. “Been worse.”

The dynamic between them was… strange. Not quite protective. Not exactly friendly. It was like living in the same house as someone who also knew what it was like to walk on eggshells barefoot.

Elizabeth was smart. Smarter than she let on. She never said too much, never asked the wrong questions, but her eyes always knew more than her mouth did. Michael respected that. Respected her, in a way he didn’t often admit. She was weird, sharp-tongued, maybe a little obsessed with her doll collection, but she survived this house, same as him.

That earned something close to loyalty.

As for David…

“Is he still awake?” Michael asked, voice dull.

Elizabeth jerked her head toward the hallway. “He’s playing with that stupid plush in the closet again. Talking to it like it’s real.”

Michael didn’t respond right away. Just leaned his head back and stared at the cracked ceiling.

“I don’t get what your problem is with him,” Elizabeth said after a moment. “He’s annoying, but he’s just a kid.” Like us was left unsaid. 

“He cries too much.”

“He’s ten.”

Michael didn’t answer.

He didn’t hate David. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to the kid. But something about him set Michael on edge. Maybe it was the way David clung to everything, to the stupid toys, to Elizabeth’s arms, to their father’s cold approval like it meant something.

Some part of Michael still craved his father’s approval, though he chose to ignore the hypocrisy buried in that desire.

Wanting made you weak.

And William Afton had no use for weakness.

Speak of the devil…

Michael heard the faint creak of the basement door opening.

His spine stiffened, instinctively. Not in fear. In preparation. Like how animals straighten their backs when they know a bigger predator has entered the room.

The footsteps were slow. Calculated. Polished black shoes stepping over a lifetime of silence.

William came into view, sleeves rolled up, face as unreadable as ever. His eyes flicked to Michael first, those cold, searching eyes like scanners behind a human mask, and then to Elizabeth, who didn’t look up from her bowl.

“Home late,” William said. Not angry. Just… observing.

Michael shrugged. “Hung out with the guys.”

William nodded slowly, as if calculating the probability of that being a lie. “You’ve been smoking again.”

Michael sipped his soda. “And?”

William’s gaze lingered a second too long, then shifted. “I need your help tomorrow. In the workshop.”

Of course he did.

Michael’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say no. He never did. He didn’t know why, maybe he was still trying to understand the man by being near him. Like studying a rabid animal in a cage you helped build.

William was possessive. Always had been. Everything in this house, his tools, his work, even his children, were things he considered extensions of himself. Things to be maintained. Cleaned. Corrected.

He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t violent. He didn’t need to be.

His control seeped into the walls like mold.

“Fine,” Michael said at last. “Whatever.”

William nodded again. Then, like it meant nothing, turned and disappeared back into the dark hall, his footsteps absorbed by the thick, suffocating carpet.

Silence.

Michael exhaled through his nose.

Elizabeth finally looked up at him. “You’re weird, y’know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

“You talk like you hate him. But you still do what he says.”

Michael stared into the dark hallway, eyes glazed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t hate him.”

“Then why help him?”

Michael’s grip tightened on the can.

Because I already know too much.

Because I’ve already helped clean up things I can’t unsee.

Because if I stop… what does that make me?

“…Because it’s easier than the alternative,” he said quietly.

Elizabeth went quiet again.

He left her there, in the blue flicker of the dead fish tank and the sound of cartoon laughter, and climbed the stairs to his room.

The floorboards creaked.

He shut his door behind him and leaned against it.

The shadows in his room felt heavier tonight.

Like something had followed him home from Freddy’s.

Like something recognized him.

And somewhere deep in the house, maybe even in the walls, a voice like static whispered:

You're just like him.

----

Michael’s room felt colder than usual, as if the shadows pressed closer after the lights went out. He stood there for a while, soda can in hand, staring at the spot on the ceiling where water had once leaked from the attic. A jagged stain had formed, vaguely in the shape of a grin.

He blinked.

Looked away.

The hallway outside his room was dark, the carpet muffling his steps as he passed the bathroom and paused in front of the door at the end.

David’s room.

Michael hesitated, hand hovering near the knob.

He told himself it didn’t matter, that David was probably asleep. Still thinking about what Elizabeth had said in the kitchen, he finds himself walking in anyway.

The door creaked open.

The room was dim, just a soft yellow nightlight glowing near the closet. The bed was empty.

Michael stepped in and found him where he expected to: huddled in the closet, the sliding door pulled mostly shut, a tiny circle of plush toys arranged around him like some kind of secret council.

David was whispering.

Not loud enough to hear clearly, but Michael caught snippets, names, mostly. Voices put on for each toy.

“Fredbear says it’s okay...”

“Bonnie saw it too, but he doesn’t wanna talk about it.”

Michael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know closets are for clothes, right?”

David jumped, plush Freddy clutched tight in his hands. He stared at Michael with wide, guilty eyes, like a dog caught chewing through wires.

“I—I wasn’t doing anything,” he said quickly, voice small.

Michael sighed and walked in, squatting beside the cracked-open closet door. The light cast long shadows across his face. “Relax. I’m not gonna tattle. Or... whatever you think I do.”

David didn’t respond. His fingers nervously twisted the worn ear of his Fredbear plush, the fur patchy from years of overuse.

“You talk to them a lot,” Michael said, nodding to the circle of faded, slightly grimy animatronic toys.

David lowered his head. “They talk back.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

A beat.

Then David looked up at him, quiet, cautious. But for just a second, something sharper flickered behind those eyes. Not fear. Not childish nonsense.

Awareness.

It unsettled Michael more than he expected.

David looked away again, shrinking a little. “You’re just gonna make fun of me.”

Michael scoffed, glancing around at the plush lineup. “I mean… it is a little weird.”

David didn’t laugh. His grip on the plush tightened.

Michael sighed. “Look, I’m not here to-” he stopped himself, trying to choose words he didn’t know how to use. “I’m just checking in.”

David frowned. “You never do that.”

Michael winced a little. “Yeah. I guess I don’t.”

The silence that followed was thick, not heavy, not dramatic, just awkward in a way that came from unfamiliar ground. Michael wasn’t used to being soft. He didn’t do gentle. Not with a dad like theirs. Not in a house where love was rationed like food in a war.

Still, something kept him kneeling there.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Michael said suddenly, staring at the floor. “I just... I don’t really know how to be around you.”

David blinked, processing that.

“I don’t hate you either,” he said, quieter.

Michael looked up at him, really looked, and for the first time in a long time, saw something besides an annoying shadow who clung too close to things that didn’t love him back.

David wasn’t dumb.

He just stayed quiet because in this house, being loud got you hurt. Not always with fists, but with silence. With cold shoulders. With the kind of neglect that didn’t look bad from the outside, but felt like drowning slowly with no one noticing.

Michael stood up, unsure of what to do with the fragile thread between them.

“You should sleep,” he said. “It’s late.”

David nodded and climbed into bed. The plush toys came with him, nestled under one arm like guardians.

Michael paused in the doorway.

“Don’t let Fredbear eat you,” he added, voice dry.

David managed a tiny smile. “He’s not hungry.”

Michael left, door creaking shut behind him.

Back in his own room, he stared at the ceiling again.

He didn’t understand how to be a brother.

Didn’t know how to protect something that hadn’t already been broken.

But maybe, maybe, he could try.

Even if all he knew how to do was survive.

Chapter Text

Michael awoke in a room that smelled like ash, sweat, and old leather, his own private graveyard of discarded clothes and cigarette butts.

Light leaked in through the blinds, cutting across posters half-ripped from the walls and piles of old cassette cases. His bed creaked as he sat up, the blanket tangled around one leg, socks mismatched. His head throbbed. Maybe from sleep. Maybe from whatever dreams he didn’t remember, or didn’t want to.

He blinked at the chaos around him. The tank top he wore was rumpled, and his jeans, the only pair he still wore out of stubbornness and comfort, had another hole near the knee. He grabbed a hoodie off the floor, sniffed it, and threw it on.

His boots thudded against the floor as he headed downstairs.

The kitchen was already halfway through the day. The toaster was working overtime, and Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the counter, eating dry cereal from the box with one hand, messing around with a half-busted Walkman in the other. She raised her eyes when he walked in, but didn’t say anything.

David sat hunched over a bowl of cereal, spoon clinking awkwardly. He didn’t look up.

Michael grabbed the last slice of toast before it popped. “Look alive, Davey. You’re chewing like your teeth forgot how to work.”

David muttered something and glanced down, embarrassed.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, watching him through the curtain of her hair. Michael gave her a look, something between what? and don’t start. She just shrugged.

“Big day for the two of you?” Michael asked, pouring what little milk was left directly into his mouth before wiping his chin on his sleeve.

Elizabeth didn’t answer right away. “You’re going down to the shop?”

Michael nodded.

David finally looked up. “I saw him carrying a big box last night. He was talking to himself again.”

Michael’s eyes flicked to his brother, a rare moment of sincerity. “You didn’t go near the basement, did you?”

David shook his head.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Michael left the kitchen with toast between his teeth and tension in his shoulders. He could feel Elizabeth’s stare behind him like a weight he didn’t want to carry.

----

He hated the workshop.

Not because of the blood, not tonight, anyway. Tonight, the stainless steel tables were clean, the floor swept, the air thick with the sterile scent of hot circuitry and solder. But there was something worse than gore in this room.

Intent.

William stood hunched over a workbench, a bright halogen lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular face. His coat was clean, the cuffs rolled back, forearms steady as he used a fine-tipped pencil to annotate the blueprint in front of him. Michael stood across the table, arms crossed, pretending to care.

“I want you to understand the internal layout,” William said, tapping the paper. “These aren’t like the old ones. These are smarter. Modular. Fluid in design.”

Michael nodded absently, eyes skimming the sheet.

He’d seen blueprints before. But not like these.

They weren’t just complex, they were obsessive. Layers upon layers of systems: advanced facial recognition, motion tracking, voice mimicry. The kind of features that didn’t just entertain, they studied.

“Why the storage chamber in the stomach?” Michael asked, tone careful.

William didn’t look up. “It's for party tricks. Balloon storage. Candy dispensers. That kind of thing.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. There were no balloons sketched in that cavity. Only clamps, locks, servo-reinforced containment arms.

“And the scooping system?” he added, pointing to a feature in the leg assembly of Ballora.

William's eyes flicked to his, just for a second, sharp, measuring. “Routine maintenance. These machines will maintain themselves.”

Michael nodded slowly, but his fingers curled tighter around his arm.

The center blueprint was the largest. Bold title at the top: CIRCUS BABY. Beside it, written in William’s angular handwriting, was a single note:

• • Elizabeth’s gift. Tailored to her personality. Do not let near.

Michael felt a chill crawl along the back of his neck.

Circus Baby’s design was elegant, too elegant. Bright red pigtails, wide blue eyes, childlike proportions. But underneath the innocent shape was a fortress of wires and steel. Movement patterns that suggested stalking. A hidden claw marked “ice cream delivery mechanism” that looked suspiciously overengineered.

“She’s going to love it,” William said, softer now. Proud. “I modeled her voice after Elizabeth’s. Subtle, but... familiar.”

Michael didn’t respond. He traced a finger over the margin of the blueprint, where something had been hastily erased. The graphite ghost of a phrase still lingered beneath the smudges:

"Controlled environment required. Lure protocols active."

Michael’s stomach turned.

“How many more are you making?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

William began straightening the papers, collecting tools. “As many as I need.”

Michael wanted to press him. Wanted to ask, need for what? But the words caught in his throat.

What would be the point?

William would only lie, or worse, tell the truth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The workshop light buzzed above them, too bright, too white. Michael stared at his father’s hands, precise, practiced, calm. The same hands that could sew a circuit board or disassemble a rabbit head in silence.

The same hands that had once grabbed David too hard when he touched the wrong thing.

The same hands that had touched him too little, when he needed something, anything, resembling warmth.

And yet Michael stood there, nodding, feigning interest. Still chasing some phantom of approval. Still pretending he wasn’t suffocating in this house, in this role.

When the final blueprint was rolled up and secured with a band, William finally spoke again.

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Michael looked up. “Thinking.”

William offered a rare smile, thin, humorless. “Good. You’ll need to be sharp when it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

No answer.

William picked up the blueprints and walked past him, leaving the scent of burnt metal and antiseptic in his wake.

Michael stood alone in the workshop, surrounded by still machines with painted smiles and empty stomachs.

The silence pressed in.

He didn’t fear his father.

But he feared what his father might believe in.

And worse, what part of himself had learned to understand it.

----

Michael stood in silence long after his father’s footsteps had faded up the stairs.

The fluorescent light above flickered once.

He exhaled and finally moved, stepping around the workbench, fingertips grazing the edge of the table as if expecting it to bite. His eyes flicked to the neat roll of blueprints William had left behind, not the ones he took, but the ones too messy, too strange, too unfinished to carry.

Michael hesitated, then reached out.

The paper unfurled with a soft whisper. Ink smudges, pencil notations in hurried handwriting, diagrams annotated with arrows and formulas he didn’t fully understand, but some of the images didn’t need translating.

The first blueprint was labeled:

FUNTIME FOXY

• "Enhanced voice mimicry."

• "Agility algorithms – based on pirate character movements."

• "Exterior design inspired by Foxy the Pirate – orange coloration optional."

Michael stared at it for a moment too long. Foxy had been his favorite as a kid. Something about the rogue attitude, the jagged teeth, the idea that even among animatronics, Foxy didn’t quite fit.

But this wasn’t that.

This version of Foxy was sleek, mechanical, and disturbingly symmetrical. Too clean. The pirate flair stripped down to something clinical. Beneath the surface panels, Michael could make out what looked like exposed wiring bundled like tendons, servos for rapid lunging. One diagram showed the mouth unhinged far wider than it should have. It wasn’t just meant to talk.

He rolled it aside, unease mounting.

Next came:

FUNTIME FREDDY

• "Modular microphone attachment."

• "Voice command recognition."

• "BON-BON: Auxiliary AI puppet unit mounted to right arm." 

Michael blinked.

The image was wrong, uncanny. Freddy looked almost cheerful, clownish in the worst way, with a white and lavender exterior and vacant blue eyes. But it was the arm, the arm that disturbed him. Attached like a parasite, another animatronic, Bon-Bon, clearly meant to resemble Bonnie, with its own tiny mouth and expressionless smile. A second face. A second voice.

Michael skimmed the notes: “dual commentary protocol,” “mock ventriloquism for added fun,” “secondary AI testing.”

He didn’t like that last part.

He moved to the next.

BALLORA

He’d glimpsed her before. Dancer-like posture, arms posed in a soft pirouette. Graceful. Feminine. But under the layered skirt and serene expression, the blueprint exposed sensors embedded across the body. Motion tracking. Audio-sensitive activation. “Eyes remain closed, engage only by sound.”

Something about that felt… wrong.

Michael could almost see her moving in a silent hallway, gliding toward a sound. Blind but never lost. Elegant, deadly.

He frowned and flipped to the next page.

It was Circus Baby.

He froze.

The red pigtails. The parasitic grin. The schematic where the chest cavity split open like jaws.

He shut that one immediately. He didn’t want to look. Not tonight.

Not when it was specifically made for his younger sister. 

He rubbed his eyes, pulse quickening.

The last blueprint in the pile was… something else.

There was no official name. No colors noted. No child-friendly features outlined. Just a black ink title scrawled across the top:

ENNARD

• "Parts salvaged from prior units."

The rest of it smudged. Unreadable. 

Michael didn’t look too closely. Just enough to see the clustered limbs, the misaligned joints, the mouths, plural, etched in faint pencil. A mess of salvaged metal and barely-contained energy.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t for parties. It wasn’t for kids. It wasn’t for anyone.

He rolled the blueprints up and set them back on the bench, heart racing now. There was something boiling under the surface of all this, something that went beyond children’s entertainment, beyond even his father’s strange obsessions.

Michael’s mind swirled with the implications.

What the hell was he building these things for?

But instead of answers, there was only a creeping dread in the pit of his stomach, and a voice in his head whispering not to ask. Not yet.

He left the workshop without turning off the lights.

The flickering hum followed him all the way up the stairs.

Chapter Text

The house was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting to be broken. The morning sun leaked through the blinds in long streaks of gold and dust, stretching across the cluttered kitchen table where a few soggy bowls sat untouched. Elizabeth leaned over the countertop, half-listening to the radio crackle with some upbeat synth-pop track, half-listening to the conversation unfolding behind her.

Michael sat at the table, hunched over his half-eaten toast, staring into the swirl of his black coffee like it owed him answers.

Elizabeth glanced sideways at him, eyes narrowing.

“You were in the workshop last night.” she asked casually, keeping her voice down so David wouldn’t overhear.

Michael didn’t look at her. “Just cleaned up. Dad left a mess.”

“You always say that when you’re lying.”

He smirked slightly at that. “I’m not lying. Not this time.”

Elizabeth pushed off the counter and moved closer. “So what did you see?”

Michael hesitated, then gave her a shrug that was too slow to be casual. “Just more blueprints. He’s working on new animatronics.”

“For the pizzeria?”

He didn’t answer immediately. “I think so. Some for birthday rentals. Maybe for private events.”

Before either of them could say more, footsteps creaked down the hallway. Heavy, paced, familiar.

William entered the kitchen like a shadow slipping into place, quiet but impossible to ignore.

The conversation died instantly.

He stood by the fridge, arms folded, dressed like he always was, collared shirt, slacks, lab coat hanging somewhere just out of frame, probably already half on.

David, unaware of the tension that had just sunk into the room, looked up from his cereal. “Hey… my birthday’s in, like, three days.”

Michael glanced at him from behind his mug. He said nothing, but his brows twitched faintly.

Elizabeth gave a half-shrug. “You planning a party or just reminding us you exist?”

David huffed, pushing his cereal around with his spoon. “I was thinking… I dunno. It’d be nice to go to the park. Maybe the ice cream place on Old Pine Street.”

Michael nearly smirked at that, but kept his mouth shut.

From across the room, William’s voice cut in like a blade, calm but heavy.

“That won’t be necessary.”

David flinched. “But-”

“I have work,” William said, firm. “And I’m not canceling a full day of progress to take you to eat overpriced sugar in the middle of town.”

“It’s not-” David started, then stopped. His fingers curled tighter around his spoon. “It’s not about the ice cream.”

William didn’t even look at him as he poured himself a glass of water. “Fredbear’s is available. Clean. Safe. Controlled. It’s where your siblings had theirs. It’s where you’ll have yours.”

Michael caught the slight emphasis on the word controlled. It made his skin crawl.

Elizabeth gave a small shrug and turned back to the radio. “Could be worse.”

“Yeah,” Michael muttered under his breath. “Could be the basement.”

William turned to him then, and for a moment, Michael thought he might say something, scold him, snap back, remind him whose house this was. But instead, William just gave him a long, unreadable look, and walked out of the room.

----

Later that day, school was just as dreary as usual.

Michael sat slouched in his seat near the back of homeroom, one boot tapping impatiently against the metal leg of his desk. A test was being handed out, something about post-war economics, but Michael didn’t care. He didn’t even bother flipping over the paper. His mind was still stuck on that morning.

Fredbear’s.

Of course it had to be Fredbear’s.

“Hey,” Simon whispered from the desk beside him, shifting slightly in his bright yellow hoodie, the tattered Chica mask sticking out of his backpack. “You spacing out or planning a murder?”

Michael gave a small, crooked grin. “Little of both.”

“Max thinks you’re gonna flake on us again,” Simon added. “We were talking about hanging around the old junkyard after school. Maybe bust open that abandoned arcade cabinet Max found.”

Michael leaned back, hands behind his head. “Nah, can’t today. Got family stuff.”

Simon raised a brow. “Like family family?”

Michael didn’t answer directly. Instead, he stared at the ceiling for a second, debating with himself.

“It’s my little brother’s birthday in a few days,” he finally muttered. “Dad’s making us have it at Fredbear’s.”

Simon wrinkled his nose. “That place creeps me out. Thought it shut down last year?”

Michael shook his head. “Freddy's did. Fredbear’s is still limping along. Barely.”

Then, without thinking too hard, he muttered, “You guys should come.”

Simon blinked. “Wait, to the birthday party? With, like, balloons and ten-year-olds and cake and everything?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, deadpan. “You don’t even have to bring a gift. Just make sure I don’t die of boredom.”

Jeremy joined in. “That’s… kinda messed up.”

Michael shrugged. “So’s my family.”

The bell rang, shrill and loud, and the classroom erupted into motion. Michael stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Friday. Six o’clock,” he said to the group, as casually as if he were inviting them to sneak into a concert.

“Bring the masks,” he added with a smirk, already walking off. “Let’s make it a real party.”

----

Lunch rolled around with the usual buzz of restless teenagers and slamming lockers. Michael had barely touched the sandwich he'd shoved into his bag that morning, instead choosing to lurk under the back awning of the school’s bleachers, where the air smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke.

Max was already waiting there, bouncing a busted cassette player in his hands.

“So,” he said with a grin, “we thinking junkyard?”

Michael shook his head, disinterested. “Nah. I told you. Got family stuff to think about. Kid’s birthday. It's already a circus.”

Jeremy raised a brow. “So you're not coming?”

“I’ll pass,” Michael muttered, leaning back on the concrete wall. “Not in the mood to dig through rust and tetanus.”

Simon dropped his backpack next to them, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot. “Come on, Mikey. You’re always like this. One minute you’re dragging us into some half-baked idea, next minute you’re moping like some tragic movie protagonist.”

Michael gave him a dead-eyed look. “Because I am.”

Simon crossed his arms. “Look. You’ve got the rest of the week to deal with the whole ‘birthday at the creepy animatronic murder diner’ thing. Right now, we’re offering you thirty minutes of freedom.”

“Thirty minutes of probable hepatitis,” Michael said dryly.

“Exactly!” Max grinned. “It’s a win-win!”

Jeremy leaned against the pole beside Michael. “Just come. You know it’s better than sitting here and stewing in your own thoughts.”

Michael hesitated. He really didn’t want to go. But he knew if he stayed behind, he’d just keep thinking, about his father, about the blueprints, about Circus Baby’s smile sketched in thin, perfect lines.

He sighed heavily. “Fine. If I step on a nail, I’m blaming all of you.”

Simon grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

----

The junkyard sat at the edge of town, a forgotten sprawl of twisted metal, broken machinery, and weeds that could probably punch through cement. The chain-link gate was never really locked, just latched with a tired old bike chain that had long since rusted through.

They ducked inside one after another, moving past rusted-out sedans and fridges with their doors hanging off.

“This place smells like tetanus,” Jeremy muttered, already regretting wearing his cleanest hoodie.

“Shut up,” Max laughed. “This is character building.”

Simon had already climbed halfway up a stack of crushed cars, his Chica mask tucked over the back of his head like a helmet. “Hey Mikey!” he shouted down. “Catch!”

He lobbed a dented toaster from the top of the heap. Michael dodged it easily and flipped him off with a grin. “Try harder next time, chicken-boy.”

Jeremy started digging around a half-collapsed shed, pulling out some ancient arcade cabinet with the paint faded and the screen cracked.

“This is the one Max found last week,” he said, wiping grime off the front. “Something called Star Blaster 3000. It’s totally fried, but it’s got that sick synth label.”

Michael crouched beside him, squinting at the cabinet. The joystick was half-melted, and there were scratch marks near the coin slot. Weirdly deep ones.

“You think this ever worked?” he asked.

Max leaned in. “Only if you hit it with a crowbar. Twice. And sell your soul.”

Simon jumped down from his perch, landing with a thud. “Come on, we’ve got at least ten more minutes before the school starts noticing we’re not in our chairs learning about supply chains.”

The group fanned out a bit, Jeremy poking at the wires, Max trying to get a busted lawnmower to spark, Simon climbing again to test his “junkyard parkour.”

Michael found himself wandering through a quieter patch of the yard. He traced a finger along the edge of a shattered rearview mirror, glancing at the warped reflection of his own face. For a second, the world was quiet. Still.

He caught a flicker of something, just behind him, not a person, not a shadow, but a presence.

His neck tingled.

“Michael,” Simon called out from the other side, voice echoing faintly through the heaps of debris. “Quit spacing out and get over here. Max just set fire to a shoe.”

Michael blinked, shook his head, and forced a grin as he turned back.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Chapter Text

The faucet in the upstairs bathroom wouldn’t stop dripping.

Michael listened to it from his room, the slow, irregular plinks tapping at his nerves. He rolled onto his side, stared at the dark hallway through his half-open door, and considered getting up to twist the knob harder. He didn’t.

Downstairs, the low drone of the old television buzzed. No one watched it anymore, not really, it was just left on for noise, like background static to drown out the silence that had crept into the house lately.

Michael eventually sat up, ran a hand through his mess of shaggy hair, and sighed. His room smelled faintly of copper and dust, though he didn’t know why. The window had been shut for days.

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, a soft mrow cut through the air.

He looked down.

Marbles, the Aftons’ grumpy, three-legged calico cat, sat near his bed, watching him with narrowed green eyes. She always looked vaguely unimpressed with everyone, a bitter old woman in a cat’s body. Marbles rarely showed affection, unless she was hungry or wanted the warmest seat in the house.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Michael grumbled, standing up and stepping over her tail. “I feed you more than anyone else.”

She chirped in response, a rare sound, and padded along behind him as he headed downstairs.

Elizabeth was at the kitchen table, chewing lazily on dry cereal straight from the box, eyes locked on the glowing static of the TV across the room. She didn’t look up when he entered. She never does.

“I think the pipes are haunted,” Michael muttered, pouring the last of the milk into a chipped glass.

“You’re haunted,” Elizabeth replied.

Marbles leapt up onto the counter, sniffed at the glass, then turned her back like she was insulted.

“See?” Michael said, jerking his thumb at the cat. “Even she agrees.”

Elizabeth shrugged and mumbled, “More consistent than David,” under her breath, not quite softly enough.

Michael didn’t reply. He just leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge, empty of anything useful, full of things that expired weeks ago.

Later, he made it back to his room. The air was heavier than it had been earlier, as if the house itself was holding its breath.

He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbed at his eyes, and tried not to think about the workshop. About the blueprints. About the way Circus Baby smiled from the page with something far too sharp in her design.

The junkyard had helped, briefly. The chaos, the laughter, it felt normal. It was a distraction from the low hum of dread threading through everything at home.

But now that he was back in this place, this cage made of drywall and secrets, the feeling was back. That cold, sharp edge of something wrong approaching.

David’s birthday was in two days.

And his father had been unusually quiet lately.

Not the “leave him alone” quiet.

The planning something quiet.

Michael stared at the shadows cast by his half-tilted ceiling fan, still as ever.

He didn’t know what exactly was going to happen at Fredbear’s Family Diner.

But he felt it.

Something was coming.

And it wasn’t going to be good.

Chapter Text

The lights of Fredbear’s Family Diner flickered more than usual today.

Dust clung to the corners of the party room like cobwebs that no one bothered to clean, and the colorful streamers looked like they’d been dragged from the back of a storage closet last minute. The place had always smelled vaguely of stale pizza and old grease, but today, the air carried something else, something Michael couldn’t name.

He adjusted the cracked Foxy mask over his head, its edges worn and smudged, the paint flaking slightly where the snout curled upward. He didn’t wear it often anymore, not since things got weird, but today he felt like he had to. 

“Michael,” came his father’s voice, low and steady, just behind him.

Michael stiffened.

William had a habit of appearing without warning, a shadow that bled into the room rather than entered it. He placed a firm hand on Michael’s shoulder, guiding him to the side, out of view of the kids crowding around the cake table.

“You invited your friends,” William said, not quite asking.

Michael turned his head slightly, Foxy’s crooked snarl still covering his face. “Yeah. Didn’t think you'd mind.”

William was silent for a beat too long. Then, with a slow breath, he said, “I don’t. Just… remember who this day is for.”

Michael gave a dry nod.

William let go of his shoulder. “Carry on,” he said, already walking off toward the backroom.

Michael watched him vanish behind the backroom doors, and only when he was gone did he release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

----

David’s party was a disaster by kid standards.

The music from the aging jukebox stuttered now and then, caught on one warped cassette loop. The pizza was lukewarm. The other kids, all from school, mostly ignored David, who had spent the last ten minutes sulking beneath one of the tables in the corner, his small hands clutching the legs of a Fredbear plushie like a lifeline.

Michael spotted him easily. The tablecloth dipped slightly where David’s head rested, the only sign of his presence.

He’d always been like that, hiding from the world and expecting it not to find him.

Michael leaned against a booth nearby, arms crossed, Foxy mask still on. “Kid’s got stage fright at his own party.”

“Can’t blame him,” said Max, chewing on a breadstick like it owed him money. “This place is a corpse with balloons.”

“I think the animatronics are watching me,” Simon muttered. He was half-joking, half-not.

“Dude,” Jeremy chimed in, “you say that every time we come here.”

“They blink.”

“Robots don’t blink.”

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it. “Still creepy.”

Across the room, Elizabeth was surrounded by a small group of girls from her school. Michael caught her trying to laugh at something they said, too hard, too fast. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and she kept smoothing down her skirt even though it wasn’t wrinkled. One of the girls leaned in and whispered something to another, who giggled. Elizabeth caught it but didn’t react. Not outwardly.

Michael looked away. He didn’t like watching people pretend not to be hurt.

“Hey,” Jeremy nudged him. “You see your brother? Under the table like some kind of sewer goblin?”

Michael tilted his head slightly.

“Bet we could scare the hell out of him,” Max said, a spark in his eye. “Just a little. He’ll crawl out eventually.”

Michael didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re all monsters.”

“Wouldn’t be hanging out with you if we weren’t.”

Michael looked back at the table, at the slight tremble in the cloth where David probably shivered. Then back at his friends.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s make the goblin scream.”

They huddled in, whispering. Planning. 

----

The plan wasn’t complicated.

Jeremy blocked the front of the table, crouching just out of sight, while Simon gave a loud bang on the surface above to draw David’s attention. Max was the one who ducked low and grabbed his ankle.

David shrieked and tried to scurry deeper into the corner, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Got him!” Max grunted, dragging the squirming ten-year-old, now eleven, out by his legs. David kicked hard, but Max was stronger and laughing the whole time. Jeremy and Simon howled in approval as David scrambled to shield his face, clutching his Fredbear plush like it might protect him.

“Come on, twirp,” Jeremy teased, ruffling David’s hair roughly. “You can’t hide on your own birthday.”

David’s eyes locked onto the stage. His pupils shrank.

There, under the spotlight's dim flicker, stood Fredbear and Spring Bonnie. Their painted smiles wide and frozen. Mechanical eyes staring. Immobile. Lifeless.

“I-I don’t, please- I don’t like them!” David gasped, backing away, but Simon and Max were already flanking him.

Michael stepped up, arms folded, Foxy mask still sitting crookedly on his face. He looked down at his little brother, something unreadable in his eyes. There was a twist in his gut, something uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything to stop it.

Instead, he said, “You look like you wanna give Fredbear a kiss, Davey.”

The other boys laughed.

David shook his head violently. “No! No, stop-!”

“C’mon, don’t be shy,” Max smirked.

Before David could bolt, they had him, all three at once. Max grabbed his shoulders, Simon held his arms, Jeremy lifted him slightly off the ground, and they carried the struggling boy toward the stage.

“Let go! Let go!” David screamed, thrashing.

Michael walked in front, screaming following behind him.

The overhead lights buzzed louder.

They brought David up to Fredbear, positioned his head near the metal jaw, just a few inches from the wide open maw.

“Say cheese,” Simon whispered, lifting him by the armpits as if posing him for a photo.

David’s legs kicked wildly. His sneakers scraped against the wood floor. He cried harder now, fat tears rolling down his face, dropping onto Fredbear’s metallic lower jaw. His sobbing filled the room.

Michael hesitated.

His hand reached out, maybe to stop it. Maybe just to gesture.

Then-

SNAP.

A loud, wet crunch. Metal slammed shut.

The sound was like a bear trap springing in a quiet forest.

And then, silence.

Simon froze.

Jeremy let go first, stumbling backward.

David went limp.

Fredbear’s mouth had closed entirely around the top of his head, locking tight. There was no scream. Just blood.

A high-pitched whine rang in Michael’s ears. It was the only sound in the world. The spotlight on the stage flickered and dimmed. Red seeped down David’s neck, soaking the collar of his shirt.

Max’s breath hitched. “What the hell-”

Michael didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

The crowd below was still at first.

Then the screaming started.

Parents. Kids. Staff.

Someone grabbed his shoulder, hard.

Michael couldn’t tell who. He didn’t look.

Everything was hazy. The light smeared. The room tilted. He heard his name once, maybe twice, but it felt distant.

David’s legs still twitched.

Fredbear didn’t move.

Michael just stood there on the stage, frozen.

The prank was over.

And everything had gone wrong.

Chapter Text

The blood had been cleaned up.

Or at least, hidden.

The stage was cleared, the guests ushered out in a flurry of panic and shrieking, and the party decorations left to hang like forgotten ornaments. The Fredbear animatronic stood exactly where it had been when the jaws had snapped shut. Still, indifferent, stained.

Michael didn’t remember walking off the stage. He didn’t remember the adults grabbing kids, the wailing parents, or Elizabeth sobbing quietly in the corner. What he did remember, vividly, was the sound. That metallic bite. The wet crack. It looped in his head like a song he couldn’t turn off.

His Foxy mask was gone. At some point, he’d torn it off.

The cops were already outside.

Michael sat in the dim back room near the supply closet, tucked behind dusty old endoskeleton frames and towering shelves of mascot heads. The only light came from the slats in the door and the thin flicker of a dying overhead bulb. His hands were shaking, even when he clenched them.

From the office window, he’d seen Jeremy, Simon, and Max panic. Stumbling away from the chaos, their faces pale and lips sealed.

Simon muttered something like “We’re so screwed,” and bolted toward the side exit. Max followed, throwing one last look at the blood trail before disappearing around the corner.

Jeremy was the last to leave. He hesitated at the doorway, turned his head just enough to meet Michael’s eyes through the window glass.

There was fear in his look. But also… regret?

Then he was gone.

The room was quiet now, save for the soft murmur of voices from the front.

Michael didn’t even hear his father come in until the man stood over him.

William wasn’t grieving.

He wasn’t even angry.

Just… annoyed.

He exhaled through his nose, like someone who’d been inconvenienced by a flat tire or a spilled drink.

“You’ll stay in here,” William said flatly. “Don’t speak to anyone. Not the staff. Not the cops.”

Michael blinked up at him. “Dad-”

William’s gaze snapped down to meet his. Sharp. Cold. “I said stay. I’ll handle it.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned on his heel and walked out, pulling the heavy office door mostly shut behind him. The latch didn’t click all the way. It hung ajar by a crack, just wide enough for Michael to lean forward and see through.

He sat perfectly still, eyes trained on the thin gap.

The police were already inside the building. Two officers. One older, his uniform neat. The other younger, taking notes. A manager from the diner stood off to the side, visibly pale and sweating.

And William… looked calm.

“Mr. Afton,” the senior officer began, “we’re still piecing together what happened. But witnesses say your son and three other teenagers were onstage with the victim during the incident.”

“Yes,” William said, rubbing his temples with a sigh. “An unfortunate prank gone wrong. David, my youngest, was a sensitive child. Easily frightened. His older brother, Michael, he…” William trailed off, then shook his head with just the right touch of performative pain. “He wasn’t thinking. Peer pressure, I imagine. The others, those friends, were bad influences. Mischievous. Encouraged it.”

Michael’s stomach twisted.

“You’re saying your son wasn’t responsible?” the younger cop asked.

William gave a tired, almost practiced smile. “Boys that age make poor decisions. But Michael wouldn’t have done something like this on his own. He idolized David, really.”

Michael’s nails dug into the meat of his palms. The words didn’t sting as much as the calm in William’s voice. The way he moved the story like puzzle pieces into place. Like he’d done it before.

The officer scratched something down on his notepad. “It seems like the mechanism malfunctioned. One of the springlocks?”

William nodded once. “Yes. The older models are fragile. I warned the staff not to let children near the suits. They’ll hear about this too, believe me.”

There it was. Blame, divided evenly, redirected. Clinical. Efficient.

Michael leaned back from the door. He felt numb, but beneath it was something festering.

His friends had run.

His father was rewriting the truth in real time.

And his brother… his little brother…

Potentially gone. Because of him.

No one was coming to get him. No one was going to speak for him. He sat alone in the dark, listening to the story of the prank be twisted into something almost mundane.

Michael didn’t cry.

But for the first time in his life… he felt cold all the way down to the bone.

----

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and cold metal.

Michael sat in the hard plastic chair outside the ICU room, elbows on his knees, head hung low. His clothes still smelled faintly like cake and grease. He hadn’t changed since the party. None of them had.

Elizabeth sat next to him, her hands clenched together in her lap, biting her lower lip like it might stop her from trembling. She hadn’t cried again since the diner. She was trying to act older, like she was used to this. Michael could see the cracks in her performance.

William stood near the nurses’ station, arms crossed, watching the staff like a hawk. He hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived.

A woman in light blue scrubs, clipboard in hand, approached the three of them. Her eyes flicked to William.

“We’re going to give the update now,” she said gently. “If you'd prefer, we can just speak with you, Mr. Afton-”

“I want to stay,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice high but firm. “I’m almost thirteen. I can handle it.”

The nurse’s eyebrows lifted slightly, surprised, but she nodded.

Michael said nothing.

He didn’t have to. He wasn’t leaving either.

They were led into a side room, quiet and dimly lit. A doctor met them there, middle-aged, eyes heavy with hours and honesty. His name tag read Dr. Keller.

“David’s alive,” he began without preamble. “He’s stable. He’s breathing on his own. That’s… something.”

Michael didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until the words left the doctor’s mouth.

Elizabeth made a small, wounded noise beside him. William remained silent, unmoved.

“But,” Dr. Keller continued, “there was significant trauma to the skull. The mechanical force caused a complex fracture along the frontal and parietal bones. There’s swelling. Brain activity is present… but minimal. He hasn’t regained consciousness.”

“Is he gonna wake up?” Elizabeth asked, her voice cracking slightly.

The doctor hesitated. “We don’t know. With injuries like this… recovery is possible, but the odds are low. Even if he wakes up, there may be long-term cognitive impairment. Motor skills. Memory. Personality. It’s too early to say.”

The silence that followed felt like a crater.

Michael stared at a spot on the floor. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak.

He felt like he wasn’t in the room. Like he was watching all of this from somewhere far away. Like David was already…

No.

He was still breathing.

Still in there.

Somewhere.

Elizabeth wiped her face roughly with her sleeve. “Can we see him?”

Dr. Keller nodded. “Only for a moment.”

They entered the room two at a time.

David looked small under the white sheets, his head wrapped in gauze, one side of his face purple and swollen. A breathing tube trailed from his mouth. Machines blinked beside him. The only noise was the soft, steady beep of a heart monitor.

Elizabeth stepped up to the side of the bed, clutching the rail with both hands. “Hey… Davy,” she whispered. “I… I hope you can hear us. I’m here. Michael’s here too.”

Michael stood near the foot of the bed, arms at his sides, rigid. He couldn’t look at David’s face.

He looked at the floor. At the walls. At the pulse on the monitor. At anything else.

But not his brother.

Not what he’d done.

William came in last, offered the quickest glance of the three, and stepped back out before five minutes had passed. He said nothing to David.

Said nothing to them.

Said nothing at all.

Elizabeth was the next to leave, clutching the hem of her shirt. Michael's almost positive that he heard her sniffling. 

Michael walks towards the hospital bed, grabbing onto the bar. "David...if you can hear me...I'm sorry." 

But no amount of words could change what Michael had done. 

Chapter Text

The sound of tires crunching against gravel was the only thing that broke the late afternoon stillness.

Michael stood at the front steps of the Afton home, arms folded, watching as the van doors opened and the paramedics gently rolled David out. He looked even smaller now than in the hospital bed. Fragile, shrunken. A ghost inside an eleven-year-old’s body.

The medical bed followed next, set up in what used to be the family den. William had cleared it out the day before, not with tenderness, not with urgency, but with mechanical efficiency. Like rearranging furniture for an old project he’d forgotten about. David's new room, complete.  

Elizabeth hovered nearby, trying to smile like everything was normal. Her eyes darted around, as if checking to see who was watching her keep it together. She’d spent the past two days picking out new blankets for David, ones with cartoon penguins and stars on them. She even placed a small plastic nightlight beside the bed, one shaped like Fredbear’s face, Michael wondered if she realized the irony.

When the paramedics were gone and the last instruction had been given, silence settled in the house like fog.

David didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He barely stirred, even when Michael saw Elizabeth gently brushing his hair back or talking to him in that soft, singsong voice she used when she thought no one else was listening.

William never came into the room. Not once. He let the nurse staff handle the transitions and made sure to avoid the den like it was radioactive.

Michael walked past the door often but rarely stepped in. Every time he tried, he’d freeze just at the threshold. Something about seeing his little brother in that state made his throat close up. Guilt turned his stomach into a cold knot.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was that he didn’t know how to care the right way.

Sometimes at night, when the house was quiet and the only sounds were the mechanical hums from David’s machines, Michael would press his forehead to the wall and listen.

Just to know he was still there.

----

Later that week, Michael sat on the kitchen counter, chewing absently on a piece of dry toast. Elizabeth sat across from him at the table, her legs tucked up in her chair.

She glanced toward the hallway where the den was. “He twitched this morning,” she said suddenly.

Michael blinked. “What?”

“His hand. It moved a little when I touched it. I think he heard me.”

Michael didn’t respond at first. “...Could’ve been a reflex.”

She frowned. “It wasn’t. I know the difference.”

Michael shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “If you say so.”

Elizabeth went quiet for a while, picking at the edge of her cereal bowl.

“Do you ever talk to him?” she asked eventually.

Michael didn’t answer right away. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

Because I put him there.

Because I can’t look him in the face.

Because if I say something and he never responds, I don’t think I could handle it.

He shrugged again. “Dunno. Doesn’t seem like he’d want to hear from me.”

Elizabeth tilted her head. “He used to ask about you, you know. Before. All the time. Used to drive me crazy.”

Michael finally looked at her, just a flick of his gaze.

She gave him a tired smile. “He looked up to you, even when you were being a jerk.”

That sat heavy in the air for a long moment.

Then Michael slid off the counter, leaving the toast unfinished. “I gotta go check something in the garage.”

Elizabeth watched him leave, her eyes knowing, but she didn’t call after him.

----

That night, Michael stood in the den doorway again. He didn’t step inside.

David’s face was still. His chest rose and fell with faint, artificial rhythm.

Michael leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, voice low.

“Hey… little freak.”

No response. Of course not.

He sighed.

“I guess you’re home now. That’s… something.”

The machines clicked and beeped softly.

“I’ll… I’ll keep an eye on things, okay?” he said, voice quieter now. “You just… do your thing.”

He turned to leave.

Then stopped.

Then turned back.

He crossed the room slowly and knelt beside the bed.

After a long pause, he placed the worn-down Foxy plush into David’s unmoving hand.

“Just don’t die or anything, alright?” he whispered.

Michael had just shut the door to the den behind him when he heard the sound of a match being struck. A low flick and a soft inhale. The scent of smoke followed soon after.

He found William in the garage, sitting on an old metal stool beside the cluttered workbench, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He wasn’t working, just sitting in the dim light, staring at nothing in particular.

Michael hesitated in the doorway.

“You’re avoiding me,” William said, not looking up.

“I’m not,” Michael replied, though his voice made it sound like a question.

William tapped ash into a coffee tin full of screws. “I covered for you, you know.”

Michael stiffened.

William finally turned to look at him, pale blue eyes, almost gray, unreadable behind the low light. “Cops were ready to question you. Hell, they were gonna slap handcuffs on your little friends. Simon and Max especially. I imagine they looked the most guilty with how fast they bolted.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Michael muttered.

“No, you didn’t. But I did it anyway.”

William took another drag, exhaled slow. “That’s what parents do. They protect their kids. Even when their kids mess up royally.”

Michael didn’t answer. The floor felt unsteady beneath him, even though he wasn’t moving.

William flicked ash again. “You gonna tell me what happened, Michael?”

“I told you. It was just a prank.”

“And you just happened to pull your brother in front of a six-hundred-pound animatronic with faulty springlocks?”

Michael clenched his fists. “We didn’t know it was gonna-!”

“But you brought him there,” William cut in, tone still calm, too calm. “You pulled him out. You pushed him up. You laughed.”

Michael looked away.

“I’m not blaming you,” William added. “Not really. I just want to know what went through your head when you did it.”

Silence.

William leaned back on the stool. “He might die, you know.”

Michael flinched like he’d been slapped.

“I’m not saying it to hurt you,” William continued, almost gently. “But you need to prepare yourself. Doctors aren’t confident. Brain swelling, nerve damage, you name it. He might not last the month.”

“Stop,” Michael said, his voice hoarse.

“What will you do if he dies?” William asked, like he was genuinely curious.

Michael opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

William stood slowly, crossing the floor with the lazy stride of a man who already had all the answers. He stopped just in front of Michael and tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the floor.

“I didn’t have to help you,” he said. “I could’ve let them pin it on you and your idiot friends. But I didn’t.”

Michael looked up, searching his father's face, but couldn’t find a single crack in it.

“You owe me, Michael.”

Michael swallowed hard, his throat like sandpaper. “What… do you want from me?”

William stared at him for a moment longer, then gave a faint, humorless smile.

“Just… don’t screw up again.”

He turned and walked back toward the bench, flicking the cigarette into a tray and lighting another. As if the conversation had ended. As if it were ever really a conversation at all.

Michael stood there for a long moment, caught somewhere between confusion and resentment.

He left without another word.

And the weight of it all, David in that bed, Elizabeth pretending she wasn’t scared, and William treating tragedy like paperwork, pressed harder on his chest than it ever had before.

Chapter Text

He’d always been intimidating. That was by design.

The baggy tank tops, the chains, the shaggy hair falling in his eyes like a curtain. The scowl that came easy and the sharp tongue he never bothered to dull. People stayed away because he made them uncomfortable, and that used to make him feel powerful.

Now, it felt different.

They weren’t avoiding him because he looked like trouble.

They were avoiding him because he was trouble.

Not just some punk with an attitude, no, now he was the guy whose brother got his head crushed at a birthday party. The one who dragged a screaming eleven-year-old to the stage. The one who laughed.

Michael didn’t laugh anymore.

The whispers followed him.

“That’s him.”

“He’s the one.”

“I heard his dad owns that place. I bet he told him to do it.”

“He used to hang out with those other guys, right? Didn’t they transfer?”

“They made fun of the kid before it happened.”

He could hear all of it, even when they thought he couldn’t. Especially then.

No one said it to his face, though. No one dared. Michael was still big, still sharp-edged, still the guy who broke a sophomore’s nose for looking at him wrong in ninth grade. But he saw how they flinched when he reached into his locker. How they walked in wide arcs around him. Like they thought he might snap.

He used to like that feeling. Now, it made him feel cold.

It wasn’t respect.

It was fear.

The halls that used to echo with teenage noise and restless energy were quieter whenever Michael walked through them. Conversations dulled when he entered a room. He wasn't sure if it was guilt, fear, or both, but eyes followed him like ghosts.

He heard one girl say, “That’s the kid whose brother got his face bit off.” Another added, “They say he did it.” Michael didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

Jeremy hadn’t sat with him at lunch since the birthday. He still showed up to school, still hung out with the guys from shop class, but there was always distance now. If Michael looked over his shoulder, he’d sometimes catch Jeremy watching him, just a glance, and then nothing. He never said anything.

Max and Simon, however, were gone. Word had gotten around that their parents switched them to different schools. Too much heat. Too much bad press. And in the quiet spaces between classes, Michael wondered if they even missed him… or if they’d ever talk again.

It was just him now. Him and the memory of what happened.

The supernatural wasn’t gone either. If anything, it was louder now, like whatever was lurking in the background had seen its opening and was pushing closer.

In the corner of the locker room, a puddle of water moved against gravity, forming into shapes before sloshing harmlessly down the drain.

The school’s projector screens sometimes flickered on without warning, playing silent clips of Freddy Fazbear themed birthday parties from years ago, grainy, low quality, too short to understand, but enough to twist Michael’s stomach.

One afternoon, he passed the janitor’s closet and saw the Chica mask hanging on a hook inside, except no one had put it there. And when he opened the door again seconds later, it was gone.

He told no one.

At home, even Marbles, their black cat, temperamental and queenly, had started acting strange. She hissed at the corners of the room. Sometimes she’d sit by the front door and growl low in her throat like something was just outside. Michael would stare into the darkness of the hallway for a long time after that.

----

A few days after David was brought home, Michael passed by William’s office on the way to the kitchen. The door was cracked open, and he heard the familiar low murmur of his father’s voice.

Not angry. Just business.

“…yes, I’ve seen the sketches,” William said. “But if you want them operational by opening day, we’ll need to split the load. I can finish Toy Chica and Toy Bonnie, I'll leave the rest to you.”

Michael slowed his steps.

“I know we’re behind. You’re the one that wants to rush the new location. If we push too fast, you’ll have another Freddy’s situation on your hands.”

Pause. Muffled response from the other end of the line.

“I said the same thing,” William replied. “Security measures are a must. Not just protocols, but facial recognition features. This isn’t just a party space anymore. We both know that.”

Michael held his breath. That voice on the other end, it had to be Henry.

He’d heard of him before. William’s business partner. A name muttered under his breath, grumbled during late-night rants in the workshop when something broke or a budget was denied.

Michael had only seen him from afar, back when Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza was still open, walking through the halls in a neat button-up and talking with the younger employees like a teacher or a priest. Polite. Clean. The opposite of William.

He also knew, vaguely, that Henry had a daughter.

He’d never met her. Never even seen her. But that was the extent of what he knew.

Still, it was strange hearing his father speak so cordially to someone he clearly didn’t like. Almost like he respected him. Almost.

Michael backed away before he could be seen. Something about that call left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He wasn’t sure why.

----

That night, as Michael lay in bed, the shadows felt heavier than usual. The moonlight filtered through his blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor. Every creak in the walls, every breath of wind outside, made him stiffen.

The music box played again.

It was faint, almost drowned out by the hum of the house, but it was real. He was sure of it.

Soft. Childlike. Out of place.

He didn’t own a music box.

No one did.

And yet there it was, in the dark, playing something he swore he’d heard before, but couldn’t place.

The air went cold.

The music box stopped.

Silence crept in like a fog.

Michael sat up in bed, his sheets twisted around his legs, his room dimly lit by the soft glow of a streetlamp outside. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to see stars, trying to shake the image of that slow-turning music box drum from his brain. But the air still felt wrong. He didn’t know how else to explain it. It was like stepping into a room and instantly sensing you weren’t alone.

And the worst part?

That feeling hadn’t left since the party.

His room, once his little fortress of solitude and punk cassette tapes, now felt like it was watching him. The posters on the wall, crinkled from age, seemed to hang heavier. The shadows beneath his bed felt just a little too dark. Even Marbles, usually curled up by his door, was nowhere to be seen.

Michael got up.

He needed to move, to breathe somewhere else.

So he crept down the hallway, barefoot on the creaking floorboards. Past Elizabeth’s door, cracked open with the soft sound of her playing a radio low. Past the bathroom, where the faucet always dripped once or twice after midnight.

And into the old den.

Now it was more like a second living room-turned-sickroom. They had moved David here after the hospital. Healed better at home, the doctors said. Familiar environment. More comfortable.

Michael pushed the door open gently.

The TV was on with the sound muted, playing an old cartoon with janky animation and bright, twitchy colors. The curtains were drawn shut, but the light from the screen cast long, jittery shadows across the walls.

Most likely thanks to Elizabeth.

David was in the bed. Small and still.

Strapped in carefully with padded cushions, like some frail thing made of glass and wires. His head was bandaged and tilted slightly toward the side. His breathing was shallow, but steady. His hands rested on the plush toy in his lap, a faded, well-loved Fredbear stuffed animal, worn around the edges from years of squeezing it too tight.

Michael stood in the doorway.

He didn’t speak. There was nothing to say.

He’d started coming here late at night. Just standing. Watching. Maybe to remind himself that David was still breathing. Maybe to check if he wasn’t. He didn’t know anymore.

Then, something shifted.

In the corner of his eye, near the armchair tucked beside the bookshelf-

A shape.

Round ears. Yellow fur. Glassy black eyes.

A bear.

No, that bear.

Michael’s head snapped to it.

Gone.

Just the shadow of the lamp and the furniture.

His throat tightened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

He blinked once. Twice.

Nothing moved. David didn’t stir. The shadows stayed where they belonged.

Still… he backed out slowly. His heartbeat didn’t slow until the door clicked shut behind him.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet again.

That kind of quiet that comes after a storm, where everything still drips, but nothing dares to move.

David died that morning.

There was no moment of drama. No cries or alarms. He just… stopped. His breathing, already so faint for so long, never picked back up. Michael had stood there for a while, watching the stillness in his little brother’s body, trying to tell himself that maybe it was just sleep. Deep sleep. Heavy sleep.

But he knew better.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t cry. He just stood up and left the room.

Elizabeth was in the kitchen, stirring a cup of chocolate milk she hadn’t taken a sip from. She looked up and saw it in his face before he even said a word.

“He’s gone,” he said flatly.

She didn’t cry either. Not really. She just stared at the cup and whispered, “He didn’t even like milk.”

That was all.

William had walked into the room not long after. His eyes flicked between the two of them. His expression didn’t change much. Maybe his shoulders sagged a bit. Or maybe that was just Michael imagining it. All he said was-

“Michael. Come with me.”

Outside, the air was cold and dry, and the sky hung gray above them like a lid ready to seal everything in. The woods near their house were quiet, too quiet. William handed Michael a shovel without a word and started digging.

Michael didn’t ask where. He already knew. A shallow spot by the trees, past the old toolshed. Somewhere no one else would look.

He dug until his hands blistered. Until the numbness in his chest spread to his arms.

David was light. Lighter than he should’ve been. His body wrapped tightly in a sheet, no coffin, no ceremony.

Michael stood over the mound of fresh earth afterward and stared down.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the words died before they reached his lips.

William, brushing his gloves clean, said, “Say something if you want,” and then turned and walked away.

Michael stayed.

He didn’t cry. He didn't speak. But he shook.

Then he left, too.

----

A week passed.

The air felt wrong. The sunlight didn’t hit the house the same way. The shadows clung to corners a little too long.

Michael spent more time around the new pizzeria they were building, some new location with a new look, a cleaner image. A fresh start. Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza had too much rot in its bones. They needed something “family friendly.”

“Safer.”

The walls were freshly tiled, white and pristine, the smell of paint and sawdust thick in the air. Animatronic shells sat in crates or stood half-assembled behind plastic curtains. The place felt… soulless.

Michael often found himself wandering into the backrooms where the Toy Animatronics were being constructed.

Toy Freddy, Toy Bonnie, Toy Chica. An endoskeleton for a fourth one.

Too smooth. Too wide-eyed. Too plastic.

He sat on a stack of supply crates with a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, just listening.

That’s when he heard voices from the manager’s office. Muffled, but close.

“…I want her birthday here. She’s old enough now.”

Michael recognized that voice. Henry Emily. William’s business partner. The one he’d only seen from a distance, at the old location. Always composed. Always praised. Michael had heard William grumble about him plenty over the years, about his "high-horse standards" and "overcautious rules."

William replied with polite interest, “We can arrange that, of course. You said she’s turning…?”

“Seven,” Henry said. “It’d mean a lot to her. She doesn’t have many friends. The staff here will need to be trained properly, though. And I’m putting something together for her, personally.”

“A present?”

“A guardian,” Henry corrected. “Something to keep an eye on her. I’ve been working on a new model. Thinner build, less flashy, more responsive to distress signals.”

There was a pause. Then William’s voice, almost too casual-

“Have you thought of a name?”

“I haven’t landed on one yet,” Henry admitted. “She just calls it ‘her tall friend’ for now.”

William gave a short chuckle. “What about The Puppet? Or The Marionette? Has a ring to it.”

A pause. Then Henry’s voice softened. “That’s… not bad. I’ll run it by her.”

Michael's stomach churned. The sandwich in his hand tasted like sand.

Something about his father's voice didn't sit right with him. 

----

That night, he tried sleeping in his room, but everything felt… tight. Suffocating. So he wandered out and sat in the old family den, what had become David’s room after the Bite.

The blankets were folded. The air was still. The TV was off, the screen dark and dusty.

Michael sat on the floor, staring into nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, something shifted.

That stupid yellow bear.

Fredbear.

It stood just within the edge of his vision, next to the far bookshelf. Unmoving.

Then it was gone.

Michael didn’t say anything.

He just kept staring at the blank television screen, wondering how much of what he saw was real, and how much of it was guilt eating him from the inside out.

The new pizzeria opened in a week.

And the past didn’t seem interested in staying buried.

The television remained dark. The house was holding its breath, again.

Michael hadn’t moved in over ten minutes. His back against the base of the bed, arms resting loosely on his knees. The flickering shapes that once danced on the old TV screen were long gone. Everything now was memory, and guilt.

Then came the soft creak of the door.

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting nothing and no one.

It was Elizabeth.

She froze in the doorway when she saw him, her eyes already glassy. Her face twitched, and she quickly looked down like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

“I didn’t think anyone would be in here,” she said, her voice quieter than usual.

Michael didn’t respond.

She stepped inside anyway, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Her sleeves were pulled over her hands.

“I just wanted to-” She cut herself off, her voice catching. Her eyes flitted toward David’s blanket, still folded at the end of the couch. “I don’t even know why I came in here.”

Michael didn’t say anything. Just let her stand there. It was easier than speaking.

Elizabeth looked at him, then quickly away.

“I miss him,” she said finally. “I know you don’t want to hear it… but I do.”

Michael looked down at the floor.

“I know he was… weird. But he looked up to you, you know. Even when you made fun of him. Even when he cried.” Her voice cracked again, and she clenched her jaw. “I hate this house. I hate how no one says anything. How we’re supposed to act like everything’s normal.”

She sat down beside him, but not too close.

Her next words came softer.

“I hate being vulnerable here. Feels like a trap. Like if you cry, you’re just… feeding something. Something that’s waiting to pounce.”

Michael turned his head slightly toward her. Her eyes were locked on the floor.

He wanted to say something. To tell her he understood. That she wasn’t the only one who felt like that in this house. That the silence was louder than screams. That he missed David too.

But nothing came out.

His throat was dry. His thoughts were mud.

He didn’t even know if he knew how to say anything like that anymore.

So instead, he just nodded. A slight, almost imperceptible motion.

Elizabeth saw it. She didn’t smile, but she leaned back just a little, less tense, less alone.

They sat like that for a while, in the quiet that followed.

Two siblings. Still here. Still breathing.

But changed.

Chapter Text

The new location was clean.

Too clean.

The soft pastel walls and polished tiles gave the building a sterile, artificial charm. The kind meant to distract from the ghosts of what came before. From what had happened at the last place.

Michael stood in the corner of the dining area, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The stage was lit in full color, and the Toy Animatronics stood proudly under the glow. Toy Freddy with his glossy finish and larger-than-life grin, Toy Bonnie a brighter shade of blue with a bowtie that nearly looked plastic, and Toy Chica with her ridiculous bib and pink accents.

Then there was one he didn’t recognize.

It wasn’t on stage, not really. It was sitting in the corner of the room off to the side, near the arcade cabinets. Torn open. Metal ribs showing. Wires hanging loosely, like someone had dragged it there just to abandon it.

And yet, kids were huddled around it, watching as a technician put it back together.

He asked one of the employees near the soda machine about it. A teenager with too much acne and a paper hat.

“Oh, that one? Yeah, that’s Mangle. Well… kinda. The kids started calling it that ‘cause it keeps falling apart. We put it together, they take it back apart. It's like a free-for-all toy now.”

Michael watched the mess of metal and fur twitch as a child poked its limp tail.

Fitting name.

He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, eyes trailing across families and balloons. Elizabeth had wandered off, saying something about wanting to “try again.” Michael caught a glimpse of her talking to a group of girls near the photo booth, laughing, smiling, fitting in. For once.

He didn’t interrupt.

Instead, his eyes landed on a girl standing near the Marionette’s gift box, wearing a green hoodie and a thoughtful look. She was maybe a year or two younger than Elizabeth. Quiet. Reserved. She was sketching something in a notebook, surrounded by kids, but alone in her own world.

Michael hesitated, then approached her, clearing his throat.

“You Charlotte? Charlie?”

The girl blinked, looked up. “Yeah. And you’re...?”

“Michael,” he said simply.

She looked at him for a moment. “William’s kid?”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Unfortunately.”

That got a chuckle out of her.

“I’ve heard about you,” she said. “My dad talks about your dad. A lot.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get the impression they talk more than people think.”

She smiled faintly. “Well, thanks for saying hi.”

He nodded, not sure what else to say. It wasn’t a bad interaction, just a bit awkward. Still, no harm done. He stepped away to give her space, and not long after, someone else found him.

“Michael, Michael Afton?”

Michael turned.

A man with salt-and-pepper hair, a gentle posture, and kind but tired eyes extended a hand. He wore a simple collared shirt with a badge clipped to the side of his belt that read Henry Emily – Co-Owner.

“I’ve seen pictures, but we’ve never met in person,” the man said. “I’m Henry. Your father’s business partner.”

Michael stared at the hand for a second, then shook it.

“Didn’t know my dad talked about me,” he said flatly.

Henry smiled, though it was subtle. “He doesn’t talk much, but he has a few framed photos on his desk. He said you were... dependable.”

That made Michael blink. Dependable?

He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. The idea that William kept pictures of him on his desk felt… wrong. Like a lie.

“Well,” Henry said, looking around, “I’m glad to finally put a face to the name. You ever need anything around here, just ask.”

Michael nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

Henry gave a polite smile and walked off, heading toward the back to check on some wiring.

Michael stood still for a moment.

He didn’t like being talked about when he wasn’t in the room, especially not by William. The thought twisted his stomach. But more than that, he didn’t like not knowing why. Why his father would tell someone like Henry anything about him at all.

As he looked back toward the stage, Toy Freddy began his programmed jingle. Balloons popped in the corner. Children screamed with laughter.

And in the far front, behind the glass window of the main entrance hallway, Michael swore he saw something flicker past.

A blur. Purple. A car, maybe? Gone the second he looked directly at it.

He blinked.

Nothing.

Now that Michael thought about it, he realized he hadn’t seen his father anywhere.

A pit formed in his stomach.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it. William disappeared all the time without explanation. But now, as his eyes scanned the party room, something else stuck out.

Charlie wasn’t where he left her.

She’d been near the arcade machines and the gift box, playing quietly, away from the other kids. He remembered thinking how weirdly isolated she looked, like a guest in a house that was supposed to be hers.

But now… nothing. No small frame, no dark curls, no awkward glances over her shoulder. Just blinking arcade screens, flashing lights and a giant gift box with even smaller ones stacked on top of it.

Michael’s throat tightened. He stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning on and made a quiet but quick path through the party room, looking left and right. The clamor of kids screaming and laughing grated against his nerves. He passed by the prize counter, ducked through the edge of the kitchen, even peeked into the dimly lit hallway where only employees were supposed to be. Still nothing.

His pace quickened. The dread in his chest crawled deeper into his bones.

He spotted Elizabeth at a table decorated with cupcakes and small gift bags. She was laughing with a group of girls, three of them, one with short curls, another with braces, and the last one a redhead with her pigtails tied tight with bows.

He pulled Elizabeth aside, trying not to startle her. “Hey. Have you seen Charlie?”

Elizabeth blinked. “Who?”

“Charlie. Henry’s kid.”

She frowned. “No? I haven’t even met her yet. I was over here the whole time with-” She gestured at the girls. “-my friends. That one’s name is Molly. She’s cool. Said she likes my dress.” She gave a small, proud smile.

Michael didn’t respond. His eyes flicked past her, scanning every shadow and corner.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked, sensing the shift in his expression. “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer.

Because he didn’t know yet.

But he had a feeling, familiar and cold.

Something was wrong.

And his father was gone.

Michael tried to keep his face neutral as he moved through the winding halls, the cheery walls and bright banners feeling increasingly artificial, like a mask hiding something rotten. The further he walked, the more the noise of the party dulled into the background. He wasn’t even sure where he was headed until he found himself standing outside one of the back rooms.

He pushed the door open and spotted Henry bent over a workbench, fiddling with the exposed torso of one of the new endoskeletons. The metal creaked softly under the pressure of his adjustments, but he paused as he noticed Michael in the doorway.

“Oh, Michael,” Henry said, wiping his hands with a cloth. “Something wrong?”

Michael hesitated for half a second, then forced a weak smile. “Hey, uh, yeah, I was just looking for Charlie. Wanted to wish her a happy birthday before we left.”

Henry looked up, brows pulling together. “She’s not out there?”

“No,” Michael said, doing his best to keep his tone casual. “I checked the arcade, the prize counter, waited outside the bathrooms, even peeked into the kitchen.”

Henry’s face darkened. “She was near the front when I last saw her.”

Michael shifted on his feet. “I figured maybe she came back here.”

“No,” Henry said quickly, already moving past him, dropping the cloth onto the worktable. “She’s not supposed to come back here. Too much equipment around.”

Michael followed him as Henry strode out into the hallway and toward the main floor.

But then Henry slowed near the hallway that led to the party stage, specifically, toward a narrow alcove where the old-style gift box had been stationed for the Marionette. Only now, the box stood empty.

Henry stared at it. “She... shouldn’t be out of there yet,” he murmured.

Michael’s heart sank.

He opened his mouth, trying to piece something together, some excuse, some question, but Henry had already moved off quickly, muttering under his breath. Michael took a shaky breath and turned away.

He didn’t want to know what would happen next.

----

Michael found Elizabeth still with her group, now seated and giggling over a joke one of the girls told.

He stepped in, grabbed her gently by the arm, and whispered, “We’re going. Now.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What? Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Michael muttered, not breaking eye contact. His tone was enough, serious, unusually sharp. She gave a short glance back at the girls, but nodded, grabbing her sweater and trailing after him.

They didn’t talk until they’d stepped out into the rain. The sky had cracked open sometime during the party, and now thick droplets soaked the pavement, the streetlights blurring in the puddles below.

Halfway down the sidewalk, Elizabeth finally said, “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” Michael said, kicking at the wet gravel. “Not yet.”

“So...?”

“Charlie’s missing.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, startled. “What do you mean missing?”

“I mean gone. Disappeared.” His voice lowered. “And I think I saw Dad’s car leave earlier...”

She stopped walking.

Michael turned to face her, his soaked hair clinging to his forehead.

“I’m not saying it’s related,” he said quickly. “I just... I don’t know. I wanted to get out of there.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly. She didn’t say anything more, and Michael was grateful.

By the time they reached their house, their clothes were soaked and their shoes squelched with each step. The rain had settled into a cold drizzle, and the only sound was the low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Michael’s stomach dropped when he saw it.

The purple car.

Sitting in the driveway.

Right where it always sat.

The water on the windshield glistened under the porch light, and for a long second, Michael just stood there, watching.

Hoping.

Desperately hoping that the fact Charlie was missing, and that their father was home early, weren’t connected in any way.

But deep down, in that part of himself he hated to acknowledge, he already knew better.

Chapter Text

The house was silent when they stepped in.

No hum of the fridge.

No creak of old floorboards settling.

No distant sound from the basement workshop, no shifting shadows in the hallway, nothing.

Just silence.

Michael let the door close gently behind them. The faint click of the lock was the loudest thing either of them had heard since leaving the pizzeria.

Elizabeth hovered near the entryway, her new sweater still damp at the sleeves, her eyes wide and uncertain. She looked like she wanted to ask something, but she didn’t.

Michael turned to her, his voice low but firm. “Go to your room.”

She blinked, confused. “Why?”

“Just… go. Stay there. Keep the house phone near you.”

Elizabeth’s face paled. “Michael-”

“If anything happens. If you hear anything weird. Call someone. Call the cops, okay? 9-1-1. Don’t wait.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She turned and made her way up the stairs, each step sounding far too loud in the still house.

Michael waited until he heard her door shut, then walked to the dining room.

He sat down at the long table.

And he waited.

He didn’t know for how long. Ten minutes? Thirty? An hour?

He stared at the hallway.

He was used to this house being quiet, to the heavy atmosphere that hung over everything like a fog, but this silence was different. It felt anticipatory. Like the house itself was holding its breath.

Michael folded his arms on the table, fingers tapping against his sleeve. Still wet from the rain. His stomach twisted. Not from fear. No, Michael had never been afraid of William.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to see him.

He dreaded it. The way the man looked at him. The way he never seemed quite human. The way he knew things without asking.

When William finally emerged from the hallway, he looked almost normal.

Fresh clothes. Damp hair combed back neatly. As if he'd just stepped out of a long, hot shower. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing his pale arms. 

He stopped at the threshold to the dining room and looked at Michael.

“You’re home early,” he said evenly, like nothing had happened.

Michael didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

He forced himself to meet William’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Michael said, just as even. “Figured I should be.”

William raised a brow. “Something happen?”

Michael shrugged. “No. Henry's kid had her birthday party today, remember?”

William smiled thinly at that. “Mm. And how was the birthday girl?”

Michael kept his expression neutral. “Fine. Everyone had fun.”

“Glad to hear it,” William said, walking past him toward the kitchen.

Michael’s hands tightened slightly around his sleeves. “Where’d you go?” he asked.

William opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, cracking the cap open with a pop. “Just stepped out for a bit. Needed to take care of a few things.”

Michael nodded slowly. “And now?”

William took a sip of water. “Now I’m home.”

They stood in silence again, Michael sitting, William leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

Michael didn’t ask what he wanted to.

Didn’t say I saw your car pass by.

Didn’t say Charlie’s gone.

Didn’t say I know you know something.

Because he couldn’t.

William had a way of twisting things. Of making Michael doubt what he’d seen, what he’d heard, what he’d felt.

Michael swallowed and forced himself to breathe normally.

He didn’t know if William knew what he was thinking. He probably did. 

The rest of the evening passed in a daze. William retreated to his workshop without another word, leaving the kitchen light humming faintly behind him. Michael sat at the dining table for a few minutes longer, listening, half-hoping to hear the door creak open again. But the house remained silent.

Eventually, he pushed himself up from the chair, his legs heavy, his thoughts heavier.

Each step up the stairs felt like walking through fog.

He paused outside Elizabeth’s door and knocked gently, three short taps.

No answer.

“Liz,” he said quietly. “It’s just me.”

A beat of silence, then the door creaked open a crack. One green eye peeked through.

Michael tried to soften his voice. “Everything’s fine. You don’t have to call anyone.”

Elizabeth opened the door a little more. She didn’t look entirely convinced. “Are you sure?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah. I talked to him. It’s... all good now.” He's such a liar. 

She studied him for a second longer before finally nodding and stepping back to let him in.

Her room was as neat as ever, her stuffed animals lined up on her bed, her lamp casting a soft amber glow. The cat, Marbles, as Elizabeth had finally decided, curled up in the corner, eyes glowing in the dark like twin moons, tail flicking lazily.

Michael stood awkwardly near the door, glancing around the room like it was unfamiliar territory.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

Elizabeth shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “Yeah.”

Michael hesitated before saying, “If you want... I can help set something up. With your friends. Maybe hang out outside school. Like at the park or something.”

Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard. “You’d do that?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure. Why not.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, fragile but real. “Thanks.”

Michael offered a weak smile in return, then nodded toward the hallway. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched him as he turned to leave.

As he closed her door softly behind him, Michael exhaled through his nose.

He didn’t know why he’d said that. He didn’t know why he cared.

But deep down, beneath the guilt, the heaviness, the shadow of his father’s presence. There was a flicker of something he couldn’t name. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was something else.

He’d been a jerk to his siblings for a long time.

And now, only one of them could still forgive him.

----

Michael woke to the scent of something warm, eggs, maybe. Bacon. The sun filtered through his window in fractured pieces, too soft for what had become of his mornings lately. For a second, he thought he might still be dreaming.

He threw on the closest sweatshirt from the floor, ran a hand through his hair, and shuffled out into the hallway. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Until he heard it.

The clatter of dishes. The faint hum of the old TV in the living room. And a voice.

William’s.

“Elizabeth, don’t dump that much syrup, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Michael froze at the top of the stairs.

Was he serious?

By the time he reached the kitchen, the surrealness only grew. William was at the stove, flipping what looked like pancakes. He’d cleaned up, dressed in one of his nicer button-downs, sleeves rolled, and his hair combed back like he actually gave a damn.

Elizabeth sat at the table in her pajamas, her plate already half-covered in eggs, bacon, and too much syrup, as predicted.

She glanced up and waved a fork. “He’s making breakfast.”

Michael stared.

“I can see that.”

William turned, catching his gaze. “Good morning.”

Michael stood there, still half-asleep and unsure whether he’d slipped into a parallel universe. “Uh… morning.”

“Sit. Eat. You’re going to need your strength today.” William gestured to the plate waiting at the table, neatly done, butter even melted just right over the toast. “Got a lot ahead of us this week.”

Michael sat down slowly, as if expecting it all to vanish the moment he blinked.

Elizabeth shoved a bite of pancake into her mouth and leaned toward him. “This is weird, right?”

Michael nodded, quiet. “Yeah. Really weird.”

From the living room, the old television buzzed faintly, just audible enough to make out the morning news anchor’s voice. Michael didn’t think much of it, until he heard the words:

“—young girl found dead beside the new Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza location early this morning…”

He stopped chewing.

The anchor’s voice continued, calm and practiced, as if reporting on the weather.

“...the body was discovered by early construction staff. Sources confirm the girl was found lying beside one of the location’s animatronics, which had been shut down due to the rainfall from the night before.”

William didn’t look up. His face remained unreadable as he cut into his eggs with a fork and knife.

Elizabeth had frozen with her glass of juice halfway to her lips. “What did they say?”

Michael didn’t answer. He stood up, walking into the living room, eyes glued to the screen.

The anchor continued:

“Authorities have now confirmed the identity of the child as Charlotte Emily, daughter of Henry Emily, co-owner of Fazbear Entertainment. Mr. Emily has declined to comment.”

Michael’s stomach twisted.

The world dropped out from beneath him.

Charlotte. Charlie.

He hadn’t seen her since the party. Since she'd gone missing.

Since...

His hands clenched at his sides.

The animatronic.

The Marionette wasn’t in the gift box when they went looking. It hadn’t been anywhere.

And now…

Charlotte was gone.

Elizabeth walked up behind him, her face pale. “That’s the girl from the party, right?”

Michael nodded once, silent.

William appeared behind them, a coffee mug in hand, eyes on the screen.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t react. Not visibly.

“Such a tragedy,” he murmured. “Horrible timing, too. Right after opening week.”

Michael turned to him slowly.

That was all he had to say?

But William was already sipping his coffee, walking back to the kitchen like nothing had happened.

As if a little girl hadn’t just died.

Michael felt sick.

He couldn’t breathe.

If he hadn’t been so caught up wasting Henry’s time, maybe Henry would’ve noticed his daughter wandering off. Maybe she wouldn’t have been alone… wouldn’t have been out there in the cold, in the rain.

He looked at Elizabeth, who still hadn’t moved, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

He wanted to say something to her, anything, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words.

Instead, all he could think about was that damn purple car.

And the rain.

And the cold, empty gift box.

Chapter Text

Michael hadn’t said a word since the news broadcast. William had made breakfast, cheerfully pretending to be the father they never really had, flipping eggs, plating toast, brewing coffee. Elizabeth had taken the rest of her food quietly to her room after seeing the strained look on Michael’s face. Michael sat at the table, unfinished plate before him, head low and eyes fixed on the steam rising from his mug.

Charlotte Emily was dead.

He’d heard the news anchor say the name clearly. She’d been found beside the pizzeria, soaked, lifeless, next to a shut-down animatronic. They hadn’t named the animatronic, but Michael didn’t need them to. He already knew. He saw the open gift box in the new location. He remembered Henry’s face. He remembered his father’s car in the driveway.

Michael forced himself to stand.

He couldn’t sit across from William any longer, not with that man humming quietly to himself like it was just another Sunday. Not when Michael’s stomach was twisting in ways he hadn’t felt since the day they buried David.

He wandered aimlessly for a bit, walking the halls of the house like a ghost. Eventually, he ended up in the backyard, the grass still damp from yesterday’s rain. The woods behind their house loomed like silent judges. Somewhere out there, David was buried,  in a box William had hammered shut himself, without a priest or ceremony. Michael wondered if he’d have to do that again, for someone else.

Maybe for himself.

Later that day, Michael found himself walking. No destination. Just walking.

He ended up near the construction site of the newer Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, now sealed off with yellow tape and police markers. The air had a heavy weight to it, like the atmosphere hadn’t moved since Charlotte died. The Marionette had been swept up and packed away, likely for inspection. The alley behind the building, where she’d been found, was dark and still, save for the occasional gust of wind sending wrappers and leaves scattering.

Michael didn’t stay long.

Not even sure as to why he made the trip. 

That evening, Elizabeth knocked gently on his door.

“I don’t wanna eat alone,” she said.

Michael blinked at her. Her eyes were puffy. He hadn’t heard her cry, but he could tell she had. Wordlessly, he followed her downstairs. They ate cereal on the living room floor, avoiding the kitchen where William might still be.

“I don’t get it,” Elizabeth said suddenly. “She was just a kid.”

Michael nodded.

“She was my age...or close.”

He nodded again.

“Do you think… do you think Dad knew her?”

Michael's spoon paused midair. “Maybe.”

Elizabeth gave a small laugh, bitter and too sharp to be real. “I think Dad knows everything.”

Michael wanted to deny it. Wanted to tell her she was wrong. But the look in her eyes, that sad, tired, too-old look, stopped him.

He didn’t know how long they sat there in silence.

Eventually, Elizabeth leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I miss when things were normal,” she said.

Michael didn’t know how to tell her that things were never normal. Not really. He let her stay like that until she fell asleep. Then he carried her to her room, tucked her in, and stared out the window for hours.

That night, Michael couldn't sleep. 

He didn’t even try. The dark pressed in from the corners of his room, silent and watching. His mind was louder than the night around him, full of voices and echoes of things that weren’t there anymore, David’s laugh, Elizabeth’s cries, the faint sound of animatronic servos twitching behind walls that should’ve been still.

He sat up, staring at the ceiling.

Elizabeth’s voice from earlier echoed back to him:
“I miss when things were normal.”

Michael wondered if there had ever been normal. But still… he let his eyes close, just for a while. He let the thought form: What if things were different?

And in that moment, he dreamed, not a nightmare this time, but something else. Something warm.

----

The house looked the same. But brighter.

It was morning, sunlight streaming in through open windows. Someone was humming softly in the kitchen. Not William. No, this voice was softer. Sweeter.

Mom.

She was standing at the stove, flipping pancakes, wearing one of those old cardigans she used to love. The table was already set, not perfectly, but lovingly. Mismatched plates. A chipped mug. She turned her head, smiled, and called out to them.

“Kids! Breakfast!”

The sound of footsteps thundered from upstairs.

Elizabeth came down first, practically skipping, her red hair tied back neatly in a ribbon. She looked… happy. She was already talking about a friend from school, something funny she said, something about wanting to have a sleepover that weekend.

David followed, rubbing his eyes, but not crying. Not shaking. He wasn’t afraid. He was just tired, like a normal little kid. He yawned and clambered into his seat, grabbing for syrup while Mom playfully swatted his hand away.

Then there was Michael.

But it wasn’t this Michael. Not him, no. Never him.

He looked the same, but his shoulders weren’t so heavy. His eyes weren’t sunken, haunted. He laughed easily, tossing a joke at David and teasing Elizabeth in the way big brothers were supposed to. And sitting at the end of the table, William.

But not that William.

This version of their father smiled. He was stern, sure, he had that same hard stare when someone was misbehaving, but it wasn’t cruel. He didn’t ignore. He didn’t dismiss. He listened. He spoke. He joked. He even reached across the table to muss up Michael’s hair when he got too smug.

And Michael… didn’t flinch.

There were no animatronics. No cold basements. No long nights filled with humming machinery and muffled screams. No grave in the woods.

Just a family.

A real one.

Michael felt warmth in his chest he didn’t recognize. It was painful in its sweetness.

----

When he opened his eyes again, the room was cold and gray.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time. There were no sounds, no voices. Just the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the buzz of a dying streetlamp outside his window.

That version of his family didn’t exist.

It never would.

But for a few minutes, at least… he let himself believe.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

Chapter Text

The school hallway buzzed with a strange kind of energy. Whispers danced between lockers, heads turned, and eyes watched, but not him.

Not anymore.

Michael stepped through the front doors, his shoulders instinctively braced for the same cold stares, the same accusing glances, the same rumors muttered just under breath.

But… they didn’t come. Not today.

Instead, the chatter shifted, pulled like a tide toward something newer. Something fresher. Charlotte Emily. Dead outside the new pizzeria. A child of one of the co-owners. A murder.

And just like that, the tragedy with David, the "accident", was no longer the freshest blood in the water.

Michael was both relieved and disgusted by it.

He walked through the halls, backpack slung low, the hem of his sleeves pulled over his hands. People still looked at him, but not like before. Not as sharply. There was fear in their eyes, yes, but now it was mixed with something else. Curiosity. Pity. Distraction.

They whispered about Charlotte now.

“They found her next to one of the robots.”

“No way, I heard it was her dad’s fault.”

“Didn’t her birthday party get moved last-minute?”

“I bet it was one of those creepy mascots. Like, what if it killed her?”

“They’re saying it just shut off, like it knew-”

“That Afton kid was there, right? The older one?”

Michael didn’t stop walking. He didn’t want to know who asked that last question.

He turned a corner and caught a glimpse of Jeremy near his locker. For a second, just a second, he thought their eyes might meet.

But Jeremy looked away.

Quickly.

Michael hesitated, feet slowing for half a second. He hated how much that little moment hit him. Max and Simon had transferred schools almost immediately after the incident. Their parents hadn’t waited. One week and they were gone. But Jeremy?

Jeremy stayed. Stayed in school, stayed in town, stayed in the same hallways. He just didn’t stay with Michael.

Which, maybe, was worse.

Michael had always liked Jeremy more than the others. Simon and Max were loud, the kind of friends who stirred trouble to hide their own messes. But Jeremy had been… steady. Quiet, like Michael, but clever in a different way. He laughed at Michael’s jokes when no one else did. He asked questions when things felt wrong.

He was the only one Michael kind of respected.

And now, Jeremy wouldn’t even look at him.

Michael told himself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

It hurt in a way Michael couldn’t even explain, not to himself, not out loud. And he didn’t blame Jeremy, not really. Who’d want to be friends with the guy who killed his own brother? 

Michael turned down another hallway, letting the noise fade behind him.

His life had become a carousel of shifting shadows. Just when he started to adapt to the cold glares, they softened. Just when he thought people would stop talking, they found something new. But no matter how fast the world moved forward…

He still carried it.

David.
The blood.
The screaming.
The silence that followed.

No one could whisper that out of existence.

And now Charlotte. Another kid. Another body.

Another shadow at his back.

Michael didn’t go to first period.

He wasn’t even sure why. He walked past the classroom, saw the teacher writing something on the board, saw a few kids glance at him when they recognized the back of his head, and just… kept going.

The school felt unfamiliar now. Not because it had changed, but because he had.

He wandered the halls until the late bell rang and silence fell over the corridors. The lights buzzed a little louder when no one was talking, the floor beneath his shoes creaked louder than it used to. Every noise felt amplified. Every step he took sounded like an echo.

He found himself sitting at the far edge of the school courtyard during second period. A bench no one really used, half-hidden behind an overgrown hedge. It used to be a place he'd sneak off to with Jeremy and the others when they ditched lunch. Now it just felt cold. Alone.

Michael picked at the edge of his sleeve, nails scraping at the loose thread. He thought of Elizabeth, probably at her own school not too far away from his own. He wondered how she was holding up. Probably better than him. She had friends now. Ones that liked her. Ones that didn’t look at her like she was broken.

That was something.

The rest of the school day passed like static. People talked, teachers lectured, bells rang, and Michael moved through it like a ghost in a too-tight shell. He kept his head down, gave half-hearted answers when spoken to, and made sure his expression never cracked.

By lunch, the whispers had already shifted again.

There were rumors now. Not just about Charlotte, but about the animatronics. About the pizzeria.

“I heard they’re shutting it down already.”

“No, my cousin says they’re keeping it open.”

“They’re saying it was an accident. Like the robot just glitched.”

“You think it’s like what happened to Afton’s brother?”

“Maybe the place is cursed or something.”

That last one made Michael’s stomach churn.

He grabbed his lunch tray, the contents barely touched, and sat in the back corner of the cafeteria. Alone. Same as every day since the party. Except now, it didn’t feel like punishment, it felt safer.

He caught Jeremy’s silhouette across the room. Still avoiding him. Still pretending Michael didn’t exist. But Michael saw the glance.

Saw the look Jeremy gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking.

That was worse.

Michael let out a quiet sigh and stared down at his tray. The food was lukewarm. Tasteless. Just like everything else lately. He pushed it away and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles like they might collapse and crush him. He almost wished they would.

He didn’t blame them, really. Not Jeremy. Not the others.
He had encouraged the whole thing.
He had seen his little brother crying, begging, and laughed.

He’d let it happen.

Even if it wasn’t on purpose, even if it wasn’t supposed to go that far, it didn’t matter.

David was dead.

And Charlotte was too.

Michael wondered if their ghosts would talk to each other. If they’d blame him together.

His stomach turned. He pushed the thought down.

He finished the school day in silence, barely aware of the lessons, of the people, of anything. Just the weight on his shoulders. Just the ache behind his eyes.

Just the knowledge that everyone might stop talking about what he’d done, but he would never stop living with it.

----

Michael stepped through the front door, kicking off his shoes like usual. The sun had already dipped low, casting long amber beams through the windows. The house was unusually still, save for the faint, tinny sound of cartoon voices echoing from the living room.

He dropped his bag by the stairs, rubbed the back of his neck, and wandered toward the sound.

Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the floor, a half-empty bowl of chips beside her and a blanket thrown around her shoulders despite the heat. She looked up at Michael when he walked in, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed. She was smiling.

Actually smiling.

It was weird.

“We have, like, no food left,” she said with a shrug, pointing to the bowl. “I had to use the last of the chips for dinner. But guess what!”

Michael blinked at her, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t like her to be this chipper. Not lately. Not since…

He glanced at the dark hallway that led to David’s empty room and frowned.

“What?” he asked, carefully.

Elizabeth leaned back on her elbows. “Dad’s building me something.”

“Yeah?”

“Not just something,” she corrected, eyes bright. “An animatronic. For me.”

Michael raised a brow. “For you?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “He said it’s gonna look like me. Kinda. It’s for a new pizzeria or something. Circus Baby’s Pizza World.” She grinned. “He even let me help pick colors. Isn’t that cool?”

Michael stared at her, unsure what to say. His stomach turned.

Elizabeth went back to watching her cartoons, humming along to the obnoxious jingle, completely unaware of the pit forming in Michael’s chest. He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t want to kill her mood.

But still.

He stood there long enough for her to notice. “What?” she asked, the smile dropping just slightly. “You think it’s stupid?”

“No,” Michael muttered, shaking his head. “I just…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He turned and walked down the hall instead, down past the kitchen and the bathroom, and down toward the basement.

The door was cracked.

Faint light spilled out from beneath it. He could hear the mechanical hum of servos and the telltale clink of metal on metal. William was down there. Tinkering. As always.

Michael stood at the door for a moment, hand on the knob.

Then he pushed it open.

The stairs creaked under his weight. The air was sharp with the scent of soldering, wires, heated metal. It stung his nose and coated the back of his throat. He saw his father crouched at the far table, his sleeves rolled up, grease staining his hands.

William didn’t look up.

“What is it?”

Michael stood at the bottom step, his heart beating faster than he liked.

“Is it true?” he asked. “You’re making an animatronic for Liz?”

William didn’t pause in his work. “Yes.”

“Why?”

That made William look up, if only briefly.

“Because I felt like it,” he said. “The colors she picked were decent. It fits into the theme of the next location.”

Michael stepped further in, glancing at the large frame of the animatronic still being assembled. The face was doll-like, split along clean seams that would open and close. The hair was pigtails, like Liz’s. The suit: frilly and circus-inspired. The eyes weren’t in yet.

“She said it was going to look like her.”

“It’s inspired by her,” William corrected. “She’s… excited. I thought that was good.”

Michael crossed his arms. “Why this one?”

William went back to his tools, brushing away the question like it was nothing.

“It’s called Circus Baby,” he said. “She’ll be the centerpiece of the new place. I already showed you the blueprints. You just didn’t want to look.”

“Because something about it felt wrong,” Michael said, louder now.

William paused again.

“It’s a machine,” he said flatly. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Michael. Unless you think building something for your sister is wrong.”

Michael opened his mouth. Closed it. He didn’t have a good answer.

“You planning this place without Henry?” he asked finally.

William nodded once. “He’s… not up for it anymore. Understandably. He won’t be involved.”

Michael took a step back, his hand running through his hair.

“And Elizabeth?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Michael didn’t believe that.

He looked at the half-built animatronic again, at the cold metal and empty face. Circus Baby. Built for Elizabeth. He could imagine her voice coming out of it. That excited smile she had just upstairs.

She didn’t know.

She was a kid, hopeful, smart, but still just a kid. Starving for their father’s love in any form, even if it came in the shape of cold circuits and lifeless metal.

And William?

He was smiling faintly as he worked, humming to himself like it was just another evening. Like none of this was strange. Like this wasn’t the same man who buried David in the woods without a tear.

Michael left without another word.

He climbed back upstairs, out of the basement, his ears still ringing.

He wasn’t sure what haunted him more: Circus Baby’s hollow face, or the look in Elizabeth’s eyes when she talked about their father finally seeming to care.

Chapter Text

Michael found himself drifting through the rest of the week in a haze. School became something of a ghost town for his thoughts. He sat through his classes, took notes he wouldn’t read, answered questions he wouldn’t remember. People still stared when they thought he couldn’t see them. Whispers followed him through the hallways, but no one dared say anything to his face. Not anymore.

The murder of Charlotte Emily had shaken the school more than David’s incident ever did. Everyone loved Charlie, even if they hadn’t known her well. Her death was the kind of thing that didn’t just pass by. It lingered, thick in the air, like smoke from something still burning.

He returned home Friday afternoon, greeted by the same too-quiet house. Elizabeth was watching TV again, though this time she didn’t look quite as giddy. She still had that flicker of joy whenever she talked about Circus Baby, but it was dampened now. Toned down.

Maybe she was starting to feel it too, that sense of something off just beneath the surface.

Michael barely said hello. He went up to his room, changed into something more comfortable, then found himself pacing. Thinking. Obsessing.

He ended up in the garage, digging through old boxes of Halloween decorations and broken tools. At the very bottom of one was his old Foxy mask. The one he’d worn at David’s birthday. He hadn’t touched it since.

He picked it up slowly, turned it over in his hands. The edges were slightly cracked. He could still see the stain on the underside of the jaw where someone’s soda had spilled during the party.

He didn’t know why he’d kept it.

He didn’t know why he’d put it on again.

But he did.

The plastic felt colder now, tighter. He looked at himself in the garage mirror and barely recognized what stared back. A boy trying to wear a monster’s face.

Michael pulled it off and threw it across the room.

He didn’t go back for it.

That night, he woke to a noise. He couldn’t say what kind at first, only that it was soft, rhythmic. Something mechanical.

He sat up in bed, heart crawling up into his throat.

The house was silent.

Except it wasn’t.

He heard it again, faint clicking. Like gears catching, turning.

Michael climbed out of bed slowly, bare feet on cool hardwood, and cracked open his door. The hallway was dark, but something about it felt… wrong. Off. As if the air had shifted. Pressed inward.

He checked Elizabeth’s room. She was asleep, curled beneath a pile of blankets, clutching a new stuffed Circus Baby to her chest.

Still safe.

He tiptoed down the stairs.

The sound was coming from the basement.

He hesitated at the top step, hand hovering near the doorknob. The last time he’d interrupted their father, he’d left feeling worse than before.

But this time, the door was already cracked.

And William wasn’t down there.

Michael descended slowly. The workbench lights were still on, casting long, harsh shadows across the room. The air was warm with metal and oil, thick with something else he couldn’t name.

Circus Baby sat in the center of the room.

She was almost finished.

Her pigtails gleamed under the light, segmented plates on her arms and legs polished to a mirror shine. The seam along her face was closed, giving the illusion of a smile.

Michael stood still.

The mechanical sound wasn’t there anymore.

He looked around, but no one else was there. No footsteps. No breath.

Just her.

Staring at nothing.

He backed away slowly, up the stairs, shutting the door behind him.

The next morning, William acted like everything was normal. He passed Michael a plate of toast, asked him how school was. Said Elizabeth was going to help him pick out fabric colors for the show curtains at the new location.

Elizabeth was too tired to get excited again. She nodded through breakfast, mumbling half-hearted answers.

Michael barely touched his food.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the smile on Circus Baby’s face.

After breakfast, William disappeared into the basement again. Elizabeth retreated to the living room, but the cartoons weren’t as loud today. Michael lingered at the table, picking apart cold toast and staring at the spot where David used to sit. He remembered all the mornings he’d made fun of him for putting too much jam on everything. For dropping crumbs on the floor and chewing too loud. It used to be funny.

Now it felt like a gap in the house.

After a while, Michael got up and moved through the house like a ghost. The floorboards creaked in the usual spots. The windows rattled from wind, even though the day was calm. The walls groaned like they were settling into something older and heavier than the foundation should allow.

When he passed by the hallway closet, something inside thumped.

Michael stopped. Waited. Nothing else.

He opened the door slowly, only to find the usual mess. Winter coats. A broken vacuum. Boxes labeled with years. He closed it again, unsure of what he’d even expected to find.

Maybe he was just going crazy.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Not just because of the noise he thought he heard, metal scraping from somewhere beneath the floor, but because of what William had said over dinner.

“They’ll have the curtains up by Tuesday,” William had said. “Should give us time to do a systems check on the animatronics. Ballora’s working fine. Funtime Freddy’s vocal range needs work, though. And Circus Baby, she’s ready. Nearly perfect.”

“Ready for what?” Michael had asked.

“For everything,” William had said simply.

Michael stared at the ceiling of his room long after the house had gone quiet. He listened for the usual nighttime hums: the fridge kicking on, the soft rustle of Elizabeth turning in her sleep down the hall. But those sounds were drowned out now.

By something breathing.

Something heavy.

It took him a long time to realize it wasn’t coming from outside his door. Or from beneath his bed.

It was coming from within the walls.

He sat up slowly. The breathing stopped.

Michael got out of bed, grabbing his flashlight from the nightstand. He didn’t know why he needed it, it wasn’t like shining a light was going to make him feel any better. But he held it anyway.

Down the hall, the attic door was cracked open.

They never used the attic.

He didn’t remember anyone opening it.

And yet.

Michael walked toward it slowly, his breath caught in his throat.

When he reached for the string to pull the stairs down, it jerked, on its own.

He froze.

Nothing came down.

No one moved.

But he saw it. In the gap between the ceiling and the door.

A sliver of yellow.

Not fabric. Not light.

Something furred. Something unmoving.

Michael backed away. Slowly. Carefully.

He went back to his room and locked the door.

Chapter Text

Sunday crept in with a gray sky and still air. The kind of day where the clouds hung heavy and the world felt paused. Michael woke late, his head thick with the remnants of a night without rest. He didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that when he closed his eyes, the house still felt like it was holding its breath.

When he came downstairs, the kitchen was already warm with the scent of burnt toast and weak coffee. Elizabeth sat at the table, legs swinging under her chair, a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. She glanced at him as he entered, then looked back at her bowl with a strange kind of anticipation.

“What?” Michael asked, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

Elizabeth hesitated. “Dad said the new place opens in three days.”

Michael froze, hand halfway to the coffee pot.

“Three days?” he repeated. “That soon?”

She nodded. “He told me this morning. Said we were finally ahead of schedule.”

Michael poured the coffee, watching the thin liquid fill the bottom of the mug like it might hold some kind of answer. It didn’t.

“They’re really going through with it?” he asked quietly. “Even after… everything?”

Elizabeth didn’t respond right away. She stirred her cereal, metal clinking against ceramic. “I think he wants to move on. Get people’s minds off of… stuff.”

Michael didn’t say anything to that. He couldn’t.

Instead, he sat across from her and sipped his coffee, staring blankly out the window. The sky looked like it might rain again. Maybe that would stop the grand opening. Maybe something would.

“Circus Baby’s going to be the star,” Elizabeth added, a trace of excitement peeking through her voice again. “Dad said she’ll do performances. Singing, dancing, even ice cream.”

Michael forced a small nod. He didn’t want to crush that light in her, even if it terrified him.

He waited until she was gone, off to her room or maybe the living room again, before heading down to the basement.

William was there, as always.

He didn’t look up from his workstation when Michael entered. His sleeves were rolled, hands stained with grease. Ballora’s arm rested in pieces on the bench beside him.

Michael lingered near the bottom step. “You didn’t tell me.”

William didn’t respond.

Michael took a few more steps in, jaw clenched. “About the grand opening. Three days. You really think this is the right time?”

“It’s the necessary time,” William said evenly, still not looking at him. “We can’t afford to delay. The longer we wait, the colder the name gets.”

Michael scoffed. “People are still talking about Charlotte. About what happened.”

William finally looked up. His eyes were tired, bloodshot, but still sharp. “Exactly why we need this opening. New memories overwrite old ones.”

Michael stared at him, stunned. “Is that all this is to you? Some… distraction?”

William wiped his hands on a rag, then stood up. “I don’t expect you to understand. But we have a product. A vision. And this-” he gestured around the basement, the animatronics in various stages of completion, “-this is how we keep it alive.”

Michael swallowed back a bitter taste. “Do you even care about what happened to Charlotte?”

There was a pause.

William’s mouth tightened. “It was tragic. And I’m doing what I can to move forward.”

Michael stepped closer, heart pounding. “What about Elizabeth? You’re giving her an animatronic that looks like her. Do you even think about what that could mean?”

“She wants to be involved,” William said. “She asked for this.”

“She’s a kid,” Michael snapped. “She just wants you to notice her.”

“She wants to be part of something,” William said calmly. “And she will be. The new location is going to be better. Cleaner. Safer. No partners. No distractions. Just us.”

That sent a chill down Michael’s spine.

“No distractions,” he echoed quietly. “Like Henry?”

William said nothing.

Michael stared at him, the silence stretching long.

“You didn’t tell him about the opening, did you?” he asked.

“I didn’t need to,” William replied, already turning back to his workbench. “He has enough to mourn. There’s no sense in dragging him into this.”

Michael watched his father pick up a small motor and start fitting it into Ballora’s shoulder like nothing had happened. Like this was just another project. Another deadline.

“I don’t want Elizabeth near that thing,” Michael said quietly.

William’s hands stilled.

“You don’t make that call,” he said. Not cruel, not loud, just certain.

Michael turned away before he said something he’d regret. He went back up the stairs, the smell of solder burning into his clothes.

The house felt colder when he got to the top. Elizabeth was gone from the kitchen. The cartoons had stopped.

Michael stood in the hallway for a moment, looking down toward the living room. Through the open window, he saw rain beginning to fall again. Gentle. Quiet.

He thought of David. Of Charlotte. Of Elizabeth’s bright smile when she talked about Circus Baby.

And of the stage being set… for something neither of them were ready for.

----

Michael didn’t want to go to school.

But he did.

He moved through the morning on autopilot, brushed his teeth, pulled on a gray hoodie over yesterday’s shirt, and left the house before Elizabeth could start talking again about Circus Baby or “two days left!” with that glitter in her voice. He wasn’t ready to hear it again. Not when everything about it made his stomach twist.

The walk to school was quiet. Clouds hung heavy, threatening more rain. He hoped it wouldn’t. He didn’t want the world to look as miserable as he felt. Not today.

When he got to school, things felt… normal.

But the kind of normal that was fragile. Stiff. Like people had just agreed to pretend things hadn’t happened so they could move on. There were no more whispers, just quiet glances, lockers shutting softer than usual, conversations dipping in volume when he passed.

He could handle that.

He couldn’t handle what came later.

It was during lunch when he saw Jeremy.

Jeremy was standing near the vending machines, talking to a girl Michael didn’t know. He looked better. Less pale. Like the weight of everything had started to leave his shoulders, at least more than it had left Michael’s.

Michael didn’t mean to walk up.

But his feet moved before his brain could tell them not to.

Jeremy noticed him. His expression didn’t harden, didn’t change in any cruel way. But it wasn’t friendly either. Just… unreadable.

Michael gave a half-nod. “Hey.”

Jeremy said nothing for a second. Then: “Hey.”

The girl glanced between them and muttered something about heading back to class, leaving them in that awkward bubble.

Michael tried to smile. “You doing alright?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Fine.”

Silence.

“I, uh… I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Jeremy added, not unkindly. “At school, I mean.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Me neither.”

More silence.

It wasn’t like before. Before, Jeremy would’ve cracked a joke, shoved his shoulder, maybe asked if he wanted to ditch last period and screw around in the arcade behind the old gas station. But now?

There was nothing left.

Just the shadow of something that used to be.

Michael couldn’t stand it.

“Anyway,” he mumbled. “See you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

He left school after that, didn’t even bother asking the office for permission. Just walked out, hoodie up, hands shoved into his pockets like he could disappear into them.

The front door creaked when he opened it. He stepped inside and dropped his bag with a loud thud by the stairs.

Elizabeth was in the living room again, sprawled out on the floor with colored pencils and graph paper scattered everywhere. She looked up at him, beaming.

“I’m drawing out ideas for what the stage curtain could look like!” she said. “Red and gold stripes! Oh! And with these little twinkling lights that could-”

“Can you not talk about that right now?”

The words were out before Michael could stop them. Sharper than he meant. Harsher than Elizabeth deserved.

She blinked, her face falling. “Oh…”

Michael felt the guilt hit instantly. “Liz, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, focusing back on her paper. “You don’t have to pretend you like being here.”

He stood there, stuck in place, words scrambling for a way out. But none of them felt right.

So he just said: “Sorry.”

Then he turned and went up the stairs.

Michael lay in bed for what felt like hours. The rain never came. The sky remained gray. His thoughts swirled like dirty water circling a drain, Jeremy’s blank face, the fake smile he gave at school, Elizabeth’s disappointment, William’s cold certainty, and the never-ending count of days until the grand opening.

Two more days.

He buried his face in the pillow and shut his eyes.

No nightmares came.

But when he woke up, he still felt hollow.

Still felt like something was watching him from the corners of the ceiling.

And worst of all, he still felt like it was all his fault.

Chapter Text

Michael woke to the same overcast sky that had been haunting the town for days. Clouds pressed down like a thick, damp blanket, blurring the sun, smothering the light. He got out of bed slowly, feet dragging, his body as reluctant as his mind.

He didn’t really want to go to school, but some tired, habitual part of him still forced the motions: change clothes, brush teeth, half-heartedly eat, walk out the door.

He didn’t say goodbye to Elizabeth.

Didn’t say much to anyone anymore.

The school building loomed ahead, bland and beige. Inside, nothing had changed. Not really. The same lockers, the same distant buzz of fluorescent lights. The same voices lowered to whispers when he walked past.

Michael moved through the halls like a ghost, not the intimidating kind he used to play at being, but something quieter now. A shadow.

People didn’t talk to him. Not to his face. But he could feel their words behind his back, always just out of reach. Always waiting for him to be far enough away not to hear.

He sat through first period, eyes fixed on the clock. Second period blurred by. It wasn’t until lunch that he saw Jeremy again.

This wasn’t the first time. Not since then. He'd seen the guy yesterday, but each time still sucked the air from Michael’s lungs.

Jeremy stood by the usual wall near the vending machines. Alone today, or maybe that girl had already gone ahead. He glanced up, met Michael’s eyes for a half second, and offered him that same tired, strained smile. A gesture of politeness or guilt, Michael couldn’t tell which.

Michael didn’t wave. Just gave a nod, as flat and forced as always.

It was like watching a dying ember of what used to be a real friendship. The two of them, once so tight, now reduced to awkward acknowledgments across a cafeteria floor.

Michael turned around and left without finishing his lunch. Again.

The house was silent when he got home.

Elizabeth wouldn’t be back from school for another hour or so. William was at the new location, finalizing the setup, preparing for tomorrow’s grand opening of Circus Baby’s Pizza World.

Michael dropped his bag at the base of the stairs and wandered into the kitchen. He stood there for a moment, listening to the hum of the fridge, to the nothingness. It almost felt like the house was holding its breath.

Then the phone rang.

He jumped.

It rang again.

Michael picked it up slowly. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end came in fast, angry and bitter.

“William, you absolute-”

“This isn’t him,” Michael interrupted.

The voice stopped, then cleared its throat. “Oh… Michael?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry,” Henry said. “I thought I was calling your father directly.”

Michael leaned against the counter. “He’s not here. He’s at the new place.”

“Of course he is,” Henry muttered, voice tight with something between resentment and exhaustion.

Michael didn’t know what to say. He hesitated, then forced the words out, clunky and awkward: “I’m… I’m sorry. About Charlie. I didn’t get to say it before.”

There was a pause. When Henry spoke again, his voice was softer. “Thank you, Michael. That means a lot.”

Michael could hear something behind the words. His voice sounded frayed, like it was barely holding together. There was a faint slur, subtle but present. He’d heard that kind of voice before. William, on late nights. The sharp tang of liquor just below the surface.

“I was calling to speak with your father,” Henry said. “I’ve tried a few times now. No luck. Would you mind letting him know I’m trying to reach him?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell him.”

“Good. Thanks, Michael.” A pause. Then: “Take care of your sister, alright? She’s still a kid.”

Michael’s chest tightened. “I know.”

“Alright. I’ll try again later.”

Click.

Michael set the phone back on its hook slowly, still staring at it even after the call ended. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, maybe his father calling to yell at him for skipping school again. Instead, it had been Henry. Grieving. Tired. Slipping.

The house stayed still after the call, just the low hum of the fridge and the faint static coming from the old box TV in the living room. Michael hadn’t moved much. He sat on the couch, legs lazily sprawled over one armrest, his eyes fixed on a half-muted soap opera flickering on the screen.

He wasn’t watching it, not really. The drama, the bad acting, the over-the-top betrayals, it was noise, and right now, noise was better than silence.

Roughly twenty minutes later, the front door creaked open.

William’s footsteps were easy to recognize. Not because of how they sounded, but because of how they didn’t hesitate. He never stumbled, never paused to take his shoes off, never coughed or cleared his throat. It was just movement. Straight lines. Purposeful.

Michael didn’t turn his head as he heard him approaching, just waited until he caught a glimpse of his father’s form passing the entryway.

“He called,” Michael said flatly. “Henry. He said to call him back, or just wait, he’ll be calling again later.”

William stopped mid-step, his form silhouetted briefly by the hallway light. There was a pause. His shoulders shifted slightly, like a shrug that didn’t finish forming.

“Still bothering me,” William muttered. “Even now, after all that’s happened with his girl.”

Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to. That sentence alone made his stomach tighten.

William kept walking, heading toward the kitchen. Michael turned his eyes back to the TV, though the images blurred together, meaningless. He could hear the faint clink of glass, maybe William was grabbing a drink, or maybe he was just rearranging things again.

But then his father’s footsteps came back, slower this time.

William stopped just at the threshold of the kitchen and turned his head slightly, enough that Michael could see part of his face from the couch.

“You skipped again,” William said, not a question.

Michael stayed still. “Yeah.”

“You’re going tomorrow,” William added sharply. “All day. No half-days. No wandering off halfway through. I get another call from that school, I swear…”

His voice dropped, not loud, but sharp, like the click of a loaded gun being cocked.

“…those calls are a distraction. I don’t have time to be cleaning up your messes right now. You understand me?”

Michael didn’t flinch, didn’t nod. He just kept his eyes on the screen, watching two overly-dramatic actors argue in a hospital hallway. “Got it.”

William lingered for a beat longer, like he was expecting more. When nothing came, he scoffed, barely audible, and turned away again.

Michael waited until his footsteps had faded into the back of the house before letting out a slow breath. He didn’t even realize he’d been holding it.

The soap opera continued to play.

On-screen, someone was crying.

Michael leaned back, the cushions under him cold and unforgiving.

----

Michael must’ve dozed off.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, just the droning hum of the TV and the way the couch seemed to swallow him the longer he stayed in it. The soap opera was still playing when he blinked awake, though the light in the room had shifted. It was darker now, the edges of the house swallowed in that murky gray-blue that came just before dusk.

Then he heard it.

William. On the phone.

He was in the kitchen, Michael could hear his voice bleeding into the room like smoke through a cracked door.

“No, Henry. That’s not what I said-”

There was a pause. Then another voice responded, faint, but sharp even through the wall. Henry. Loud, frustrated. Almost shouting.

Michael couldn’t make out the words. Just the tone, hurt and bitter, tinged with something more dangerous than grief.

William sighed into the receiver, a sound so casual it made Michael’s skin crawl. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, not even bothering to keep his voice down. “I’ve got an entire location to finish prepping. If you’re still having second thoughts, then maybe this partnership wasn’t meant to last.”

The words stung, even though they weren’t meant for him.

Michael shifted, and that’s when he noticed the soft sound, fabric brushing against carpet.

He looked down.

Elizabeth sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, her back leaned gently against it. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, and her eyes were focused on the flickering TV screen, though she clearly wasn’t watching it.

She must’ve come home while he was out cold. He hadn’t even noticed.

When she saw him stir, she tilted her head up to glance at him. Her face was neutral at first, but he caught the edge of something, unease, maybe.

Then she looked back at the screen. The soap opera was still going, now deep into some dramatic scene about a cheating husband and a suspicious best friend.

Michael frowned, rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “How long’ve you been sitting there?”

“A while,” Elizabeth mumbled. Her voice was soft.

From the kitchen, Henry’s voice flared again, sharp, muffled by the walls. William didn’t yell back. He never did. He just sounded annoyed. Detached. Like this was all beneath him.

Elizabeth’s eyes didn’t leave the screen, but she spoke again, this time quieter.

“I hate when he argues,” she said.

Michael didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“It reminds me of Mom,” she added, even softer. “Back when she was still here… It was always like this. Like something was about to break.”

Michael didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened once, then closed again.

What could he say?

“I… yeah,” he finally managed. “I remember.”

It wasn’t comfort. Not really. But he shifted a little on the couch, leaning slightly forward, and reached out, uncertain, to gently rest his hand on her head, ruffling her hair in a clumsy attempt to be… comforting? Kind?

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, she gave him a small, tired smile. Not happy. But grateful.

“You’re bad at this,” she said.

Michael gave a faint snort. “Yeah. I know.”

But she stayed sitting there, leaning back against him and the couch while the voices from the kitchen eventually faded into silence, the call ended, or maybe just gave up.

For a few quiet minutes, it was just them.

Michael, still unsure of how to be the big brother he wished he’d been sooner.

Elizabeth, just happy that he was finally trying.

Chapter Text

The morning started like any other, which only made it feel worse.

The house was quiet when Michael woke up. William was already gone, no surprise. He’d left early, probably before the sun even broke the horizon. He had work to do. Big day and all that.

Michael sat up slowly in bed, the dull ache of sleep still clinging to his bones. His room looked the same, the same mess, the same clothes scattered across the floor, the same half-ripped poster of a band he didn’t care about anymore. But it felt more claustrophobic today, like the walls were a little closer than they used to be.

He pulled on a gray shirt and the same baggy jeans he’d worn a few days ago, not caring that they hadn’t been washed. As he tied his boots, he could still hear William’s voice in his head, from the night before.

“You’re going tomorrow. All day. No half-days. No wandering off. I get another call from that school, I swear…”

Michael didn’t need reminding. It had sat with him all night like a weight pressed against his chest.

William’s version of parenting wasn’t yelling. Not most of the time.

It was pressure. Quiet, cold disappointment. And threats that didn’t always sound like threats.

Downstairs, the kitchen was a mess, same as usual. The coffee mug was still half-full on the counter, cold and stained. William’s afterthought.

Elizabeth was already gone too. Michael never really asked how she was doing at school. He figured, if she needed him, she’d say something. Or maybe she wouldn’t.

He shoved a piece of stale bread into his mouth and left the rest of the kitchen as it was.

Bag slung over his shoulder, door locked behind him, Michael stepped out into a pale, cloudy morning.

----

School didn’t hit him like a truck.

It didn’t hit him at all.

It just was.

He walked into homeroom, and no one looked surprised to see him. A few kids looked up, then looked away. A couple whispered. The teacher didn’t even say “Good morning.” She just marked his name and moved on.

Michael kept his head down and made it through first period. Then second. Then third.

The longer the day dragged, the more he felt like a piece of gum stuck under someone’s desk, just forgotten and unwanted, but still there, clinging.

Lunch rolled around like a heavy stone, slow and exhausting. Michael didn’t even pretend to look for a table inside. The cafeteria was loud, full of chatter and chairs scraping and forks clinking against plastic trays. Too alive.

He slipped out the side door like he always did and made his way to the old set of metal bleachers behind the gym. No one really came out here anymore, not unless they were skipping class, smoking something, or just trying to vanish for thirty minutes.

Michael sat on the middle row, hunched over with his arms resting on his knees, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

He didn’t hear footsteps until someone was already climbing the bleachers behind him.

“Hey.”

Michael turned just enough to see who it was.

Jeremy.

His old friend looked about the same, shaggy blond hair under his hoodie, nervous shoulders, soft voice that always sounded like it had more to say. He hesitated before sitting down beside Michael, one row higher, legs dangling off the edge.

For a long beat, they just sat in silence.

Then Jeremy sighed, loud enough to make it clear he didn’t want it to stay that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Michael blinked. “For what?”

“For… for avoiding you. For not talking to you. I didn’t know how to, I still don’t, really.”

Michael didn’t respond right away. He just picked at the thread on his sleeve again.

Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, after what happened… with David, with Max and Simon transferring out... I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

Michael’s voice was quiet. “They didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know,” Jeremy said. “They’re scared.”

Michael turned his head slightly toward him. “Are you?”

Jeremy looked down at his hands, chewing on his lip before answering.

“I was,” he said. “Not of you, exactly. Just… scared of everything. Of what it meant. Of what we did. Of what we didn’t do.”

Another silence passed between them.

Jeremy broke it. “We all played a part in it, Mike. Not just you. I knew he was scared. I knew. But I didn’t stop you, them. I didn’t stop any of it.”

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. Because it was true.

“I thought maybe if I stayed away, it would go away,” Jeremy went on. “Like if I just... ignored it long enough, it wouldn’t feel as real. But that was cowardly.”

Michael looked at him then, actually looked at him.

Jeremy looked tired. Honest.

“I miss how things were,” Jeremy said, voice smaller. “Before all of this.”

Michael let the words sit. He didn’t offer comfort. But he didn’t turn away either.

“Yeah,” he finally muttered. “Me too.”

They sat together in the quiet that followed. Not friends the way they used to be. Not enemies either.

Just two kids who’d been through something horrible, trying to figure out if they still recognized each other after the smoke had cleared.

The bell eventually rang.

Neither of them moved right away.

The final few periods of the day barely registered.

Michael didn’t even pretend to care. After lunch, the classes blurred together into a haze of mumbled lectures and worksheets he didn’t bother finishing. His mind kept circling back to the conversation on the bleachers, Jeremy’s words, the way he looked when he said them. Tired. Honest. Regretful.

Michael had expected Jeremy to avoid him forever. That was the pattern lately: people leaving, people distancing, people pretending.

But Jeremy hadn’t run. Not this time.

And maybe that meant something.

When the final bell rang, Michael didn’t rush out like he usually did. He took his time packing up, keeping his head down as the classroom emptied around him. His feet dragged a little more than usual as he walked through the front hall, weaving through groups of kids laughing and shoving past each other like nothing bad had ever happened.

He pushed the front doors open and blinked against the dull afternoon light.

Jeremy was standing at the bottom of the steps.

Michael stopped short.

For a second, he thought Jeremy was just waiting for someone else. But when Jeremy caught sight of him, he gave a small wave, sheepish, hesitant, and started walking toward him.

“You’re still here,” Michael said, more confused than anything.

Jeremy shrugged. “I figured… I dunno. I could walk with you. If that’s okay.”

Michael didn’t answer right away. Then he gave a quick nod and started walking.

They fell into step beside each other. Quiet. Comfortable, almost.

The walk home wasn’t far, but it felt longer with someone beside him. Michael didn’t usually have company anymore. Not since everything. Not since David.

And yet, this silence with Jeremy felt different. Less suffocating.

They didn’t talk much. A few offhand remarks about how cold it was getting, how the trees were already losing their leaves. Nothing deep. Nothing heavy.

But Jeremy walked the whole way with him.

And when they reached Michael’s block, Jeremy gave a small, crooked smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Michael looked at him for a moment, then nodded again. “Yeah.”

Jeremy shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and turned to walk off in the opposite direction. Michael stood there for a moment longer, watching him go.

It wasn’t a fix.

But it was a start.

Michael barely had time to step inside the house before the sound of fast footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Elizabeth came barreling around the corner, her hair a bit of a mess and her schoolbag half-zipped, eyes bright with excitement.

“There you are!” she said, practically bouncing. “Come on, come on, come on! Dad wants us to come see the final setup! He called the house line like ten minutes ago and said everything’s ready and, Michael, let’s go!”

Michael blinked at her, still standing just inside the doorway with his school bag slumped against one shoulder.

“I just got back,” he muttered, tone flat. “Can you chill for like… two seconds?”

Elizabeth paused mid-pace, already halfway to the door with her coat in hand. She turned back to him, exasperated. “But we’re gonna be late! You know how Dad gets when we’re late. He’s actually in a good mood for once.”

Michael sighed, lifting a hand to rub his face. His conversation with Jeremy still lingered behind his eyes, like a film of static that hadn’t quite cleared. He felt emotionally drained, heavy with thoughts he couldn’t even begin to untangle.

“I just, give me a minute, alright?” he said, moving past her toward the stairs. “I need to put my stuff away. Get my bearings.”

Elizabeth slowed, watching him climb up the stairs.

----

The sky had turned a dull gray by the time Michael and Elizabeth left the house, the kind that didn’t promise rain but always felt like it might. The sidewalk still held faint tracks of wet from the previous night’s storm, and their footsteps echoed soft against the concrete as they walked the familiar path toward the new location.

Circus Baby’s Pizza World.

Elizabeth practically hummed as they walked, swinging her arms lightly, trying to contain her excitement. She kept glancing sideways at Michael like she wanted to say something. He could feel it building, whatever she was holding in, like static in the air before a thunderclap.

It came just before they crossed the old gas station two blocks from the plaza.

“You’ve been different lately,” Elizabeth said suddenly. Her tone wasn’t accusing, just... cautious.

Michael didn’t respond. He kept his eyes forward.

“I mean,” she went on, “I know everything’s been, hard. Since David. Since Charlotte. Since…” she trailed off, then picked up again with a firmer voice. “But you’ve barely said anything. And then when you snapped at me the other day-”

Michael let out a slow breath through his nose. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I know you didn’t. I already forgave you.”

That made him falter, just a little. He glanced over at her.

She looked at him with those sharp green eyes that always seemed older than her age. A little sad, a little confused.

“I just…” Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t get it. You used to joke about Dad’s projects. You weren’t excited about the diner, but you never hated it. Now this new place, all this stuff happening, and you’re just… not even there. Why?”

Michael stared down at the cracked sidewalk as they walked. His hands were stuffed into his hoodie pockets, nails biting into the fabric from how tightly he gripped them.

“It’s not you,” he said quietly. “And it’s not the place.”

“Then what is it?”

He didn’t answer right away. Because how could he?

How do you tell your little sister that you don’t trust the smile on your father’s face? That you don’t like the gleam in his eye when he talks about animatronics, or the way the workshop feels colder the longer you’re in it? How do you say I think something awful is going to happen, when you already let something awful happen?

He couldn’t.

So instead, he said, “I’m just tired.”

Elizabeth didn’t press. She nodded once, lips pressed together.

“I’m still excited,” she said quietly, almost defensively.

“I know,” Michael said. “You should be.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Elizabeth a few paces ahead now, too full of anticipation to slow down. Michael followed behind, the weight of too many thoughts dragging behind him like a shadow.

And up ahead, like some glossy carnival of polished chrome and synthetic cheer, Circus Baby’s Pizza World awaited.

The once-empty parking lot was full, cars packed into uneven rows, some even pulling onto the grass in a rush to get inside. Bright banners stretched across the front of the building:

“GRAND OPENING! FAMILY FUN FOR EVERYONE!”
“FREE TICKETS WITH EVERY LARGE PIZZA!”
“COME MEET OUR BRAND NEW CAST!”

Music leaked from the front doors, upbeat, cheery, mechanical. Laughter echoed from inside. Children ran toward the entrance, dragging distracted parents behind them.

Michael stopped on the sidewalk, the commotion washing over him like static.

“Whoa!” Elizabeth squealed, practically hopping in place. “It’s really open! I thought, wow!”

Before Michael could say anything, she took off. Her red ponytail whipped behind her as she sprinted through the crowd of kids and adults toward the front entrance.

Michael followed more slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets and letting the noisy energy drown him out.

And there he was, William Afton, standing near the front doors, smiling wide, shaking hands with parents like the proud, picture-perfect host. He even wore a clean white shirt for the occasion, sleeves rolled up neatly, hair combed back. He looked... normal.

For the first time in weeks, Michael wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

He saw Elizabeth run up to him. William leaned down to speak to her, something close and quiet, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Michael couldn’t hear what was said, not over the crowd and the blaring music, but he could see it.

The way Elizabeth’s smile faltered.

The way her shoulders slumped.

Whatever William had said, it had stolen that brightness from her in an instant.

She nodded to him, small and slow.

He turned to William, still standing confidently at the front, shaking hands with some beaming mother holding a toddler in one arm and a glittering admission ticket in the other. The crowd was eating it up, the charisma, the showman persona. They couldn’t see the cracks behind it. But Michael could. He always could.

He waited until there was a brief lull in the stream of guests before stepping up beside him.

“What did you say to Elizabeth?” Michael asked, voice low but firm.

William didn’t even look at him.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, still scanning the incoming crowd. “I’m in the middle of something, Michael.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “I saw her face after you talked to her. She looked like you kicked her puppy.”

William sighed and turned just enough to glance sideways at him. The mask of the gracious host cracked, just slightly.

“I told her to keep her distance from Circus Baby,” he said, as if that was the end of it.

Michael stared at him. “Why?”

“Because I said so.” His tone sharpened just enough to bite. “Because I’m her father and she listens to what I say.”

That answer didn’t sit right. Not even close.

“You designed that thing for her,” Michael said. “It was supposed to be hers. You said so.”

William’s eyes flicked toward him. “Circus Baby is still being tested. There are performance quirks that need ironing out before it’s safe for extended interaction. I told her not to go near it. That’s all.”

But Michael had seen those blueprints. He remembered what didn’t look like performance features. He remembered hidden compartments, storage mechanisms, tech that had no business being inside a child’s entertainer. Things designed for luring, locking, containing.

He remembered not wanting to ask then.

Now he wished he had.

William was already moving again, stepping forward to greet more parents. “Go enjoy the party,” he said without looking back. “And tell Elizabeth to wipe that look off her face before someone thinks we run a prison.”

Michael stood there for a moment, unmoving, as children spilled past him in waves of laughter and noise.

Chapter Text

Michael stood just inside the threshold of Circus Baby’s Pizza World, his senses bombarded by the technicolor onslaught. The past location, Fredbear’s, in all its dusty browns and dim amber lights, was nothing like this.

This place was louder. Brighter. Sharper.

Candy-striped walls. Neon ceilings. Glittering animatronic cutouts that blinked in timed intervals, guiding children toward different “zones” like fluorescent Pied Pipers. Everything gleamed, polished chrome, tiled floors, flashing lights, and the constant din of layered audio: mechanical laughter, music-box jingles, kids screaming with glee.

And beneath it all, something colder.
Like the building itself was hiding something behind all the gloss.

Michael stepped aside as a group of children rushed past, nearly crashing into him. He forced himself forward, weaving through the growing crowd, ignoring the sticky smudges of cotton candy fingers and the occasional parent bumping into his shoulder without apology.

He hadn’t seen Elizabeth since she walked in, still clearly upset from what William had said. And despite how unfair it had been, Michael knew she’d probably listen to him. Still, he didn’t trust that to be enough. Not in this place. Not with that animatronic in the building.

He scanned the crowd, passing by the game arcade, filled with pixelated screens and blinking leaderboards, and through the food court, where “Fazburgers” sizzled behind a glass kitchen and teenage employees tried not to look dead inside.

Every step he took added weight to his chest. The layout felt like a maze. No map in sight. He passed by an animatronic performance stage where Funtime Freddy, Ballora and Funtime Foxy were already dancing and waving at the crowd. A bunch of little kids screamed in delight when Candy Cadet rolled out on his wheels.

Michael didn’t stop.

Michael finally found her near the edge of the performance area, sitting on the corner of a brightly colored bench shaped like a slice of cake. Her feet dangled just above the floor, kicking slowly. She had a soda in one hand and a bright pink balloon string wrapped around the other. But she wasn’t smiling.

He walked over, easing down onto the bench beside her. The fake frosting edge squeaked under his weight.

“You okay?” he asked after a beat.

Elizabeth gave a stiff shrug, eyes still forward.

“He wasn’t mad,” she said flatly, “if that’s what you’re thinking. He just told me not to go near Circus Baby.”

Michael didn’t respond right away. She glanced at him, clearly wanting him to say something.

“I mean...” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “he’s probably just trying to be careful. Circus Baby’s new. Still being tested, maybe. It’s not that he doesn’t want you near her, just... not yet.”

Elizabeth scoffed under her breath. “Then why did he make her for me?”

Michael looked away, jaw tightening. The hum of music and distorted laughter carried across the room from the stage. The Funtime animatronics were halfway through another dance routine, kids screaming in delight in front of them.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if he says it’s not ready-”

She turned on him, frustration flaring in her voice. “Are you really defending him right now?”

Michael flinched. “I’m not, I’m just saying maybe it’s not about you. Maybe it’s just-”

“What?” she snapped. “A safety thing? You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know how to be careful?”

“No, Liz, I didn’t mean it like-” He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s not about you being careful. It’s about him. About what he built. I don’t trust it, okay?”

She didn’t say anything.

“I don’t trust what’s inside that thing,” Michael added, softer now. “I saw the blueprints a while ago. It’s not... I just don’t like it.”

Elizabeth’s eyes dropped to the floor, her fingers tightening around the balloon string. The silence stretched a little too long.

“I just wanted to feel like he cared,” she mumbled. “Like I was finally getting something. And now he won’t even let me near her.”

Michael didn’t know how to answer that. He wanted to say he understood, but he didn’t. Not in the way she did. Not with that kind of hope.

Instead, he reached over and nudged her arm with his.

Elizabeth didn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away either.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

Michael sat in silence beside Elizabeth, unsure if he had helped at all. The noise of the pizzeria seemed to swell around them, bright and chaotic, like the whole place was meant to distract rather than entertain. Elizabeth stayed quiet, arms folded, her balloon bobbing idly in the air behind her.

Then, from across the main floor, something caught Michael’s eye.

Through the sea of children and strollers and flashing lights, he spotted Jeremy. He was standing near the arcade, arms crossed loosely, posture uncertain. He hadn’t noticed Michael at first, but when he finally did, he gave a somewhat hesitant wave.

Michael froze.

Their awkward conversation had been a step forward, but not a full reconciliation. And now, in this loud, disorienting place, the thought of trying to bridge that gap again made Michael’s stomach twist.

He felt Elizabeth shift beside him.

“I saw,” she said, without looking at him.

Michael didn’t move. His hands were curled into loose fists on his lap.

“I’m not gonna break, you know,” Elizabeth added after a beat. “You don’t have to hover like I’m gonna run to Circus Baby the second you blink.”

He finally glanced at her. “It’s not that. I just... don’t want to leave you like this.”

She turned to face him, her expression somewhere between exasperated and amused. “I’m twelve, not five. I can sit on a bench without supervision.”

“Liz-”

She rolled her eyes. “Go.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Go talk to your friend. You’ve barely spoken to anyone since...” She paused, expression faltering for a second, but she pushed on. “Since David. It’s okay. I’ll be here.”

Michael stared at her. There was something in her voice that reminded him of their mom, not the words exactly, but the weight behind them. She was trying to be strong. For him. Even though she was still hurting, too.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quiet.

She nodded. “I’ll just sit here and judge the creepy circus animatronics from a safe distance.”

Michael gave a small, lopsided smile.

He stood, hesitating just a moment longer before walking away, glancing back once to make sure Elizabeth really was okay. She was leaning back now, watching the kids laugh and run past. Trying to look indifferent. But she gave him a little wave when she caught him checking.

Michael turned and made his way through the crowd toward Jeremy.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself hope this conversation might not end in silence.

Jeremy noticed him approaching and straightened up slightly, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” Michael said, offering a stiff nod.

“Hey,” Jeremy returned, a bit awkward but more open than before. “Didn’t think you’d actually come over.”

Michael gave a half-shrug. “Didn’t think I would either.”

A silence passed between them, not uncomfortable exactly, just uncertain. Jeremy finally broke it. As per the usual it seems. 

“This place is... weird.”

Michael looked around at the bright neon signs, the bizarrely futuristic animatronic cutouts, and the spinning prize wheels that lined the back wall.

“Yeah,” he said. “Feels like a candy-coated fever dream.”

Jeremy huffed a laugh. “At least it doesn’t look anything like Fredbear’s. That... helps.”

Michael’s eyes flicked to him, watching how Jeremy’s smile faltered.

“I almost didn’t come,” Jeremy added, voice dropping. “Didn’t feel right. Being here, I mean. But my mom said I should try to move on. And... I guess it’s easier to pretend nothing happened when everything around you is brand new.”

Michael nodded slowly. “It’s hard to pretend.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything at first, but then glanced at one of the nearby machines. “You still suck at Dino-Blast Rampage?”

Michael smirked. “You wish.”

Jeremy gestured toward the console. “Prove it.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. The two of them stepped up to the retro cabinet, pixel dinosaurs roaring across the screen, the volume slightly too loud, the colors far too saturated. Jeremy slapped in a few tokens. Michael took Player Two.

And for a few minutes, everything else faded.

They laughed when one of them missed an obvious power-up. Trash-talked in half-whispers about who had the better aim. Michael found himself smiling, really smiling, for what felt like the first time in weeks. The tension between them began to loosen, just slightly, like a knot slowly coming undone.

Jeremy was the one to break the silence again, eyes still on the screen.

“I miss David.”

Michael didn’t answer right away. He missed him too. But saying it felt like tearing open something that had barely begun to scab over.

Instead, he muttered, “Yeah. Me too.”

Their scores flashed on the screen. Jeremy had won by twenty points.

“Still suck,” he said, nudging Michael’s arm.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Beginner’s luck.” Knowing full well that's bull.

They didn’t say anything after that, didn’t need to.

For a while, at least, it was enough just to be there. Together.

The minutes melted away into tokens and flashing lights.

Michael and Jeremy kept hopping from one arcade cabinet to the next, Zombie Highway, Pixel Racer Turbo, even an old pinball machine that barely worked unless you smacked the side just right. Some of the games were new, shiny and overdesigned with rainbow lights and overly complex controls. But others... others were relics. Old enough to have seen countless greasy fingers, to have eaten hundreds of dollars’ worth of quarters. The kinds of games they used to play with Max and Simon, laughing until their stomachs hurt, daring each other to beat the high score.

For a while, Michael was just there, just a teenager being a teenager. Not the oldest Afton sibling. Not the boy who had pulled his little brother too close to the jaws of a yellow bear. Not the kid who had to watch his father shovel dirt over a body that never should’ve died.

Just Michael, next to Jeremy, laughing like the world hadn’t fallen apart months ago.

Jeremy was laughing too, genuinely, the nervous edge in his voice gone for the first time since Fredbear’s. He shoved Michael when he lost again at Pixel Racer, and Michael shoved him back with a muttered, “Still blaming the controls, huh?”

And neither of them said it, but they both felt it: the absence of Max and Simon. The missing two.

Michael was caught up in it, in the noise, the warmth, the temporary normalcy. It felt like some fragile kind of freedom. His chest didn’t feel so tight. His thoughts weren’t crawling all over themselves. The hum of grief that had taken root in him was quieter now, background noise against the clatter of game tokens and digital soundtracks.

He had almost forgotten.

Forgotten the gnawing tension that lived just beneath the surface.

Forgotten what today was.

Forgotten that his sister was still somewhere in the pizzeria, alone.

It wasn’t until he looked up from a shooter game and saw the time flickering above the counter that a strange chill ran through his spine. It was later than he thought. The party crowd had begun thinning out. Some families were already herding their kids toward the exit, prize bags and balloons in hand.

And William, he wouldn’t have kept an eye on her.

His stomach dropped.

Michael’s fingers fell away from the game controls as the screen flashed Game Over. Jeremy looked over, noticing the shift immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but Michael was already stepping back.

“I—I forgot,” Michael muttered, his voice hoarse. “I was supposed to check on Elizabeth.”

Jeremy blinked. “She’s here?”

“Yeah, I came with her,” he said quickly, already scanning the crowd. “I just, I got distracted.”

Michael’s mind raced, heart beginning to pound. William had told Elizabeth to stay away from Circus Baby, and she’d listened... hadn’t she?

Jeremy moved to follow him, but Michael raised a hand. “Stay here,” he said, almost more to himself than to Jeremy. “I need to find her.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

The arcade lights now felt too bright. The music too loud. The warmth in his chest had vanished, replaced by a cold sense of dread as he pushed through the crowd, desperately looking for his sister.

Michael pushed through the sea of guests, weaving between strollers and bouncing toddlers, parents chatting over slices of greasy pizza. Every second that passed without seeing her red hair in the crowd made his stomach twist tighter.

He checked the play area, nothing.

He checked the dining tables, empty plates, no Elizabeth.

He hurried past the prize counter, peered into the corners of the party rooms, even glanced beneath tables on the off chance she’d ducked out of view like David used to when he got overwhelmed. Still nothing.

Near the restrooms, a woman in a blue coat stepped out, drying her hands with a paper towel.

Michael approached without thinking. “Excuse me, sorry,” he said, voice breathless. “Have you seen a girl with red hair? She’s twelve, kind of small. I’m, she’s my sister.”

The woman looked at him for a moment, surprised by his urgency. “Red hair?” she repeated, brows furrowing. “No, I don’t think so. Sorry.”

Michael barely nodded before turning away, a sick panic now sitting in his chest like a stone.

Where the hell was she?

He circled the stage again. Nothing. He checked the hallway near the staff room, the area behind the prize wheel, nowhere. The more he looked, the more the crowd seemed to blur together into faceless noise, none of them the one person he needed to find.

Then, through the glass doors, he caught sight of him.

William Afton stood outside under the fading gold of the afternoon sun, waving warmly at a family as they packed up into their car. His smile was broad, practiced, every inch the charming host. The kids beamed as they left, still clutching cotton candy and party hats.

Michael’s breath caught in his throat. He pushed open the doors and strode across the pavement, boots slapping hard against the concrete.

William turned just as the family drove off, face still stuck in that smooth, welcoming grin. It faltered the moment he saw Michael.

“Have you seen Elizabeth?” Michael asked without preamble. His voice was tight, urgent. “I, I can’t find her. I’ve looked everywhere.”

William’s eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching, not in concern, but in what looked almost like annoyance.

“Did she go home early?” Michael pressed. “Did you send her home or-?”

“No,” William interrupted, his tone clipped. “She hasn’t left.”

Michael’s breath hitched. “Then where is she? I’ve checked every corner of this place. She’s gone, Dad.”

William stared at him for a long moment, eyes unreadable. “I told her to stay away from Circus Baby,” he said flatly. “Did she listen?”

Michael’s chest turned cold.

“I, I don’t know,” he admitted.

William looked at him with that blank, hollow stare Michael had come to associate with his worst memories. “I think you should go home.”

Michael stared at him. “What? No. Why?”

“Because I said so,” William snapped. “I’m going to handle it. I don’t need you getting in the way again.”

Michael’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “I can help. We can cover more ground if we-”

“No,” William interrupted again, his tone firm and final. “You’ve done enough. You’re too emotional, you don’t think straight when it matters. Just go home.”

There it was, the same old contempt dressed up as concern.

Michael clenched his jaw, breath shallow in his chest. He wanted to argue, to scream, to throw something. But instead, he nodded stiffly.

Because even if he didn’t trust William, didn’t like the man, didn’t even see him as a real father anymore, there was one thing Michael couldn’t deny.

William was efficient.

Cold. Precise. Focused. When he wanted something done, it got done. Even if it was cruel, even if it came at a cost.

So if anyone could find Elizabeth quickly, it was him.

Michael turned and walked away, each step dragging with the weight of everything unsaid.

As he reentered the slowly emptying main floor, he spotted Jeremy waiting by the doors, glancing around like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or leave. The lollipop in his hand had long since lost its shine.

“Hey,” Jeremy called as Michael approached. “Everything okay?”

Michael shook his head. “No. Elizabeth’s missing. My dad told me to go home.”

Jeremy’s eyes widened. “What? That’s... are you serious?”

“I’ve looked everywhere,” Michael said, voice low. “He said he’d handle it. He didn’t want me involved.”

“You want me to come with you?” Jeremy offered, stepping forward slightly. “I mean, I can stay with you, or-”

Michael gave him a tired, grateful half-smile. “No. It’s fine. Just... let me know if you hear anything.”

Jeremy hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Michael left without looking back, pushing open the doors and stepping into the night air.

It was colder now.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked. Not because he believed everything would be alright, but because if there was a chance, any chance, of Elizabeth being found...

It’d be because William was ruthless enough to get results.

And for once, Michael had to count on that.

Even if everything inside him screamed not to.

Chapter Text

The house was dark when Michael returned. Not the kind of peaceful dark that came with quiet evenings, but the sort of stillness that made his skin crawl. No lights were on. The air inside was stale, undisturbed. The silence that met him at the door was heavier than usual.

He shut it behind him gently, like making too much noise might set something off.

His feet dragged across the floor as he stepped inside, still echoing with the image of William’s expression, that narrowed gaze and flat, dismissive tone. “Go home. I’ll look for her. I don’t trust your judgment.”

He hated how much those words stung, and he hated more that he’d listened.

Because as much as Michael didn’t trust or even like William, not really, not as a person, not as a father, he did believe William was efficient. Capable. If anyone could find Elizabeth quickly, it would be him. And that was why Michael let himself be sent home. That was the excuse he told himself again and again as he locked the door behind him.

He just needed to wait.

Let William do his thing.

He stood there in the entryway for a few moments before trudging over to the living room, every limb heavy. The television was still on from the day before, the same overacted soap opera, now in its nighttime block, still full of dramatics and close-ups. It barely registered in his mind. William would be furious if he knew someone left it on. 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

The phone rang.

Michael jolted upright, startled. His heart raced, he thought, for a moment, William? Did he find her?

He nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried to the receiver, picking it up with a breathless, “Hello?”

“Hey.”

It wasn’t William.

It was Jeremy.

Michael blinked. “Jeremy?”

“Yeah… sorry if it’s late,” Jeremy said. His voice was quiet, cautious. “I just, I wanted to check in. How did everything go? With your sister.”

Michael leaned against the wall, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know.”

There was a pause on the line. Jeremy didn’t push. “You okay?”

“I just want to go to sleep,” Michael muttered. “I think… I just need to sleep.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah.”

Jeremy hesitated again, like he wanted to say more. But he didn’t. “Night, Mike.”

“Night.”

The line clicked dead.

Michael set the phone down slowly. His fingers lingered on the receiver for a long moment.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. He didn’t want to think about it.

Without turning off the TV, he made his way to his room, dragging his feet like something heavy was chained to them. He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes. He just collapsed onto his bed, face down, the pillow muffling the low, frustrated sound that escaped him.

Sleep didn’t come easy.

And when it did, it was shallow and restless.

----

Michael awoke to a slant of gray light breaking through his window blinds. His head ached dully, his body stiff from sleeping in his clothes. At first, the quiet felt normal, like any other heavy morning in the Afton household. But then it hit him, slow and creeping, like ice sinking into his gut.

Elizabeth.

His eyes widened.

He sat up fast, heart thudding. It all came rushing back, the grand opening, Elizabeth's fading smile as William told her to stay away from Circus Baby, the arcade games with Jeremy, the growing panic, the search, the question William had barely answered. Go home, he had said.

Michael’s breath caught.

He shot up from his bed and hurried out into the hallway.

Maybe she’s back, he thought, Maybe William found her, and she’s just sleeping in her room.

He didn’t bother knocking. He shoved open Elizabeth’s door.

The bed was still made.

No sign of her.

Michael's chest tightened.

He stormed back into the hallway, checking every room in the house, the bathroom, the kitchen, the basement, the back room with the old boxes and broken appliances William hadn’t touched in years.

Nothing.

No Elizabeth.

No William either.

Michael stood in the middle of the living room, turning in place, mind racing, heart clawing its way up his throat. The TV was still on, playing another one of those soap operas. Someone was crying in the background. It felt like a bad joke.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing.

Would he have left a note?

Did he even come back home?

The house was dead quiet. Still.

Michael stood there, frozen. He stared at the front door.

And then, slowly, moved toward it.

The morning air hit him as soon as he cracked it open, humid, heavy, and strangely quiet for a weekday. He stepped outside and felt something bump against his foot.

He looked down.

A folded newspaper sat on the porch, caught at the edge by the wind. Its headline bold and black across the top.

Michael stooped and picked it up, unfolding it with shaking hands.

The ink smudged faintly under his thumb as he read the headline:

"Gas Leak Forces Sudden Closure of Circus Baby's Pizza World on Opening Day"

He blinked, staring at the words.

A smaller subheading beneath the photo elaborated:

“Grand Opening Cut Short Due to Emergency Evacuation — Authorities Investigating Possible Equipment Malfunction. Afton Robotics Cites Safety Precaution.”

A picture was printed underneath, the building gleaming under string lights and banners, the crowd outside mid-evacuation, parents leading their children toward the parking lot, some frowning, others confused. William was barely visible in the photo, off to the side near the main doors, talking to what looked like a firefighter.

Michael scanned the rest of the article.

Nothing about Elizabeth.

Not a single word.

His stomach dropped.

There was no mention of a missing girl. No report. No alert. Just the gas leak and corporate reassurances that “all necessary measures were being taken.”

Michael’s jaw clenched, the paper crumpling slightly in his hand.

They were covering it up.

William had already started covering it up.

He looked out toward the street, the sun now crawling up over the rooftops, and for a moment, he just stood there, still in yesterday’s clothes, the newspaper in one hand, the door to the house still ajar behind him.

And then, with a deep breath, Michael stepped off the porch.

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

But he was done sitting and waiting.

Chapter Text

The streets were quiet as Michael approached the new location.

Circus Baby’s Pizza World sat looming under a heavy, gray morning sky. Its bright paint and cheerful exterior were starkly at odds with the mood it now carried. The scent of burnt wiring and chemicals lingered faintly in the air, as if the building itself had started to rot from the inside out.

Yellow tape was strung around the entire perimeter, stretched between cones, railing posts, even the corners of decorative animatronic statues that had been set up for the grand opening. Some had already been toppled over or wheeled away.

Michael kept walking, heart pounding harder with each step.

No firefighters were left. No police. Just scattered workers in faded uniforms, their sleeves rolled up, their gloves dirty, moving heavy equipment out from the back entrance. Most of it was covered with thick canvas tarps, bulky silhouettes being guided into waiting trucks. The trucks bore the logo of a company Michael didn’t recognize, or maybe just didn’t care to.

Whatever was under those covers wasn’t meant for the public to see.

And certainly not for him.

He stayed close to the chain-link fence, eyes scanning each figure, each worker, for even a trace of his father. But none of them looked familiar, all of them were too old, too clean, to be William Afton.

A few cast him wary glances, but no one said anything.

Michael stepped around to the side of the building, toward a smaller gate near where they used to bring in supply shipments. The yellow tape was looser there, sagging slightly between two orange cones. He slipped through it.

He ducked behind one of the moving trucks and pressed his back to the metal, peering toward the loading bay.

Still no sign of William.

But the unease in Michael’s chest was growing thicker, like fog pressing in around his ribs.

He turned, scanning the rooftop, the alley, the emergency exits. He half expected William to come stomping out of one of the side doors, irritated, asking why he was here, why he hadn’t stayed home like he was told.

Michael slipped through a side entrance, one he found during his quick search. The smell inside was worse, a sharp chemical stench layered with something metallic and stale, like rust and old blood. He kept moving.

The lights were off in most of the halls, casting long shadows over the cheerful murals and cartoon mascots painted on the walls. Their eyes looked dull now. Empty.

He passed through the arcade, past the dining room, everything felt wrong. Tables left out, balloons deflated and slumped against booths, cardboard cutouts bent and warped from heat and smoke. The chaos of the opening day had frozen in place like a wax sculpture left too long in the sun.

Michael finally reached the main lobby.

There, standing dead center beneath the still-hanging “WELCOME OPENING DAY” banner, was William.

For a second, Michael almost didn’t recognize him. Not because he looked different, but because he was just standing there. Obvious. Present. No locked room, no shadows. No secrets.

He was talking to someone, a man holding a clipboard, maybe a technician, maybe an investigator. His suit was wrinkled, probably from staying overnight. The man was holding a pen in one hand, gesturing animatedly with the other.

“I just need to know exactly how the system failed,” the man was saying, voice echoing slightly in the empty lobby. “A leak like that should’ve been caught by the internal detectors. But your floor model-”

“Was tested twice,” William cut in, cool and firm, his hands clasped behind his back. “Before the doors opened. I oversaw the testing myself. It’s in the logs. If something happened, it happened after guests arrived.”

Michael stayed behind one of the hallway corners, only peeking around far enough to watch. His father looked perfectly composed. Polished. Hair neat, posture confident. Like a man who hadn’t lost his daughter. Like a man who had nothing to hide.

The technician maybe investigator frowned. “And the internal sensors?”

“They were operational. If you’re suggesting sabotage, then that’s something you need to prove,” William replied flatly, then motioned toward the front desk. “I gave you everything you asked for. Camera logs, access codes, technician reports. Unless you’re planning to charge someone, I have cleanup to oversee.”

Michael stayed where he was, half-shadowed in the hallway as the clipboard man wrapped up whatever report or checklist he’d been reciting. The man pulled a card from his back pocket and handed it to William, who accepted it with the same blank professionalism he gave everyone else. There was a quiet nod between them, and the technician, no, definitively investigator, finally turned and walked toward the exit, mumbling something about checking ventilation reports offsite.

The doors hissed shut behind him.

Michael stepped forward.

William’s head turned the moment he heard the footsteps. “Why are you still here?” he asked without emotion. “I told you to go home.”

Michael stopped a few feet away, arms crossed. “You told me that yesterday. It’s a new day now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

William exhaled sharply through his nose, turning fully to face him. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

“No,” Michael said coolly. “Neither does pretending nothing’s wrong.”

There was a moment of tension between them, not explosive, but taut. Like a cable under pressure. Michael took a step closer.

“Where is she?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Elizabeth.”

William’s expression didn’t shift, but there was something in his eyes, a flicker of frustration, or something darker. “I was unable to find her.”

Michael blinked. “So… someone found her? Took her? What are you saying?”

“She’s gone. Someone probably took her somewhere,” William said, voice flat. “That's what people do, Michael. They take what doesn’t belong to them.”

Michael’s jaw tensed. “You’re being vague on purpose. Did you tell the police?”

William said nothing.

Michael’s voice rose. “Did anyone come out to search?! She’s just a kid! You can’t seriously think-”

“I said I’m handling it,” William snapped, his eyes suddenly sharp and piercing. “Not everything needs to be paraded in front of law enforcement. These people don’t care about what really matters.”

Michael’s breath caught in his throat.

She was missing. His little sister was gone, and William hadn’t even lifted a phone.

“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “No, I’m not doing this. If you won’t call them, I will. I’ll start a search party. I’ll tell everyone she’s missing.”

William’s eyes narrowed.

Michael didn’t wait for a response. “Someone has to care that she’s gone.”

He turned before his father could speak again, his steps fast and hard against the tile. The weight of the air behind him didn’t move, no response, no guilt, no effort.

Just silence.

And that silence said everything.

----

Michael’s legs carried him faster than he expected, heart pounding, mind racing, the image of Elizabeth no longer being where he had left her etched in his mind. 

The moment he stepped through the front door of the house, he didn’t bother taking off his shoes. He marched straight into the kitchen, past the cold breakfast dishes still left out from the day before, and yanked the house phone off its cradle.

His hands trembled as he punched in the number for emergency services.

The line clicked. Then came a monotone voice: “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I, I need to report a missing person,” Michael said, steadying his voice as best he could.

A short pause.

“Sir, unless the missing person is in immediate danger or there’s a medical emergency, it’s best to call your local precinct to file a report directly, not 9-1-1.”

“Oh,” Michael muttered, eyes flicking to the wall. “I, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I just… I’m stressed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s alright,” the responder said, her voice softening just slightly. “You’re not the first. Let’s get the report started anyway. Can I have your name and your relationship to the person missing?”

“Michael Afton. She’s my little sister. Elizabeth Afton. She’s, she’s twelve years old.”

Michael swallowed hard, gripping the cord of the phone like it might keep him from unraveling.

“She’s got red hair,” he continued quickly. “Light, almost copper-colored. Green eyes. Small, thin. She went missing yesterday. Last seen at, at a place called Circus Baby’s Pizza World. My dad owns it. It was opening day.”

There was a pause on the other end as the operator typed.

“And how long has she been missing, exactly?”

Michael glanced at the microwave clock. “Since sometime yesterday afternoon. I, I don’t know exactly when. Maybe late evening?”

“So it's been close to twenty-four hours.”

“Not quite,” Michael said. “But… almost. She hadn’t come home last night, and my father told me he’d look for her.”

Another pause. Tapping of keys.

“Mr. Afton, I need you to understand something. After the first 24 hours, the chances of recovering a missing person decline significantly. That doesn’t mean we won’t look, but time matters.”

Michael’s throat clenched. “I know.”

“I’m dispatching an officer to take an official report in person. We’ll begin coordinating with the missing persons unit. Is your father currently with you?”

“No,” Michael said. “He’s still at the restaurant.”

“That will be noted. Please stay by the phone, Mr. Afton. Someone will be there shortly.”

Twenty-four hours.

Elizabeth had been gone almost an entire day. And the only person who’d seemed to notice… was him.

He turned, leaning back against the counter, staring out toward the hallway.

The house was silent again.

Unbearably silent. 

The long pause finally over when the woman on the other end of the line spoke again, a faint clicking of keys in the background.

“Alright, Mr. Afton. I’m seeing here that an officer has already arrived at the location you mentioned, Circus Baby’s Pizza World, and has begun a preliminary investigation. They’ll be securing the premises and speaking with any available witnesses or staff.”

Michael blinked. That was fast. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more anxious.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Good.”

“Can you tell me, when you last saw your sister, was she close to anyone in particular? Was she heading in any direction, following someone?”

Michael’s stomach twisted. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to remember, what had she said? Where had she gone?

“No,” he said finally, his voice cracking. “She was sitting with me. She was upset… our dad told her not to go near the animatronic made for her, Circus Baby. It, it’s complicated.”

“Take your time,” the responder said gently.

“I got up when a friend called me over,” Michael continued, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean to be gone long. And when I came back, she wasn’t there anymore. I should’ve kept an eye on her. I should’ve stayed-”

“Mr. Afton,” the responder cut in softly. “It’s not your fault. We’re going to do everything we can to find her. But we need more information, alright?”

Michael pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes until he saw sparks behind the lids.

“Yeah… yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Can I get your age, please?”

“Sixteen,” Michael replied.

“And your full name again?”

“Michael T. Afton.”

“Your relationship to the missing person is brother, correct?”

“Yeah. Older brother.”

“Anyone else live in the home with you two?”

“Our dad. William Afton. Our mom, she’s… she’s not around.”

“Understood.”

Michael hesitated. His fingers curled tightly around the phone cord. 

Michael, voice small when he said, “I just want her home.”

“I know. We’re going to keep working on this. The officer on scene will do a sweep and collect statements. I’m going to stay on the line until someone arrives at your residence to collect your statement in person.”

“Okay,” Michael whispered, clutching the phone like it might anchor him to the ground.

Through the kitchen window, the sky had gone a muted gray, clouds heavy and close, the kind of sky that pressed down on everything.

And for the first time in hours, Michael allowed himself to sit.

And wait.

Chapter Text

Time passed, but Michael didn’t bother to count how much.

A few days, maybe. A week. More than that, possibly. The clocks still ticked, the calendar pages still flipped, but for Michael, everything had stopped the moment he hung up the phone with the first responder.

Elizabeth was gone. And no one had found her.

The posters they’d printed were already curling at the corners, weather-beaten and overlooked. Some had been torn down. The school held a brief vigil, white candles and forced tears, but Michael hadn’t gone. He couldn’t imagine standing in a crowd pretending to hope when all he felt was the crushing weight of absence.

And William…

Their silence was worse than shouting. Worse than fists or slammed doors. William had barely said a word since Michael called the police that night. Just one sentence:

“You’ve made this unnecessarily complicated.”

That was it.

No anger. No concern. Just cold disapproval.

Michael didn’t regret what he did, he couldn’t. Someone had to care that Elizabeth was missing. Someone had to act like she wasn’t just another inconvenience. And if it wasn’t going to be William, then fine.

But it meant that whatever thread was holding them together after David’s death? It snapped clean in two.

William stayed locked away in his office most days now. If he left the house, Michael didn’t notice. He didn’t care to ask. There were no shared meals, no greetings in the hall, just two strangers orbiting the same cold, hollow house.

Michael had stopped going to school. He tried once, got as far as standing outside the front gates, but the thought of walking through the halls without Elizabeth’s chatter, without David’s shadow… it was unbearable. He turned around and walked home without a word.

No one called to ask why he’d been gone. Not a teacher. Not even Jeremy, after a few unanswered texts.

He spent most of his days drifting from room to room. Sometimes he sat in the living room, staring at the blank TV. Other times he lingered at the kitchen phone, waiting for it to ring with news. Good or bad, he didn’t care anymore, he just needed something. Anything.

At night, he laid awake, thinking about all the ways he could’ve stopped this. If he hadn’t left Elizabeth alone. If he’d ignored Jeremy and stayed with her instead. If he’d trusted his gut when William told her not to go near Circus Baby.

The guilt sat in his chest like concrete.

He went into her room sometimes. Not to snoop, not to clean, just to exist somewhere she had once felt safe. He’d sit on the edge of her bed and pick up her favorite stuffed rabbit, turning it over in his hands. Her pillow still smelled like her shampoo. Floral. Sweet. It made his throat close up.

He’d whisper apologies to the silence. Beg her to come home. Promise he’d never leave her side again.

But the room never answered.

The officers had stopped coming by. The last time one did, he barely stepped through the door. Gave some halfhearted update about “no leads at this time” and then left. Michael had caught a glimpse of a look passed between them, one cop murmuring, “At this point, we’re looking at a runaway or worse.”

Michael hadn’t said goodbye when they left. He just closed the door and locked it behind them.

He didn’t know what his father was doing anymore. He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to ask. William kept his schedule tight and his mouth tighter. Some nights, Michael could hear him downstairs, tinkering with something metallic, something that whirred and clicked and hissed. Some nights the house just stayed silent, save for the wind pressing against the windows.

It wasn’t a home anymore. Just walls and floors and echoes.

And in the middle of it all, Michael sat in the emptiness, the only one left of three siblings.

His sister was missing.

His brother was dead.

And his father was a stranger.

The worst part?

It felt like the world had already moved on.

----

The knock at the door nearly made Michael fall off the couch.

His heart jolted like a rubber band pulled too tight. For a second, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He just stared at the front door, still and silent as stone, listening for it again. Another knock came, this time firmer.

He stood.

It had been days, maybe longer, since anyone had knocked. The cops hadn’t come around in a while, but… what if now they had something to say? Something final?

He stood in the foyer, unsure if he should open the door or run. Part of him didn’t want to know, he wasn’t ready for closure if it meant her body had been found in a ditch or worse. And yet, there was another part of him that wanted that, wanted something definite. No more floating in this gray limbo. Just the truth, even if it crushed him.

His fingers hovered over the doorknob.

Please, he thought. Don’t let it be bad news. Please.

He opened the door.

Michael blinked.

It wasn’t a cop. It wasn’t anyone in uniform at all.

It was Jeremy.

Dressed in jeans and a hoodie, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes awkward and unsure. His hair was slightly longer, messier, like he hadn’t bothered with it in a while. The kid looked older. He looked tired.

Michael just stared at him, not moving. Shock rooted him to the spot.

Jeremy cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Hey.”

Michael’s voice caught in his throat. “...Hey.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause between them, weeks of silence crashing together in one moment.

Jeremy glanced away. “I, I didn’t mean to freak you out. You looked… like maybe you thought I was someone else.”

“I did,” Michael admitted. His voice sounded rough, barely used.

“I figured I’d check in. I know it’s been… a while.”

Michael still hadn’t moved. He wasn’t sure what emotion was crashing through him, relief? Guilt? Nerves? Maybe all of them at once. Jeremy was here. Standing in front of him. Not avoiding him like everyone else had.

But still, Michael’s guard was up.

“You haven’t texted in a while,” he said, and it came out a little colder than he meant.

Jeremy looked down. “I know. I wanted to. I just didn’t know what else to say.”

Michael didn’t answer. He stepped aside, wordlessly letting Jeremy in.

Jeremy hesitated, then crossed the threshold like it might bite him. He glanced around the house like it was haunted, and honestly, it felt like it was. It wasn’t the same house from before. Not since Elizabeth disappeared. Not since David died. The shadows stretched longer now. The walls whispered louder.

They walked into the living room, and Michael dropped onto the couch without a word. Jeremy sat down a few feet away.

Another long pause.

Jeremy finally spoke. “I heard the search ended. Officially, I mean.”

Michael looked at the floor. “Yeah.”

“They really didn’t find anything?”

“Not a trace.”

Jeremy sucked in a breath through his nose, like he didn’t know how to respond.

“I shouldn’t have left her,” Michael said, voice low. “I should’ve been watching her. I knew-” He stopped himself. I knew something was wrong with Circus Baby. But he couldn’t say that part. Not yet.

Jeremy glanced over at him. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should’ve done more.”

They both sat in silence again, the air between them heavy.

Jeremy fidgeted with a thread on his sleeve. “I almost came by a few times. Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

Michael looked at him. “I did.”

“I wasn’t sure. I just…” He trailed off, then looked straight at Michael. “You look like you’re losing it.”

Michael huffed a hollow laugh. “I feel like I already have.”

Jeremy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Well… you’re not alone. Even if it feels like it.”

Michael didn’t say anything. But he didn’t look away, either.

Jeremy was here. That meant something. It had to.

Maybe things weren’t okay. Maybe they never would be again.

But at least, for now, he wasn’t sitting in the dark by himself.

“You, uh... wanna go to my room?” he asked, voice quieter than intended.

Jeremy glanced around the dim hallway, then back at Michael with a small shrug. “Yeah, sure. Beats standing out here.”

Michael gave a weak smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Cool. It’s... just up here.”

They started walking, Jeremy a step behind, shoes quiet against the old floorboards.

“Place hasn’t changed much,” Jeremy muttered, trying for casual.

“Nope,” Michael replied. “It’s kinda frozen in time, honestly.”

Jeremy huffed a soft laugh. “Yeah. Feels like that sometimes.”

They fell into silence again, passing doorframes and closed rooms. Michael’s hand hovered near the wall, like he wanted to touch it just to make sure it was all still real.

He kept his eyes ahead, ears tuned for any sign of movement in the house. A door creaking. A floorboard groaning. Anything that might signal that William was home.

There was no sound.

Still, the unease sat low in his stomach. Not because he thought anything would happen to Jeremy. That was irrational. William wouldn’t do anything. Not here. Not now.

Probably.

Michael wasn’t even sure if he was home. He never really was anymore. It was like the man had turned into smoke, drifting in and out, never seen, never accounted for. A ghost haunting the same hallways as Michael.

Just like him.

He swallowed the thought down and opened the door to his room, letting Jeremy in first. The space was dim, lit only by the weak light that filtered through the half-closed blinds. Familiar, safe, at least compared to the rest of the house.

Michael shut the door behind them and leaned against it for a moment longer than necessary, as if it was some kind of barrier.

He didn’t say any of what he was thinking. About how strange it was to feel like a stranger in his own home. About how the air always felt heavier when William was near, whether he could see him or not.

Instead, he moved toward the desk and sat down, finally forcing himself to speak. “Sorry the place is... like this.”

Jeremy just shook his head gently and took a seat on the bed.

Neither of them brought up the silence that followed.

Chapter Text

Time blurred after that day.

Jeremy had stayed for a while, the two of them holed up in Michael’s room like it was the only safe place left in the house. They didn’t talk much, just enough to avoid letting the silence get too heavy. Sometimes Jeremy would ramble about school, or something he’d seen in town, and Michael would nod along, letting the words fill the space without asking for anything in return.

By some small stroke of luck, they never once ran into William. Not in the hallway. Not in the kitchen. Not even the sound of his voice drifting through the house. It was strange, though not unwelcome. In fact, it felt like forever since Michael had last seen his father at all.

He caught himself wondering about that sometimes, whether William was avoiding him on purpose or if he was just gone more than usual. Maybe both. Michael wasn’t sure which possibility sat worse with him.

Michael had lost track of how many days had passed since Jeremy first showed up at his door. Most of his time had been spent with him, either in the small, cluttered safety of his room or out at the arcade when the air inside became too heavy to breathe. The arcade trips were the better days, louder, brighter, distracting enough to keep his thoughts from circling the same drain they always found.

But even then, there were quiet moments in between the noise. Times when Jeremy would be off exchanging tokens or grabbing snacks, and Michael’s mind would wander back to Elizabeth and David without his permission. He’d picture their faces, hear their voices like echoes in the back of his skull. It made the air around him feel colder, heavier.

On the days they stayed inside, Michael barely moved. Jeremy would talk, fiddle with something on his desk, or sit on the floor flipping through a magazine, while Michael sat on the bed, eyes fixed on the far wall. His mind was a reel that wouldn’t stop, flashes of David’s pale face, Elizabeth’s laugh, the empty spaces where they should have been.

And so the days blurred, not from joy or comfort, but from the numb routine they’d carved out together, Michael and Jeremy, side by side, filling the silence as best they could.

The days blend until one bleeds into another, until it’s hard to tell if it’s Tuesday or Saturday. Michael is lying on his bed, Jeremy sprawled on the floor flipping through a comic book, when the shrill ring of the house phone cuts through the quiet.

They both glance toward the door. Jeremy raises an eyebrow, and Michael sighs, pushing himself up. The phone is in the kitchen, and it feels like forever since anyone’s actually called.

He picks up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello, may I speak with Mr. Afton?” The voice on the other end is polite, professional, too formal to be a friend or a neighbor.

Michael’s stomach tightens. He has no idea if William is even home, and he’s not about to go searching for him. “This is him,” he lies without hesitation.

“This is the school calling. We’ve noticed Michael hasn’t been attending classes recently. We wanted to check in with you about his absences.”

Michael’s grip on the phone tightens.

The voice continues, calm but firm. “If these absences continue for much longer, he may be unable to graduate. We need to make sure he understands the seriousness of this, and that he returns as soon as possible.”

Michael swallows hard. Graduation. It’s the last shred of something he still has control over, the one finish line he can still cross even if everything else in his life has fallen apart.

He forces his voice steady. “I’ll make sure he’s there.”

When the call ends, he stays in the kitchen a moment longer, staring at the wall. Then, quietly, almost to himself, he nods. He’s going back. Not because he wants to, not because it matters in the big picture, but because if he lets this slip too, there’ll be nothing left worth fighting for.

Michael drags his feet on the way back to his room, the low hum of the refrigerator fading as he steps down the hall. Jeremy is still on the floor where he left him, flipping a page in his comic without looking up.

“That was the school,” Michael says, leaning against the doorframe.

Jeremy glances up, his brow furrowing. “Yeah? What’d they want?”

“They think I’m gonna flunk if I don’t go back soon.” Michael crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. “So… I’m going back. Starting tomorrow.”

Jeremy sits up, tossing the comic aside. “That’s… good, right?”

Michael gives a half-shrug. “Depends who you ask. But if I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna need your help. I’ve missed a lot, and I don’t exactly remember half the stuff from before I stopped going.”

Jeremy grins like it’s not even a question. “Then we’ll get you caught up. Easy.”

Michael manages the faintest of smiles. “You make it sound like it’s gonna be easy.”

“It’s either that or you end up repeating a year with a bunch of kids you don’t know,” Jeremy says, smirking. “I’m doing us both a favor.”

For the first time in weeks, the weight pressing down on Michael’s chest feels a little lighter.

----

Michael found himself staring at the calendar on his wall like it was suddenly important. Dates hadn’t meant much lately, just a blur of mornings and nights, but now that he was back in school, he’d have to start keeping track.

The air was cool that morning, the kind that clung to his jacket on the walk in. Students moved in clumps toward the building, chatter and footsteps echoing off the brick walls.

Jeremy was already waiting near the front doors, leaning against the railing with his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket.

“You made it,” Jeremy said, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Michael muttered, but there was no bite to it.

Jeremy fell into step beside him, weaving through the busy hallway until they stopped at Michael’s first-period classroom.

“Meet you at lunch,” Jeremy said, giving him a quick nod before peeling off toward his own class.

The hours between then and lunch felt slower than they should’ve, the sound of pencils scratching and teachers droning making Michael restless. But when the bell finally rang, Jeremy was already at their usual table in the cafeteria, tray of food in front of him.

“Still alive?” Jeremy asked as Michael sat down.

“Barely,” Michael replied, grabbing the apple from his tray. “Guess I forgot how long these days feel.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Told you it’d be easy to fall back into it.”

Michael wasn’t convinced yet. But at least he wasn’t doing it alone.

Jeremy had pulled Michael’s stack of makeup work toward the middle of the table, flipping through worksheets and notes like a teacher sorting a test pile.

“Alright,” Jeremy said, tapping one packet. “This one’s easy. Just copy what I wrote down here, then we’ll go over the ones you actually need to think about.”

Michael gave him a flat look. “So… half of them?”

Jeremy grinned. “More like three-quarters.”

They’d only been working for about ten minutes, Michael scratching answers onto paper while Jeremy kept a steady pace explaining the harder bits, when a shadow fell across the table.

“Hey,” a voice said.

Both of them looked up. A girl stood there, balancing a lunch tray on her hip. She had a messy bun with strands of hair sticking out like they were in open rebellion, and her jacket was covered in a chaotic patchwork of pins and patches.

“You two mind if I sit here?” she asked, tilting her head toward the empty seat across from Michael.

Jeremy shrugged. “Go for it.”

She slid her tray onto the table, dropping into the seat like she’d already decided she belonged there. “Cool. I’m Vanessa, most people just call me Ness.”

“Michael,” he said after a pause.

“Jeremy,” Jeremy added, offering a quick nod.

Ness leaned back, glancing between the two of them, then at the pile of schoolwork. “You guys studying, or is this, like, a nerd bonding ritual?”

Jeremy smirked. “Helping him catch up. He’s been… out.”

“Out?” Ness arched a brow, her tone playful but not invasive. “Like, vacation out, or mysterious and broody out?”

Michael huffed a small laugh through his nose. “Definitely not vacation.”

“Broody it is, then,” she said, spearing a fry. “Don’t worry, I can work with broody. I’ve got a gift for it.”

There was something about her, bold without being overbearing, like she could wedge herself into a conversation without knocking anyone out of it.

Jeremy gave Michael a look that said, well, this just got interesting.

Ness popped another fry into her mouth before speaking again. “So, yeah, moved here from the city a few weeks ago. My parents were on this whole ‘small town vibe’ kick. You know, less noise, more… cornfields or whatever.” She twirled her hand in the air like she was painting the word boring. “I didn’t really care. Couldn’t stand my last school anyway, so I figured, hey, might as well spend my senior year somewhere new.”

Jeremy nodded like he’d heard it all before. “That’s a big change, though. City to here? Bit of a downgrade in the excitement department.”

“Pfft, I make my own excitement,” Ness said with a smirk. “Besides, I’ve already seen you around.” She pointed a fry at Jeremy, then turned her gaze to Michael. “But not you. Are you new too? S' that what you meant by out?”

Michael hesitated, scratching at the back of his neck. “Uh… no. Just… haven’t been around much.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity flickering across her expression, but she didn’t push. “Huh. Guess I’ve been missing out, then. You hiding from the rest of the student body or something?”

Jeremy chuckled under his breath, answering for him. “Something like that.”

Ness leaned back in her seat, grinning. “Alright, broody mystery guy. I’ll figure you out eventually.”

Michael wasn’t sure if she was joking or serious, but there was something about her energy that felt… unshakable. Like nothing in this place could really rattle her.

Ness stabbed the last fry on her tray with a dramatic flourish. “Anyway, you two don’t get to ditch me after this. I’m not a one-time lunch companion. You’re stuck with me now.”

Jeremy smirked. “Lucky us.”

“Seriously,” she went on, pointing between them. “I don’t know anyone here yet, and you both seem tolerable. Which is more than I can say for most people in this cafeteria.”

Jeremy glanced at Michael, then back to her. “Well, we’re actually heading to Michael’s place after school. Gonna hang out and go over some work so he can catch up.”

Michael’s head snapped toward him, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. The look he gave Jeremy could have been translated into What the hell are you doing?

Jeremy, undeterred, met his glare with one of his own, a silent plea that said Come on, man. You need to talk to more people than just me.

Ness, completely oblivious to the silent exchange, grinned wide. “Perfect. I’ll come too.”

Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re really making yourself at home here, huh?”

“Damn right,” she said without missing a beat. “So, what time should I be there?”

Jeremy leaned back in his seat, grinning like he’d already won whatever silent argument Michael had tried to start. “We’ll just walk to Michael’s from here once school’s out,” he told Ness. “Meet us out front.”

“Cool,” she said. “See you two later, then.”

Michael slumped in his seat, muttering under his breath, “Fantastic.”

----

By the time the final bell rang, the three of them met near the front entrance, Jeremy waving Ness over when he spotted her weaving through the crowd.

“Alright,” she said, falling in step beside them. “So, what’s the game plan here? We doing homework first or last?”

“First,” Jeremy answered before Michael could. “Otherwise, he’ll procrastinate and never get it done.”

“I don’t procrastinate-” Michael started, then stopped when both of them gave him the same skeptical look. “…Fine. Maybe a little.”

The streets were quieter than the hallways had been, the warm afternoon sun spilling over cracked sidewalks and aging storefronts. Ness filled the silence easily, pointing out a cat perched in a shop window, complaining about the lack of good coffee in town, and telling them about a weird dream she’d had about riding a giant duck down a freeway.

Jeremy laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else, Ness.”

“I take that as a compliment,” she said, kicking a stray pebble down the pavement. “So what do you guys even do for fun around here? And don’t say ‘nothing.’”

Michael shoved his hands into his pockets. “…Mostly nothing.”

“Wow,” she said, mock-offended. “Guess I’ll just have to fix that.”

Michael glanced between her and Jeremy, already wondering what exactly he’d gotten himself into. No, been forced into. 

Chapter Text

The morning air was cooler than Michael expected, a soft warm breeze cutting through the late-spring chill as he walked toward Jeremy’s house. He wasn’t entirely sure how Jeremy had talked him into this, going out of town, shopping of all things. But here he was, feeling like he’d somehow signed up for more than he realized.

Jeremy was already outside when Michael arrived, leaning against his front gate like he’d been waiting for hours even though it was barely nine. Next to him stood Vanessa, bright-eyed and grinning as if the idea of waking up this early on a Saturday was perfectly reasonable.

“Finally,” Jeremy said, smirking at Michael. “I thought you were gonna ditch.”

“I almost did,” Michael muttered, eyeing Vanessa, who waved like they hadn’t seen each other in years rather than a day.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said, all chipper and too awake for Michael’s liking. “You ready for some actual civilization? This town has, what, two stores? Both of them smell weird.”

Michael shrugged. “I guess.” He wasn’t sure how to explain that he didn’t even know what he was supposed to buy. It wasn’t like he had some big shopping list, Jeremy had just said they should all go somewhere that wasn’t here, and Vanessa had jumped on the idea instantly.

“We’re catching the bus in like ten,” Jeremy said, glancing down the road. “Should be a straight shot to Fairview Mall. You ever been there?”

Michael shook his head. “Nope.”

“Oh, it’s huge,” Vanessa said, eyes lighting up. “Food court, arcade, actual clothing stores that aren’t somebody’s garage sale. We might even get you to try bubble tea, Michael. You look like you’ve never had bubble tea.”

Michael sighed through his nose. “I haven’t.”

“That’s tragic,” she said with mock seriousness. “We’ll fix it.”

Michael wasn’t sure if he wanted it fixed, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he glanced toward the road where the bus would eventually appear, trying to push down the sudden weight in his chest. It had been a long time since he’d gone anywhere for something as normal as this.

The bus rumbled up the road right on time, brakes squealing as it pulled to the curb. The driver, a heavyset man with a bushy mustache, opened the folding doors with a mechanical sigh and looked at the three of them like they were his hundredth pickup of the morning.

“Morning,” Jeremy said, digging a crumpled bill out of his pocket for the fare.

“Morning,” Vanessa echoed, handing hers over before leaning against the pole near the front. She was already talking to the driver about the weather, about how this little town really was like something out of a postcard. The guy just nodded, deadpan, clearly more interested in keeping on schedule than small talk.

Michael paid last, mumbling something that might’ve been a greeting, and followed the other two down the aisle toward the very back. Jeremy claimed the window seat, Vanessa plopped herself right in the middle, and Michael ended up on the aisle with his knees brushing the seat in front of him.

The bus jolted forward, the scenery outside turning into a blur of trees and empty lots.

Vanessa turned in her seat so she could face both of them. “So,” she said, drawing the word out like it was a big announcement, “this is my first official out-of-town trip with you two. Feels like a moment.”

Jeremy smirked. “You make it sound like we’re some kind of exclusive club.”

“Maybe you are,” she said. “I mean, you two have your little history or whatever. And now, bam. New girl joins the group. Dynamic changed. Forever altered.”

Michael leaned back against the seat, trying not to smile. He wasn’t used to people like her, loud, self-assured, filling up every quiet space without even trying. He’d spent so long barely talking to anyone outside of Jeremy that he couldn’t tell if he found her energy exhausting or kind of… nice.

Jeremy just rolled his eyes like he’d heard this all before. “Don’t let it go to your head. We’re just catching a bus.”

“Today it’s a bus,” Vanessa said. “Tomorrow? Who knows.”

Michael let their banter wash over him, staring out the window but listening all the same. Things used to feel heavy all the time, like there was no room for anything but the mess in his head. But with Jeremy talking again, and now Vanessa barging into the picture like she’d always been there, it was… different. Still strange, still new, but not bad.

Maybe even good.

The bus screeched to a stop near the edge of the sprawling parking lot, and the three of them stepped out into the cool air. The place rose up in front of them like something out of a different world. Glass walls gleaming under the afternoon sun, bold signs advertising stores Michael had never even heard of, fountains spraying water into the air just for the sake of it.

Michael froze for a moment, staring. He didn’t even try to hide his surprise.

He’d thought the animatronics back at the pizzeria were advanced for their time, almost unsettlingly so. But this? This place felt like it belonged to some distant future that had nothing to do with his quiet little town. The sliding glass doors whispered open and shut as people streamed in and out carrying bright shopping bags. Music leaked out from somewhere inside, faint but upbeat, mixing with the sound of the fountains and the rush of cars circling the lot.

Vanessa let out a low whistle. “Now this is what I’m talking about,” she said, grinning like a kid about to enter a candy store.

Jeremy smirked. “It’s just a mall, Ness.”

“Just a mall?” she repeated, looking at him like he’d just confessed to hating puppies. “This is a palace of consumerism and bad food court decisions. Show some respect.”

Michael tore his eyes away from the glass walls to glance at Jeremy, who just shrugged as if to say this is normal for her.

But it wasn’t normal for Michael. The biggest store he’d ever been in was the local hardware place back in town. This felt like a different planet. People dressed sharper here, moved quicker, laughed louder. There was a movie theater built right into the side of the building, an arcade whose neon lights pulsed even in the daylight, and so many windows stacked on top of each other that Michael couldn’t even tell where the building ended.

Vanessa was already marching toward the entrance. “Come on, slowpokes,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve got shops to hit.”

Jeremy started after her, hands in his pockets. “You'll get used to it,” he said to Michael, nodding toward the mall.

But Michael wasn’t sure he would. Not yet.

The moment they stepped inside, the noise hit them like a wall, music from half a dozen stores bleeding together, chatter from the crowds, and the occasional buzz of the arcade machines echoing faintly from somewhere deeper in the building.

Vanessa didn’t even hesitate before pointing to the left. “Record store first,” she declared, like a commander leading a mission.

The place was tucked between a shoe store and a café, dimly lit with walls covered in posters of bands Michael had never heard of. Rows and rows of vinyl, cassettes, and a few shiny CDs lined the shelves.

Vanessa immediately dove into the racks, flipping through with practiced speed. “Okay, rule number one,” she said, eyes scanning the spines, “never trust someone who alphabetizes poorly. That’s a sign of chaos.”

Jeremy smirked and went straight to the back, where a section labeled Clearance leaned dangerously against the wall. “Rule number two,” he said, “always check the cheap stuff first.”

Michael mostly just stood there, awkward as usual, until Vanessa suddenly appeared in front of him with a record in hand.

“This one’s good,” she said, shoving it toward him. The cover showed some band posing in front of a car on fire.

He looked at it, then at her. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s how you find the good stuff, by not knowing anything going in.”

They left the record store with Vanessa humming to herself and Jeremy stuffing a cassette into his jacket pocket, claiming he’d totally paid for it, though Michael wasn’t sure if he actually had.

Next up was the clothing store, a place with bright lights and louder music blasting from hidden speakers.

Vanessa immediately started pulling outfits off racks without even looking at sizes. “Okay, Michael, your turn,” she said, piling clothes into his arms.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said with a grin, grabbing a ridiculous-looking jacket with fringe down the sleeves. “You need a new look, man. Trust us.”

Michael sighed but let them push him toward the fitting rooms anyway.

What followed was an endless parade of outfits, striped shirts too big for him, jackets with patterns that made his eyes hurt, jeans with holes in places that didn’t make sense. Vanessa and Jeremy sat outside the door, yelling at him to come out and show them each one.

“Nope,” Vanessa said when he walked out in a shiny red shirt. “You look like you’re about to join a boy band.”

Jeremy laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench when Michael tried on a leather jacket two sizes too small. “You look like you lost a fight with a thrift store,” he wheezed.

By the end, Michael was buried under a mountain of clothes he had no intention of buying while Vanessa declared herself the Fashion Queen of the Mall.

By the time they finally left the clothing store, the sun was starting to dip low in the sky, the orange light spilling across the glass ceiling of the mall. Michael hadn’t even realized how much time had passed until Vanessa dragged them to one last stop, a little kiosk near the food court selling bracelets and cheap rings.

He didn’t even notice until they were all walking out together that he was carrying more bags than he expected. A couple of shirts Jeremy had insisted “actually looked good,” a record Vanessa had all but thrown at him before paying for it herself, and even a ring from the kiosk he didn’t remember agreeing to buy.

“Don’t look so confused,” Vanessa said, smirking as she swung her own bag over her shoulder. “You needed this stuff. Consider it part of your transformation arc.”

Michael shook his head, muttering something about wasting money, but he didn’t actually feel regret. Not really.

The bus stop wasn’t far, and the three of them caught the last bus heading back toward town. The ride was quieter this time, the three of them sitting together in the back while the hum of the engine filled the space between them.

Michael stared out the window, watching the mall lights shrink into the distance. To his surprise, there wasn’t that usual weight in his chest he carried everywhere. He didn’t feel the exhaustion that usually came after a day like this, after being around people for so long.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t actually want the day to end.

----

When Michael finally got home, the house was silent. No William, just the kind of quiet that felt like it clung to the walls.

He dropped his bags from the mall beside the couch, not even bothering to bring them upstairs. His shoulders ached from carrying them the whole way back, but it was the good kind of ache, the kind you got from a day that wasn’t all bad.

Michael flopped onto the couch with a sigh, grabbing the remote off the coffee table. He was ready for some background noise, anything to fill the empty house, so he flicked on the TV, hoping for some dumb sitcom or one of those ridiculous soap operas Elizabeth used to laugh at.

Instead, the news came on.

Michael froze when he saw the bold headline across the bottom of the screen:

NEW DEVELOPMENTS IN MISSING CHILDREN’S CASE

The anchor’s voice was flat, professional, but Michael could feel the words creeping under his skin.

“Authorities have released new information regarding the children who went missing near Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza and the surrounding area…” the reporter began. “While no bodies have been recovered, police confirm they have reason to believe foul play is involved.”

Michael’s chest tightened. He sat up straighter without realizing it, his eyes glued to the screen as the anchor kept talking, words like search efforts, community concern, and possible suspect blurring together in his head.

He thought of Elizabeth. Of David. Of how quiet this house had become.

The screen flickered to a picture of the Freddy Fazbear’s building, the yellow tape still wrapped around the entrance, police cars parked out front.

Michael couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe right.

For the first time all day, the weight he’d managed to forget came crashing back down.