Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you. Although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that’s not what you want. I have a feeling you are right where you want to be.”

Michael licked his lips, the dry ash in the air coating his tongue and throat. He’d hung around enough fires now that the tattered remains of his lungs were likely pure black by now, but this time was different. This time he would die here. Really die. 

”I am remaining as well. I am nearby.”

Even after hearing the warm, deep tones of his voice every night for nearly a week now, Michael still couldn’t quite believe Henry was here. What was he doing all this time? He had just been, what, hiding away for forty years? Despite himself, Michael could feel resentment begin to build in his chest. Where was Henry when William came back to life as some demented rabbit serial killer? Where was he when Michael was stitching his own corpse back together? Why wait until now to finally do something?

“This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away, as the agony of every tragedy should.”

Anger towards Henry was a ridiculous waste of energy. They were on the same side. 

“And to you monsters trapped in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don’t belong to you.”

But it didn’t really matter anymore, did it? They would both be dead soon. Michael could waste all the energy he wanted. 

“For most of you, I believe there is peace, and perhaps more, waiting for you after the smoke clears.”

The heat was suffocating now, smoke forcing itself down his throat, charring the ragged scraps of organs left inside him. Ash clung to his marred skin, sweat evaporating before it could drip down to the floor. 

“Although for one of you, the darkest pit of hell has opened to swallow you whole. So don’t keep the devil waiting, old friend.”

Michael could hear his skin sizzle as he lay his head down on the desk. A satisfied, relieved sound escaped his throat. William would finally die. No coming back this time. And those tortured souls, Evan, Elizabeth, Charlie, the many others forced into this awful existence, would finally be free. 

“My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It is in your nature to protect the innocent. I’m sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you into their arms, the way you lifted others into yours.”

Michael didn’t know if he believed in heaven. He certainly didn’t believe in God. Or at least, not an all-powerful one. What kind of god would allow this?

“And then, what became of you? I should’ve known you would not be content to disappear. Not my daughter.”

He hoped there was something waiting for these souls once they were freed. Maybe not heaven, but something nice. Like Henry had said, peace. 

“I couldn’t save you then, so let me save you now. It is time to rest.”

More presently, he hoped something was waiting for William. 

“For you, and for those you have carried in your arms.”

Definitely not heaven. 

“This ends, for all of us.”

Michael closed his eyes. He didn’t know what was waiting for him. He certainly didn’t belong with those innocent, lost spirits. But he hoped he had worked hard enough to not belong with William. 

“End communication.”

He opened his eyes, and it was cold. A bright light shone into his pupils, his eyes stinging. Was this it? What was waiting for him? 

The light shut off. 

He was not in heaven. He was not in hell. He was laying on a cold marble countertop, blotches in his vision from the light. His body was burning with pain, a hot, dry feeling covering his skin. When his vision cleared, he saw a young woman staring down at him, her brows furrowed in concern. 

“Hello, sir? Can you hear me?”

He made a rough, gargling sound, his throat dry and scratchy.  

“You’re gonna be okay,” the woman said, placing the flashlight down gently, as if he were a feral animal she was trying not to startle. Beside her sat a large metal bowl, from which she pulled out a wet dishrag and placed it on his forehead. He groaned, the cold water sapping away the rough, burning feeling. “My name is Vanessa Afton, and I’m gonna take care of you. Okay?” 

What?

Michael pushed himself up, his whole body screaming with pain, but that was nothing new. The woman—Vanessa Afton?!—widened her eyes, gently placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back down.

“Hey, woah, try not to move. You’re burned pretty badly,” she soothed, her eyes soft with concern. She began to pull more dishrags out of the metal bowl, placing them along his arms, chest, and legs. The cool water helped, but his mind was racing. Maybe he had misheard her? Or maybe he had some cousins he had never met, a lucky branch of the family that got away. Or maybe it was simply a coincidence. Some poor woman stuck with the last name of a murderer. 

He opened his mouth to ask, but all that came out was a weak cough. She shushed him absentmindedly, propping his head up and pouring a thick, lukewarm liquid down his throat. A drowsy feeling washed over him, and suddenly all he could think about was how badly his body ached. He let out a small moan, trying to keep his breathing shallow. Something about that didn’t feel right. But he let his eyes slip closed, revelling in that drowsy feeling. He was too tired to think.

“Just get some rest. You’re gonna be fine,” was the last thing he heard before drifting back into unconsciousness. 

When his eyes fluttered open again, the pain was more bearable. A cold, sticky gel covered his skin, and that scratchy feeling in his throat had subsided slightly. He stretched out his fingers, letting out a satisfied hum at the lack of agonizing pain. 

“Why not just take him to a hospital?” a faint, masculine voice asked. Michael’s ears pricked up. He didn’t recognize the voice, he didn’t think, but something about it felt… odd. Strangely familiar. 

He heard the woman from before—Vanessa—sigh. “I don’t know. It just felt right.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Then Vanessa’s voice came back, much quieter. 

“And Abby told me… something. I think this may be related.”

The man’s voice, “What do you mean?”

Another pause. “Nevermind,” Vanessa said, breaking the silence. “I… I’ve just been feeling paranoid. It’s nothing. I don’t want you to worry about Abby.”

“…Okay.” He heard the rustling of fabric. “But you would tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Even Michael could tell she wasn’t being quite honest. 

There was shuffling, the sound of footprints, then Vanessa and a shorter, brunet man walked into the room Michael was in. Only when Vanessa jumped slightly did Michael realize he was staring intently in the direction of the voices. Considering his… appearance, it was presumably very frightening. He almost wanted to apologize, but the sound of his smoke damaged voice would probably make it worse. 

“You’re awake!” Vanessa blurted out, schooling her expression into something less disturbed. She rushed back into the room she had come from, leaving Michael alone in the room with the other man. 

The man smiled and waved awkwardly. “Hi.”

Michael studied his face. He looked disheveled, greasy hair, dark eyebags, 5 o’clock shadow, a baggy gray sweatshirt with food stains. 

Vanessa shuffled past him, carrying a tall glass of water in her shaking hands. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she said, kneeling beside Michael. “You were unconscious for a while. Mike, can you grab me some pillows?” 

The last part was directed to the other man—Mike, apparently—who grabbed a couple throw pillows and handed them to Vanessa. She gently lifted the back of Michael’s head, placing the pillows behind him to keep him propped up while she poured water into his mouth. 

“This is my friend, Mike,” she said as Michael licked the water from his lips. “He’ll be here whenever I can’t be.”

Mike gave a slight nod, but soon became distracted, his eyes drifting somewhere behind Michael. He frowned as he made a slight gesture to whatever he was looking at, catching Michael’s interest. Michael sat up fully to see whatever was behind him, much to Vanessa’s dismay, his eyes landing on a young girl peeking from behind a doorway. 

Her wide brown eyes were fixed on Michael, a mix of curiosity and delight dancing across her face. She seemed to take the eye contact from Michael as an invitation, breathing in sharply and prancing across the room to stand mere inches from Michael. 

“Are you really from another universe?” she asked excitedly, bouncing up and down. 

Michael stared at her. “Huh?” he croaked out. 

“Abby, don’t bother him—” Mike started futilely. 

“You are Michael, right?” 

Michael blinked. “Um, yeah?”

The girl grinned and turned to look at Vanessa, who was guiltily avoiding Mike’s inquisitive looks. “See, Vanessa, I told you!”

“Told her what?” Mike said apprehensively. 

Vanessa ignored the two, directing her gaze towards Michael. “Can you just— who…” she grimaced. “What’s your name?”

Michael hesitated, three curious eyes staring back at him. He swallowed, glad that his throat no longer burned. “Well… Michael, like she just said.”

“Michael…?” 

“Afton,” he resigned, avoiding eye contact. 

Deafening silence. 

Chapter Text

“Is that… a joke?” Mike broke the silence, his voice soaked with apprehension. 

Before Michael could answer with a God, I wish, the little girl sprung into action. “No! No, it’s not,” she said definitively, before turning on her heel and sprinting out of the room. 

A little hurtful, but fair.

“Abby!” Mike called after her, before grumbling vaguely and following her out.

“Smart kid,” Michael said dryly. 

“Afton as in William Afton?” Vanessa said, her voice thin and high. 

Michael winced. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“William Afton as in the owner of Freddy Fazbear’s?”

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ and staring at the floor. 

“William Afton as in—”

“Jesus Christ, yes, as in the serial child murderer.”

She took a step back, staring at him in horror. Again, hurtful, but fair. He sighed. 

“Yeah, I know, I’ll leave.”

“No!” He reeled back, staring up at her in shock. She pursed her lips. “I mean… you don’t have to. And I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re…” a myriad of emotions played across her face, her eyes boring into him. “...injured,” she finished, a strange undertone to her voice, as if she was trying to send him some sort of secret message that she knew he would understand. Except he didn’t. 

He laughed lightly, her mysterious intensity making him uneasy. “It’s really okay, I can just check into a hospital.” In all honesty, his injuries were barely even a factor here. On a scale from mild pain to scooper, these burns were about a 3.5. Annoying, but not that big of a deal.

“I really think you’ll want to stay.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to get a read on her. “What do you mean?”

“Michael?” He jumped slightly at the voice so close to him. He whipped around to see the little girl had re-entered the room and was now standing a foot from him, carrying a stack of papers in her hands with a sheepish expression. Mike stood behind her, arms folded, silently glaring at Vanessa.  

“Yeah, kid?” Someone had said her name earlier, hadn’t they?

She looked at him intensely, holding the papers close to her chest. “I need to show you something, but I don’t wanna make you upset.”

He was getting emotional whiplash. He knew he didn’t really have room to talk, but these people were so weird. “What is it?”

She shifted from foot to foot nervously, chewing her lip, before dropping the papers in Michael’s lap and scurrying to hide behind Mike’s legs. He picked up the first paper and flipped it over.

He stared incredulously. It was a children’s drawing. This girl was showing him her damn art project. He sighed internally, preparing some ‘Wow, this is so good!’ when it finally clicked what the drawing really was. His face dropped. 

It was a drawing of three children, spaced evenly apart, all holding hands with different animatronics. A girl with long brown hair, holding hands with the puppet. A girl with auburn curls holding hands with Circus Baby. A small boy, tears streaming down his cheeks, holding hands with Fredbear. 

He tried to keep his expression neutral as he looked up at the girl. “Why did you draw this?” A strange sensation filled his chest. 

She shrugged, clutching tight to Mike’s legs. “My friends told me to.”

Oh. She was just drawing her friends with their favorite characters. 

…And they happened to look exactly like the children who haunted those characters. Not the craziest thing to happen. And besides, they were just drawings. Those kids could look much different in real life than on paper. 

…And those animatronics had been decommissioned years before this girl was born. Maybe her friends had nostalgic parents? Again, not the craziest thing to happen. Freddy’s had a lot of fanatics. 

He flipped to the next drawing, hoping to confirm his theory, to have the drawings be of a bunch of random kids and a bunch of random animatronics. No such luck. 

It was the elevator from Circus Baby’s. Drawn in near perfect detail. Each button, each poster, each light. He flipped to the next drawing. A girl with curly black hair, holding hands with a crying boy, both of them wearing little golden bear ears.  He frowned, frantically flipping through the drawings, trying to make sense of them.

Some of them were relatively innocuous, a drawing or two of the toy animatronics, a few of Freddy and the others performing on stage. But most were… frighteningly familiar. A red haired girl reaching out her hand to take an ice cream cone. A group of kids wearing masks, standing over a crying little boy. The security office at Freddy’s. Helpy sitting on a desk. Fazbear’s Fright, up in flames. A man in the spring Bonnie costume, standing over two brunet boys and a redheaded girl. 

He looked up slowly, dread creeping over him. The three were now standing close together, all watching him intently. Vanessa pointed to the drawing of the children and spring Bonnie, not taking her eyes off him. 

“That drawing, does that mean something to you?”

He swallowed shakily. “Who are you people?”

“You’re one of those kids, aren’t you? In the drawing, that’s your family?”

“I already told you that but—” he flipped through the drawings, pulling out the one of the elevator, the one of Elizabeth and the ice cream, the one of Charlie, Liz, and Evan. “—how do you know about…”

He trailed off as Vanessa got up and left the room. Couldn’t even pretend to listen? 

He turned to the little girl, still hiding behind Mike’s legs. 

“How do you know about all this?” he asked, holding out the drawings. “Who told you?”

“I told you, my friends did,” she mumbled. 

“Who the hell are your friends?!”

“Hey!” Mike snapped, pushing the girl further behind him. “Don’t yell at her, she’s just a kid.”

Michael and the girl spoke up simultaneously, with “I wasn’t yelling!” and “I’m not a kid!” respectively. 

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose. “What—”

Vanessa marched back into the room, cutting the commotion off with a heavy slam of the door. She stopped in front of Michael, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“William Afton is your father,” she said firmly. 

His eye twitched. “We’ve established this. Can you please just—”

“But that’s not possible.”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “And why do you think that?”

”Because William Afton only had one child, me,” she said, punctuating the statement by throwing a small, rectangular paper down atop the drawings. He stopped short at the sight of the photo, a young, blonde girl, tucked affectionately into the side of the spring Bonnie costume. A father and daughter. William and his daughter. 

A faint memory resurfaced. The first time he awoke after the fire. He was barely conscious, the pain overwhelming everything else, and nothing had stood out as important. 

“My name is Vanessa Afton, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Until now, at least. How could he have forgotten?

He looked up at her. The conspiratorial glances from before suddenly made sense. “But,” he blinked, trying to make sense of it. She couldn’t be older than thirty, she couldn’t possibly have been born, or even conceived, by the time William met his fate. And even besides that, how could he not have known about her? And even more, how could she not have known about him? William’s family was public knowledge. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

She pursed her lips. “You’re right.” She glanced over at Mike and the girl. “I don’t think you’re from around here.”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you read comic books?” Mike chimed in hesitantly.

Maybe he really did die in the fire. Maybe this was some strange, twisted hell, where everyone spoke in riddles designed to be as confusing as possible. “What?!”

“You know how some of them were about the, um, multiverse? Like, parallel universes?”

“…Sure?”

“We think that’s probably what’s happening here.”

Michael stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Can you… elaborate?”

Mike stuffed his hands in his pockets, visibly uncomfortable at the idea of having to speak more than twice. “Well, we think, maybe, theoretically, you might. Uh. Be from some kind of alternate universe?” he said, eyes fixated on the floor. 

Michael turned the idea over in his head. “Huh. How do you think I got here then?”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “Wh—you actually believe me?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” Vanessa chimed in with a baffled laugh. “It’s a bit far-fetched.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Do you want me to pretend I don’t believe you for a minute or two so you can convince me?”

“Uh. No—”

“Okay, so how do you think I got here?”

The two adults stared at him with expressions of mixed amusement and confusion, before the little girl spoke up. “We dunno.”

He nodded at her. “Okay,” he said slowly, trying to decide how pressing this issue was. Eventually he shrugged. “I’ll figure it out at some point. Um, more importantly,” he pointed back at the drawings. “Who are the friends that told you about these?”

The girl shifted on her feet, glancing nervously up at Mike. “I’m not supposed to tell people about them.”

Mike sighed, ruffling the girl’s hair absentmindedly. “Her friends are the ghosts of those kids. The ones in the animatronics.”

Michael felt his heart drop. “What?”

Mike scoffed out a disbelieving laugh. “So multiversal travel doesn’t phase you, but this does?”

“No, I just—” he waved his hand in the air vaguely, keeping his focus on the girl. “They talk to you?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“What do they say?”

“Um,” she mumbled, making a face like she was thinking hard. “I dunno, just normal stuff. I guess sometimes they’ll tell me if something important is gonna happen. Like you getting here.”

If he had a stomach, he would probably vomit. He redirected his attention to Mike and Vanessa, who looked uncomfortable, but not nearly as concerned as they should be. “You just let this happen?”

Vanessa crossed her arms defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know who you guys are to her, if you’re her parents or what, but you’re clearly supposed to be protecting her, and you’re letting her just— I mean, she— those things are dangerous.”

Vanessa and Mike both began to speak up, letting out vague, offended protests, before the girl shouted over them angrily, “They’re not dangerous! They’re my friends!”

He grimaced, looking over at her with a sympathetic expression. “Look, kid,” he said, trying to make his voice softer. “I know that’s what they told you—”

“You don’t know anything!” 

“Hey, Abs,” Mike rushed forward, gently ushering her out of the room and whispering calming words to her. 

Michael could feel his body begin to shake uncontrollably. He remembered the tantrums Elizabeth would throw when William forbade her from seeing Circus Baby. She would scream and cry and beg and Michael would have to comfort her, just like this. He remembered those days after she went missing, his mother sobbing in the kitchen, William making frantic phone calls. He remembered, years later, sitting under that desk at Circus Baby’s, listening to William’s creation describe her death, being forced to imagine his sweet, lively, innocent baby sister screaming and begging for help, no one there to save her. 

“—chael, hey, can you hear me?”

It was only when he looked up at Vanessa through blurry vision that he even felt the tears on his cheeks. 

His consciousness seemed to slam back into his body. He started, suddenly feeling her hand gently rubbing up and down his arm. He flinched, smacking her hand away. 

“No, no, what the hell is wrong with you people?!”

“I don’t know what they’re like where you’re from,” she started, her voice purposefully, manipulatively soft. He bristled. “And I know that no matter what I say, you’ll probably still be wary of them, but I swear Abby is safe. We would never let anything happen to her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you think that,” he snapped as Mike re-entered the room without the girl—Abby—and closed the door behind him. 

Mike exhaled sharply, visibly gathering himself before addressing Michael again. “Listen. I get where you’re coming from, but Abby’s safety is the most important thing to me. I would never purposefully put her in a position to get hurt.”

Michael could feel the frustration building in his chest. “That’s the problem—‘purposefully’. You clearly don’t understand how dangerous they are.”

Mike let out a sardonic laugh. “Trust me, I know exactly how dangerous they are.”

“Do you really?”

“Look,” Vanessa cut in with a sigh. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this. Michael,” she said, looking at him significantly. “We’re gonna try and get you back where you belong, which will probably take a while, right?”

He nodded slowly, his brows furrowed with suspicion. 

“So we’ll practically be together 24/7. In that time, you can see better how safe Abby is and, and,” she said pointedly as she saw him begin to interrupt. “If you see anything you think is off, you can always tell us before anything happens. Right?”

He was silent. She raised a brow. He sighed. “I guess.”

She smiled. “Well, now that that’s… semi-settled, let me get us some food. I’m sure you’re starving.”

Chapter Text

Everything about this made Mike uncomfortable. He already hated the idea of haunted children’s restaurants, he hated the idea of his baby sister being some kind of ghost-whisperer, he hated the idea of his friend’s father being a serial killer that dressed as a bunny rabbit. All of that was enough, he did not need the added layer of Vanessa’s weird multiversal brother popping up out of the blue.

And he was weird. Mike felt a little bad for thinking that. After the… incident, Vanessa had begun to open up about everything, and if this guy’s childhood was anything similar to hers, it made sense for him to be a little crazy. Frankly, Mike was amazed that Vanessa had turned out mostly normal. But he couldn’t help being a little off-put. There was something about him that made his skin crawl, something that he couldn’t place. 

Michael’s accented voice cut through Mike’s thoughts, “Oh, no, I don’t eat.”

Oh, yeah. Why the hell was he British?

Wait. “What do you mean you don’t eat?” he asked incredulously. Michael shrugged. 

“I just don’t.”

“Uh,” Vanessa chuckled awkwardly, glancing over at Mike. “You’ve been asleep for a while. You should really eat.”

“I don’t need to.”

In an act of perfect timing, a sharp grumble cut through the room. Mike raised his eyebrow. “Sounds like you do.”

A strange expression crossed Michael’s face. Somewhere between nervousness, confusion, and fear. “No, that… that wasn’t me,” he said, sounding unsure. 

“Look, you don’t have to worry about putting me out, I really don’t mind,” Vanessa said. 

Michael decided to ignore her in favor of staring at his hands in unadulterated horror. He flipped his hands over, extended his arms, ran his fingers along his skin, his expression becoming more and more disturbed with each action. 

Mike felt a sting of sympathy. The burns were pretty brutal. They didn’t cover all of his body, but they covered a lot of it. It couldn't be easy, seeing yourself for the first time after something like that. And despite the haunted look in his eyes and his strange attitude, he looked fairly young. Maybe somewhere from sixteen to twenty? A lot of tragedy to experience at such a young age. 

“Do you—” he cut himself off, his breath shaky. “Do you have a mirror?"

Vanessa pursed her lips, hesitantly pointing to the door. “There’s one in the hall—”

Michael was out of the room in seconds. Mike exchanged a concerned look with Vanessa before following him out. 

He was planted close in front of the mirror, his nose nearly touching the reflective surface, staring with that same terrorized expression. He ran his hands along his face, his hair, pinching and tugging at his skin, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again. Strangely enough, he didn’t seem all that concerned with the burns. He was mostly ignoring them, instead freaking out about his normal, healthy skin. Even stranger, he eventually moved on from his skin and began to check his pulse points. 

“You okay?” Vanessa asked, her words laced with confusion. 

“Have I been like this the whole time?” he asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the mirror. 

Vanessa frowned. “Been like what?”

“Alive.”

She watched him expectantly, as if she were waiting for him to elaborate. He did not. 

“Uh.” Mike watched, bewildered, as Michael lifted his shirt and began to press his hands against his stomach. “Yeah, you’ve been alive this whole time.”

Michael made a choked-off sound, backing away from the mirror until his back hit the wall.

“Are you not normally?” Mike questioned apprehensively.

Michael shook his head weakly.

Mike had to bite back a sigh. Of course.

They ended up ordering Wendy’s.

Dinner was awkward. Abby was still upset with Michael for being mean to her ‘friends,’ so she was eating dinner in Vanessa’s guest room, occasionally coming out to peek around the corner and shoot Michael dirty looks. The remaining three sat in silence, Mike glaring at Vanessa, Michael glaring at his food.

Mike couldn’t believe Vanessa didn’t tell him that Abby’s little friends were back. He thought they had gotten past the secret keeping bullshit when her father tried to murder them, but apparently not. Apparently she was still weirdly attached to the animatronics, because ‘Mike, they were just so nice to me as a kid.’

Vanessa refused to meet his eyes. She picked at her fries, occasionally glancing up at Michael, who repeatedly attempted to eat his food, then gagged and put it down before it even touched his mouth.

Mike wasn’t really sure if he believed Michael’s claims. On the one hand, Mike had met sentient animatronics possessed by the souls of children, who were psychically controlled by the man who killed them. Basically anything was possible. On the other hand, he had been dodgy and vague when he explained what happened. ‘Oh yeah, I died a little bit ago, I kinda possessed my own body, whatever. How does that work? Why did that happen? How did I die? Don’t worry about it.’ And to be completely honest, Mike still wasn’t fully convinced of the whole multiverse thing. He felt like that was step further than ghosts. Maybe this guy had gotten some crazy brain damage from the fire.

“Do I have to eat this?” Michael said, breaking the tense silence.

“Yes,” Vanessa said curtly. “You haven’t eaten in three days.”

“I haven’t eaten in forty years.”

She sighed, putting her head in her hands. “Y’know what, I’m going to bed,” she said, her chair screeching as she stood up. She pointed significantly at Michael. “Eat your food.”

He scowled, staring down at the fries like they killed his family as Vanessa left the room. Mike cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m going to bed too.”

“Okay.” He didn’t take his eyes off the food.

It took a bit to convince Abby to go to bed, and he could barely keep his eyes open by the time she settled into the bed next to him. He clumsily turned off the light, letting out a satisfied hum as he let his eyes fall closed. 

This wasn’t one of his normal dreams. He’d stopped trying to dream about Garrett every night because, well… he knew who killed him now. So now his dreams were pretty typical. Sure, he still dreamed about Garrett, but those dreams were sprinkled in with your average stress dream, dreams about the animatronics, about William Afton. This dream was not that.

It was pitch black. At first it didn’t feel like a dream at all, just darkness and silence, it felt like being asleep. But then he started to hear sounds. Mechanical whirring, dripping water, the clinking of metal on metal, fizzing and sparking electricity. He thought that this may be all of it, some strange, audio based dream that he would forget once he woke up. Then, just when he felt he might wake up, he heard a faint voice.

“Go forward,” the soft, almost timid, feminine voice seemed to cut through all the noise, even though it was barely above a whisper. Was it talking to him? He wasn’t really sure, but something about the voice made him want to listen. But he couldn’t move. He was an observer. But someone was listening to the voice. His heart jumped.

It was Michael. Dressed in a security guard outfit, hands clenched, creeping through the darkness. Though he didn’t look all that different than he did now, something was so fundamentally off. That creepy air that normally surrounded him was gone, leaving a normal looking… kid. He looked like a kid. 

“Stop,” the voice said again. Michael listened, his eyes wide. He held his breath, his hands trembling.

What was happening? Was he having a stress dream about Michael? Sure, he didn’t like the guy, but that seemed a little intense. And this felt so clear, just like his dreams about Garrett. This was a memory. Michael’s memory. Why the hell was he seeing Michael’s memories?

“Go forward and left.” Who was that voice? It seemed to be coming from Michael’s direction, maybe from a walkie-talkie? But, no, it was too clear, like whoever was speaking was in the room with them. But she wasn’t. Michael was alone, blind in the dark, shaking with fear. “Keep going.”

Why was he walking through the dark? Mike could see the flashlight strapped to his belt, yet he was relying on the voice to guide him. Seriously, who was she?

“Stop,” she said again, her voice hushed. “Be silent.” Her words were stretched out, punctuated. Michael squeezed his eyes shut. What was he so afraid of? Mike began to feel uneasy. With every action from Michael, every word from the voice, it felt more and more clear, something else was in the room with them. 

“Go forward and left.” There was no end to Mike’s questions. Where was she leading him? Michael’s feet pitter-pattered in the silence, the sounds of splashing underneath his footsteps. Was the floor wet? 

“Stop.” Where the hell was he?

“Go forward. You are almost there.” Almost where?! 

“Stop. She is right in front of you.” Mike’s heart dropped. He might have screamed if he had a voice. “Don’t. Move.”

What the hell was that thing?! Michael couldn’t seem to see it, and Mike wished he was in the same boat. The twisted mess of wires twitched, creeping towards Michael. It seemed vaguely humanoid, broken wires forming legs and arms, one eye embedded in its… face, a hinge mechanism where its mouth would be. Even without the ability to make an expression, Mike felt the emotions radiating off of it. It seemed excited. It trembled as it reached out towards Michael, some corrupted form of glee in each twitch of its body.

“He is here to help, Ballora. He is not here to hurt us.” The voice wasn’t talking to Michael anymore. The creature pulled its hand back, its glee turning to frustration. Ballora did not seem a fitting name for that thing. “Ballora… He is here to help us.”

It twitched violently before scuttling off to the right, disappointed. Why would it listen to the voice?

“Go forward again,” she said, back to speaking to Michael. “Ballora is behind you. She is afraid of the scooping room.” Sorry, what? What the hell is a scooping room? Michael tiptoed forward, his steps more hesitant than before. He bumped into something, a door, and scrambled to open it. There was a clunk as the door opened, Michael letting out a breath as it thudded closed behind him. He blinked in the dim light.

Mike studied the room, dread creeping up on him. This did not seem like a safe room. Empty animatronic shells littered the floor, not any that Mike recognized. There were two that looked a bit like Foxy and Freddy, but they were made of hard, shiny plastic, and their colors were bright and pastel. The room was barely lit, the only light source coming from high above, seemingly behind a fan, causing a disorienting flashing effect. There was a large window in the room, the other side invisible due to the dark. Most concerningly, there was a huge, metal arm, directly across from Michael.

“Warning,” a voice said. Not the guide from before, a masculine, mechanical voice. “You have entered a highly dangerous area. You have entered from Maintenance Hatch 1B, reserved for cleaning and repair of the scooper. Entering this side of the room is strictly prohibited by unauthorized personnel–”

The voice was sharply cut off, replaced by static. The relieved smile on Michael’s face had faded as the warning went on.

“You are in the scooping room now,” the feminine voice spoke again, her voice less timid than before. “Funtime Foxy has already been here today.”

Michael seemed to just now take in the room, eyes scanning the animatronic shells. 

“Funtime Freddy has already been here today.” Michael jumped, seemingly for no reason. Then Mike saw the thin metal wire snaked around his wrist, digging into his skin. Michael tugged at it, but it didn’t budge. “Ballora has already been here today.” Two more wires snaked around his ankles, trapping him in his spot. He tried to move his legs, becoming more and more panicked as the wires tightened.

The voice deepened, adding more significance to her words. “Circus Baby has already been here today.”

This, for some reason, made Michael freeze, his brows furrowing. Another wire wrapped around his other wrist as his face fell, his expression a mix of terror and a deep sadness.

“I’ve been out before,” the voice started again. “But they always put me back. They always put us back inside.”

Michael’s eyes flitted to the window, squinting out into the darkness.

“There’s nowhere for us to hide here. There is nowhere to go,” her voice sounded so sad, so broken. Michael’s eyes widened, and he began to squirm harder against the wire shackles, desperately kicking and scratching, like an animal caught in a snare. “...when we look like this.”

Mike followed his gaze, his heart dropping in the same way as when he saw the creature from before. It looked almost the same, but bigger, its limbs thicker. It had a plastic mask on, one silvery eye peeking through. It looked like some sort of clown mask, white skin, a party hat, a big red nose. 

“But if we looked like you,” the voice continued, taking a hopeful lilt. Was… was the voice coming from that thing? It sounded so human. “Then we could hide. If we looked like you, we would have somewhere to go.”

The thing paused, slightly backing away from the window. “The scooper only hurts for a moment.”

An alarm blared through the room, covering the sound of Michael’s yelled protests. He struggled against his bonds, screaming, wildly looking around the room.

Suddenly he stopped, his face becoming strangely peaceful. No, not peaceful, accepting. 

He frowned thoughtfully, slowly turning his head to look straight at Mike. His voice cut through the alarm.

“What are you doing here?”

Mike wanted to answer, but he had no voice.

The metal arm darted out.

Mike gasped, shooting up in bed. He was drenched in sweat, his breaths coming up short. He ran a hand down his face, trying to calm his speeding heartrate. Questions raced through his mind. Was that a real memory? If it was, what the hell? What were those weird, plasticy animatronics? What were those wire creatures? Why were they so human? What was that place? Why was Michael even listening to that thing? Why–

He was brought back from his thoughts by the sound of retching from another room. He swallowed, throwing his blankets off and creaked the door open slowly, trying not to wake up Abby. He shut it gently behind him, tiptoeing his way to the sound of the vomiting. The red light of the kitchen clock read 4:17 AM. 

He found his way to the bathroom, finding Michael bent over the toilet, sweat dripping down his face. 

“I shouldn’t have eaten that food,” he said, not looking up. Mike let out a faint laugh, then winced as Michael started to throw up again. Mike averted his gaze uncomfortably, unsure what to do.

“Uh…” he said as Michael began to cough. “I’ll get you some water.”

When he got back from the kitchen, Michael was standing in front of the sink, rinsing off his face with water. Mike couldn’t help comparing him to the Michael from the dream, so similar yet so different. Dream Michael was much more tan, freckles scattering his healthy, golden skin. The Michael now looked pale and sickly, his veins visible through his skin. His cheeks were more hollow, and he had dark, permanent looking eyebags. 

He took a small sip of the water, wincing as he swallowed it, then finally met Mike’s eye. His eyes were different, too, more dull.

“You were in my dream,” he said, his voice rough. Mike winced, nodding hesitantly. “Is that normal for you?”

“Not exactly.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Mike shrugged. “I get weird dreams sometimes, but I’ve never seen someone else’s dreams before.”

“And by weird dreams you mean…?”

Mike hummed, combing through his memories of those weird dreams. “It might be easier for me to just tell you everything that happened last year.”

Michael stared for a moment before sighing heavily. He grabbed the water off the counter and lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the tiles. “Okay, go ahead.”

Mike heaved himself up to sit on the counter, then launched into an explanation of his… adventure at Freddy’s. He told Michael about Garrett, about his dream theory, about getting the job at Freddy’s, about everything that happened there. Michael was, to put it lightly, not a very good listener. He interrupted every other sentence to express his outrage at Mike’s decisions, which was fair, but rude. He made snarky comments about Mike taking the job in the first place, he complained about how unfair it was that Mike slept through his first few days at the job, he made fun of Vanessa for activating the animatronic performance at night, he scolded Mike for bringing Abby there, he yelled about how much he hated William the moment he was brought up, and spent the rest of the story cursing him out under his breath.  

When Mike finished the story, Michael looked at him expectantly. “What happened next?”

“Uh,” Mike gave him a weird look. “I got a normal job, Vanessa recovered in the hospital and… now you’re here.”

“But what about William?”

“What about him? He’s dead.”

Michael stared. And stared. And stared. “And… how did he die?”

Mike looked at him incredulously. “The springlocks, I told you.”

And stared. And stared. Then he sighed deeply, dropped his head into his hands, and let out the most eardrum-shattering scream Mike had ever heard come from an adult. 

Mike smacked his hands over his ears. “What the hell!”

In the time it took for Mike to try and figure out what the fuck to do, the scream had devolved into Michael just groaning different variations of “why me” over and over again. 

The door smacked open and Vanessa stumbled in, taser in hand, hair sticking up in all different directions. “What is it, what’s going on?!”

Mike gestured wildly at Michael. “I have no idea! He just started screaming out of nowhere!”

Michael snapped his head up, glaring hard at him. “Oh, don’t act like I’m crazy, you guys are the crazy ones!”

“I’m not the one that started screaming my head off when I found out Afton died!”

“He isn’t dead, you fucking idiots!”

Vanessa gaped sleepily at them. She waved her hand around, slipping her taser into the pocket of her sleep pants. “Wait, wait, what’s happening?”

“The kids’ bodies were put in the suits, therefore they haunted the suits. Afton died in the fucking suit, therefore he haunts the suit!”

Mike’s heart dropped to his stomach. Cold dread filled his body. That couldn’t be right, could it? Why would that even happen?

He guessed the question was more why wouldn’t it happen. They did just kind of leave his body there. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even fully dead by the time they left. But who could survive that, right?

Oh God. Michael was right. They were fucking idiots.