Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fire. Merciless heat, scorching already useless limbs. Despite his dead skin, he can somehow feel the fire still. Burrowing into him with the heat, flames licking through his skin as the stench of rotting flesh is slowly replaced with the smell of smoke and charred remains. The fire’s heat radiated through him, burning into his very core and slowly melting his essence off of the mangled corpse it had been clinging to.

He’d felt worse, far worse. But it was still agony as his soul was finally ripped from his body. Someone was screaming. Was that him? He couldn’t tell. Just as the pain became unbearable, the world faded to black. Everything was suddenly still.

Free at last. He drifted in the blissful silence as the pain slowly faded away.

I did it, he thought. it’s over. We saved them. If he had lungs, he would’ve breathed a sigh of relief.

No.

Who was that?

You haven’t saved everyone.

What?

He had, though, hadn’t he? They were free. Not saved, exactly, but free. He still wished he could’ve done more. But he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.

Don’t give up. There’s still a chance it can all be undone.

….huh? Something tugged at his drifting soul, pulling it somewhere. He didn’t know how to stop it, but really, he was too tired to try.

It’s time to start the story over. Wake up, Micheal.

He shot up out of bed, breathing heavily. There was coarse carpet under his feet. He could feel the sheets still loosely clinging to him as they fell to the floor. He didn’t bother to pick them up. He had on soft clothes - his old favorite pair to sleep in - but after feeling next to nothing for so long, even the soft textures burned his skin.

He looked down at his hands. They were small and soft, and most importantly, healthy.

Mirror. He needed a mirror. He glanced around his room. Because this was his room, wasn’t it? His old room. He was back, somehow, but he filed that revelation away to deal with later.

Mirror first. He needed proof. He needed to know that he wasn’t just a corpse. He left the room and wandered into the bathroom, staring absentmindedly at his reflection.

Young, living skin. Soft brown hair and light eyes. He was alive. He was real. How was he alive? How was he back?

Micheal didn’t know how long he stared into that mirror. He kept expecting his skin to begin to decay, or to glimpse a wire poking out of his hair. But no. He was just a normal child.

Oh, he was a child. Oh, no. He was… what, twelve? The realization that he didn’t even know how old he was hit him in the chest. He stumbled back from the mirror, emotions swirling. As he stepped back, he bumped into a decorative plant. It fell to the floor with a loud clang.

“Mike?” a child’s voice called sleepily. The bathroom was sandwiched by two bedrooms: Micheal’s and his brother’s. The walls were thin enough for the clang to be heard through them.

“You okay, Mike?”

And oh, if that didn’t make him want to cry. “I’m okay, Evan,” he said as loudly as he dared. “Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay.”

Micheal bit his lip to suppress the sob building in his chest. He hadn’t heard the voice of his little brother in so long. He couldn’t - he didn’t - it was - he couldn’t deal with it. Not right now.

There was too much. His vivid memories, his brother’s voice… even just the sensation of being alive again. Regaining touch after it’d been gone for so long.

He didn’t know what to do. But he couldn’t stay there, standing in the bathroom, holding in tears. His chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Numbly, Micheal walked out of the bathroom and through the familiar rooms of his house. He felt like he was drifting through a dream. Or a nightmare. Maybe both, how was he to know?

He opened the front door and sat out on the porch. He just… needed a minute. Some peace. The cold morning air grounded him a little as he sat.

After a minute or so, a car pulled up to the house. Micheal looked up at it as a man climbed out of the front seat and came running over to him.

“...Henry?” Micheal asked, confused. They’d always been friendly, but he didn’t know what could’ve warranted the blatant concern on the older man’s face.

“Micheal,” Henry breathed, looking at him with far more guilt and pain than any sane man should be carrying around.

Oh. “You remember,” Micheal said. It wasn’t a question.

Henry nodded.

“How are you here?” Micheal asked. How did your soul get sent back? remained unasked.

Henry knew what he was getting at anyways. “I died in the fire, too,” he admitted. “Next thing I knew, I was here.”

Micheal nodded and pretended like the mention of the fire didn’t make his chest tight and his eyes water. “We’re back,” was all he managed to say. “We’re back.”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed hesitantly, sitting down next to Micheal on the front porch. He glanced at him sideways. “Can I touch you?”

Mike shrugged. He honestly didn’t know. Every sensation was tearing into his skin now that he could feel things again, but he wanted human contact so desperately. How long had it been since someone had touched him? Not since after he’d been scooped, at least.

Henry didn’t hug him, but he leaned over a little, letting their shoulders touch. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out. We know, now. We can save them.”

Mike just nodded tightly, not trusting himself to speak. His siblings, all of the other kids who died… they could stop it. They could end everything.

He gave in and rested his face on the older man’s shoulder, wrapping one arm around him in a pathetic excuse for a hug, not daring to overstep. “We’re back,” Mike repeated.

Henry pulled him close and gave him a proper hug. The contact burned for a moment, but it soon melted into warmth.

That was all it took for Micheal to break. “We can save them,” he said brokenly, trying not to cry on Henry’s shirt. “We can stop everything.”

“We can,” Henry affirmed, not letting go of the hug.

“I should be happy,” Micheal said, the tears beginning to slip through his lashes. “I should be grateful.”

Henry didn’t respond. Instead he just began to rub gentle circles on Mike’s back.

“But I’m… I’m not,” Micheal continued. He was openly crying now, quiet and messy, clinging to Henry like a lifeline. “I’m not. I’m just… I’m so tired, Henry.” He burrowed his face into Henry’s shoulder, like he could momentarily hide from the world. Hide from his past. Hide from his father. “I’m so, so tired.”

“I know,” Henry said softly and sadly, still rubbing Micheal’s back. “I know.”

Chapter Text

“First thing’s first,” Henry said decisively once Micheal had calmed down. “We need to get you all out of here.”

“Evan and Elizabeth, at least,” Micheal agreed. “I think it would be easier if we kept one inside man, though.”

Henry shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Listen,” Mike argued, “I know the layout, and I know what he’s planning. If I stayed, I could help–”

“No. You are a child, Mike.”

“No, I’m not,” he said softly. “I’m not a kid, Henry. I can do this.”

“You’re a kid now,” Henry pointed out.

Micheal gave him a rueful smile. “Not really. I still remember…” He shuddered, cutting off the thoughts of cold, hard metal squirming inside him. “I’m not a child,” he finally settled on. “Even before anything happened, I wasn’t a child. We might look it, but nobody in my family’s been a kid in a long time.”

Henry’s eyes were filled with sympathy, but he didn’t contradict Micheal. “I know. Even so, I’m not leaving you alone in the hands of the man who murdered you.”

“He never killed me,” Micheal protested weakly.

“His creations did. And do you really doubt that he would, if he had the chance?”

MIcheal remained silent. He knew William would kill him without hesitation. But it also would be an advantage to have someone in the house.

“We’re finding a way to get you out,” Henry repeated. “All of you.”

Seeing that this wasn’t a fight he could win, Micheal sighed. “Fine. How do you plan to do that?”

Henry shrugged. “We could call CPS on him.”

Micheal blinked. “But he hasn’t… killed any of us yet.”

Henry tilted his head and looked at Micheal. “You don’t need to kill your children to be an abusive parent,” he pointed out. “I’m sure he regularly does things that would count as abuse. If we tried, I could probably fight for custody.”

Micheal nodded, because he’d never assumed Henry wouldn’t try to take them in. “Maybe,” he allowed, unsure why the term abuse surprised him. His father was a serial killer, after all.. “But then what about everyone else he kills? He can keep moving forward even once we’re safe.”

“One thing at a time,” Henry said, sounding incredibly tired. “Are you okay with the CPS plan?”

“I… maybe. But we can’t do that yet,” Micheal said slowly. “I need to talk to my siblings first. We can’t just take them out of the house and toss them into a court without them understanding why. And it’ll probably take a while to convince them - Elizabeth especially.”

“Alright,” Henry said, standing up from the porch. “Do what you can. But if anything happens, I’m getting you out of there.”

Micheal nodded in agreement. That was fair.

“Is he home right now?” Henry asked.

Micheal shrugged. “His car isn’t in the driveway. So probably not.”

“Okay. As long as he’s not around, you’re free to call me any time. For anything. It doesn’t have to be related to any of… this,” Henry said, gesturing to himself and Micheal as a whole. “Just let me know when your father gets back, so I don’t accidentally call when he’s around.”

“Alright,” Micheal said, standing up too. “Thanks, Henry.”

“Of course, Mike,” Henry replied. “I’m going to go figure out what day and year it is, so we can figure out what to stop first.”

Oh, yeah, that was a good idea. He’d totally forgotten that he didn’t even know what year it was.

Henry was still standing in the driveway uncertainly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Seriously. Call me.”

“I will,” Micheal promised. He turned and opened the front door, realizing Henry wouldn’t leave until Micheal left first. “Bye, Henry.”

He was startled when Henry placed a warm hand on his shoulder. It was heavy and comforting, and the heat of it was a reminder that it was alive. He hadn’t been touched by something that wasn’t metal in forever. Just like how everything he touched seemed to tingle - a side effect of not being able to feel anything for years and then suddenly being reintroduced to texture, he assumed - the hand prickled and burned. But it was worth it for the warmth that seemed to spread all along his shoulder.

“Good luck, Mike,” Henry said softly. “No matter what happens, I’m proud of you.”

Micheal just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Damn, apparently his weakness was positive affirmation. He stepped inside the house, pulling away from Henry before the hand on his shoulder could begin to burn too much.

He shut the door behind him. Henry would understand why he couldn’t quite say ‘goodbye’ again. Henry always seemed to understand.

Micheal took a deep breath and collected himself. Time to get to work. After all, he had a job to do.

Chapter Text

“Mike?” Evan asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Micheal froze, his hand still on the now closed door. “Hey, Evan,” he said quietly. “I thought I told you to go back to sleep.”

“Mhm,” his little brother replied with a yawn. “But I woke back up.” Evan looked up at Michael suddenly. “You’re not mad, right?”

Something in his heart shattered. Was Evan asking that because the old Micheal would’ve been mad at him? It was so long ago, Micheal couldn’t remember. He remembered being frustrated a lot, and feeling alone, and getting into fights at school. Maybe he was the kind of person to yell at his brother for not going back to sleep.

Whatever the case, he didn’t have to be that kind of brother now. “I’m not mad,” Micheal promised.

“Okay,” Evan said, reassured. “Why were you outside?”

Micheal hesitated, then settled on, “It’s nice outside. It’s calm, you know? It feels like I haven’t really been outside in… a long time.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his little brother, so innocent and young, still clutching his Fredbear plushie.

Evan blinked, tilting his head and looking at his brother. “Are you okay, Mikey?”

Micheal nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. Why?”

“You’re crying,” Evan said, stretching out his tiny hand to point at the tears on Micheal’s cheeks.

“Oh.” He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes and face. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. The sensation felt unfamiliar. Alien. But he couldn’t figure out how to make it stop, so he stood there numbly, unsure of himself. It was only a few hours into the day, and he’d already cried twice. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Why?” Evan asked innocently, concern in his eyes.

Micheal laughed wetly. “I don’t know. I missed you, I guess.” Miss was an understatement - seeing Evan alive felt like both freedom and a weight on his chest. Like he was torn between the ache of mourning and the joy of living.

“Well, that’s silly,” Evan said, running up to Micheal and wrapping his arms around him. “I’m right here.”

“You are,” Micheal agreed, tears still streaming from his eyes. He placed his arms around Evan carefully, like if he held him too tightly, he might die again. “My brain is just dumb like that sometimes.”

“Okay,” Evan hummed, accepting the explanation. Stranger things had happened in the Afton family, he supposed. “Here.” Evan pulled out of the hug and handed Micheal Fredbear. “He helps me when I’m crying,” Evan explained. “So I figure he’ll help you, too.”

“Thanks, Evan,” Micheal said. He accepted the plushie and wiped off the rest of his tears with his free hand.

“You’re welcome!” Evan chirped.

Micheal laughed. “You seem like you’re in a good mood today,” he said, leading Evan into the kitchen.

“Yeah, well,” Evan shrugged. “I’m sorry that you’re sad. But I’m glad that you’re not very angry. I don’t really like it when you’re angry,” he admitted, like he was confessing a big secret.

Micheal sighed. “I don’t like it when I’m angry either, bud.”

“Is that just your brain being dumb, too?” Evan asked curiously. He stood on his toes to open a cupboard and pulled out a few cups. It was a familiar morning routine, and Micheal fell back into it seamlessly.

“Yeah,” Micheal replied, searching for the tea kettle. “It is.”

“I figured,” Even said as he handed Micheal the cups. “I didn’t think you wanted to be angry on purpose. That’s okay, I know you don’t mean the things you do when you’re angry.”

“I’m glad you know. I’m sorry I don’t apologize enough for it.” Micheal avoided Evan’s eyes, instead choosing to fill the kettle with water.

“You don’t have to,” Evan hummed, grabbing a couple tea bags. “You always look like you feel bad after. And then you do nice things for me, so I know you’re not mad at me. What are you mad at, Mikey?”

Micheal hesitated. “I don’t know.”

But Evan was sharp. “Yes, you do.”

Micheal smiled and ruffled Evan’s hair. “I do,” he admitted. “I’m mad at life. And then I’m mad that when I’m mad, I hurt people.”

“But you don’t mean to,” Evan protested.

“I still do, though,” Micheal countered, fixing the tea.

Evan chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “Maybe you do,” he said quietly. “But you don’t want to hurt people, and then you try to fix it after. That’s what counts, right? That you try to fix it?”

Damn it, his eyes were watering again. At this point he was going to become a shriveled up prune with the amount of water he was losing.

“I guess.”

Evan frowned. “Mikey?”

“Yeah?” Micheal asked, placing the cups at their assigned spots at the table.

“Are you crying because your brain is telling you that fixing it doesn’t count?”

“Have you always been this perceptive?” Micheal asked, sidestepping the question and scrubbing his face again.

Evan grinned. “Yes.” Then, more seriously, “It’s okay, I’ll keep telling you until your brain believes me.”

“Thanks, bud,” Micheal said.

“Anytime!”

“Where should I put Fredbear?” Micheal asked, moving on to a safer topic.

Evan rolled his eyes. “I’m not a toddler. You don’t have to treat him like he’s alive.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Micheal joked. “What are you, five?”

Evan gasped indignantly. “I’m nine!”

“Oh, of course, silly me,” Micheal said. Inwardly, though, he was calculating. So that meant Elizabeth was ten, and he was fourteen. So it was 198…3?

Okay. That was… not great. He’d have to talk to Henry sooner rather than later.

“So do you want Fredbear to have his own chair or not?” Micheal asked, fighting to drag himself back to the present before he got caught in memories.

Evan sighed. “He can have his own chair. But I’m not a baby.”

“Of course not,” Micheal agreed diplomatically. He placed Fredbear at the empty spot at the table, where William would normally sit.

Evan eyed him suspiciously, not quite believing the baby comment, but moved on. “What’re we eating?”

“Um…” Micheal rummaged through the pantry. “Looks like we’re out of everything but cereal.”

“The good cereal?” Evan asked excitedly.

“No,” Micheal said apologetically. “Looks like it’s Raisin Bran for breakfast, bud. Will you get the spoons for me?”

“Aw.” Evan wilted a little, but he got the spoons obediently.

A soft set of footsteps and a stifled yawn alerted Micheal to Elizabeth entering the room.

“Hi,” she said tiredly, sliding into her seat. “What’s for breakfast?”

“All we have is Raisin Bran,” Micheal informed her.

“Aw.”

“That’s what I said!” Evan agreed.

“That’s really all we have?” Elizabeth asked, sipping her tea.

“Yep,” Micheal said after double checking the pantry.

Ever the practical one, she asked, “What’re we going to do about other meals and stuff until Father gets back, then?”

Micheal shrugged. What did he normally do when this kind of thing happened? Sometimes William wouldn’t come back for more than four days on his little ‘inspiration trips’. If this was one of those times, he’d need to go shopping. “We’ll figure it out. Do you remember how long Father said he’d be gone?”

Elizabeth scrunched her nose, trying to remember. “Three days, I think.”

Great. “We could walk down to the store later,” Micheal suggested. “I don’t have much money on me, though.” Maybe he could find some in William’s study or something.

“That walk takes so long,” Evan protested.

“And it’s hot,” Elizabeth agreed.

“We could call Henry and ask him to bring us groceries,” Micheal said. “That would work.”

Elizabeth frowned. “But Father said not to talk to Uncle Henry while he’s away.”

Oh. Right. In retrospect, that was probably because William didn’t want Henry to know that he left his three children alone for extended periods of time.

“It’s for food, though,” Micheal reasoned. “Willi- Father wouldn’t want us to starve.”

Thankfully, nobody noticed his slip-up. Elizabeth appeared to be contemplating the suggestion. Eventually, convenience won out over loyalty. “Okay. Let’s not tell Father we talked to Uncle Henry, though.”

“Okay,” Evan said agreeably. He didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to eat Raisin Bran again.

He didn’t want to bring it up, but he would have to eventually. And by the sound of it, he had about three days to convince his siblings to live with Henry. So he’d have to get started.

“Speaking of Henry…,” Micheal began. “We need to talk about something.”

“Does this have anything to do with why you were crying this morning?” Evan asked in between bites of Raisin Bran.

“Mikey was crying this morning?” Elizabeth asked, disbelieving.

“No.”

“Yes, he was!” Evan exclaimed.

“Snitch,” Micheal told him, ruffling his hair to show he didn’t mean it.

“Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked, eyes wide with concern.

“I’m okay, Lizzie,” Micheal promised. “I was just thinking. It would… I… don’t you think… ugh,” he finally said, resting his head on the table. He couldn’t figure out how to say it.

“You good?” Evan checked.

“All good,” Micheal said, his voice muffled by the table. “Trying to phrase it right.”

“Alright then.” Evan went back to shoveling cereal in his face.

Micheal lifted his head back up. “How do you guys feel about staying at Henry’s for a while?”

Evan shrugged. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” she asked.

“Um…” Abort, abort– “Never mind. We’ll talk about it later. What do you guys want to do today?”

Elizabeth eyed him warily, but let the subject drop. “Can we go for ice cream?”

Do you want some ice cream?

All he could hear was his sister’s voice, warped and staticy, the voice box made of steel instead of flesh. Vivid memories of cold metal flashed before his eyes. A glinting metal scoop, covered in warm blood. Wires crawling all over him, wanting to kill him, wanting to be him, wearing him–

“Let’s, um,” Micheal said shakily, gripping the table hard enough to hurt, hoping it would ground him in the present, “Let’s do something else.”

Evan and Elizabeth glanced at each other nervously.

“Are you okay, Mikey?” Evan asked, for maybe the twentieth time that day.

He reached out to put a hand on his older brother’s arm, but Micheal flinched back. “Yeah,” he said, struggling to keep his breathing even as he remembered the feeling of his organs being ripped out of his body. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Micheal stood up and darted out of the room, ignoring the concerned looks his siblings were giving him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be there.

He just… couldn’t. Couldn’t anything. It was too much, his memories were too loud. The ghosts of living people were stuck in his head. His world was spinning. He realized his breath was coming too fast, but how could it when he didn’t have any lungs?

Wait, no, that wasn’t right.

He didn’t know anymore. But who could he talk to? He needed… something. He needed…

Henry, he realized as he began to spiral further into the horrors in his mind.

He needed to call Henry.

Chapter Text

The home phone. He needed to find the home phone. Distantly, he felt himself walking down the hallway, but it felt like he was dreaming.

Was he dreaming? Was this a dream? Had any of it even been real?

No. No spiraling yet. Dial the number first, Micheal. You can panic after you dial the number.

He found the phone and picked it up, punching Henry’s number. House phone in hand, Micheal slid against the wall until he was sitting on the floor. Thankfully, the phone’s stretchy cord was just long enough for him to hold it comfortably while sitting.

The phone only rang once before Henry picked up. “Hello?”

“Henry,” Micheal rasped, well and truly panicking now. He was fighting a losing battle to the memories. With every quick, shallow breath it was like he could still feel the metal inside him, twisting and expanding.

“Mike,” Henry said through the phone, “You’re panicking.”

“No shit,” Micheal wheezed even as the memories finally overtook him.

All he could see was that metal scoop. The wires shifted, squeezing where his lungs should’ve been. He felt empty, hollowed out, even as the creature in him burrowed deeper and stretched his skin, struggling to fit. He could feel his warm blood coating the wires. He could feel as the blood slowly grew cold.

He was dead, he realized in horror. Dead, but not free. Never free from the agony, the pain, the terrifying metal parasite always shifting inside his hollow skin. He never managed to slip into unconsciousness, always forced to be fully aware of the horror of his body as his flesh slowly decayed.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs to make a sound. Vaguely, he registered that he had lungs, which seemed… wrong. He shouldn’t have those still.

Wait. No. He wasn’t dead anymore, right?

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but darkness was threatening to creep up on him. Micheal realized he was going to pass out if he didn’t manage to stop hyperventilating. He couldn’t afford to pass out, his siblings were in the other room.

That wasn’t enough to clear his head, but it was enough to shake off most of the memories. He shook the ringing from his ears and brought the phone back up, trying to focus on Henry’s voice.

“Micheal!” Henry was saying. “Mike, can you hear me?”

Micheal couldn’t respond to tell him, but he managed to hitch his breath a little.

That was all Henry needed. “Okay, good.”

After Micheal died the first time, this had happened before while Henry was around. Not often, because Micheal didn’t seek Henry out very much. But during the last year, when they were plotting together to kill William and free the other souls, they’d been around each other a lot.

Henry had learned firsthand how to calm Micheal down - something that needed doing often. And ever since the pieces of remnant stuck inside him managed to heal him from a mangled corpse to a less mangled corpse with the occasional heartbeat and working lungs, hyperventilating had been a problem.

So Micheal allowed himself to slowly relax as Henry instructed him through it, letting himself go through the motions. Listening as Henry continually reminded him that he was alive, that William wasn’t there, that they had a plan. It took longer than he would’ve liked, but he eventually calmed down.

After sitting on the line in silence for a minute, Henry ventured, “Can I ask what started this?”

Micheal laughed, but it was bitter and weak. “Ice cream. I freaked out over Lizzie asking for ice cream. How sad is that?”

“It was a traumatic event, Mike,” Henry reminded him gently. “You don’t have to be okay about it.”

But he did. He’d gone through so much worse. He’d endured decades of agony, he’d pushed through, and he’d come all the way back to the beginning. He couldn’t afford to keep breaking down over stupid, everyday things.

“I gotta go,” he said instead. “William’s going to be gone for a few more days, by the way. Can you pick us up some groceries?”

“Micheal, don’t hang up on me.”

“Thanks,” Micheal said, pushing himself up off of the floor, fully intending to hang up the phone.

“Who’re you talking to?” Evan asked innocently, stepping into the hallway with Elizabeth in tow.

Micheal desperately hoped that his face had already erased all traces of the panic attack. “Just Uncle Henry,” he promised. “I was asking him to get us food for later.”

Evan blinked, staring Micheal down. “You’re a bad liar,” he finally announced. “We wanna talk to Henry.”

Elizabeth nodded in support.

“Um… okay,” Micheal said, handing the phone to his little brother. Hopefully this wouldn’t turn into a disaster.

“Hi Uncle Henry!” Evan said cheerfully, angling the phone so everyone could hear Henry answer.

“Hi, Evan,” Henry said lightly. “How are you?”

“I had Raisin Bran today,” Evan told him, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “You’ll get us food, though, right?”

“Of course,” Henry promised.

“Okay, good.” Then Evan frowned, his face flipping from happy to serious. “Why did Mikey call you?”

Oh, no. This was going to turn into a disaster.

“Um…” There was silence on the other side of the phone.

Elizabeth grabbed the phone from Evan, who stepped back to let her take over the conversation. “You’re not going to tell us,” she accused. She whirled around to face Micheal. “And you’re not going to tell us why ice cream scared you, either.”

“I… it didn’t-” Micheal protested weakly. “How did-”

“You were gone for a while,” Elizabeth told him. “We were worried. So we listened from the hall doorway.”

“That’s called eavesdropping, and it’s rude,” Micheal told them, trying to change the topic.

Elizabeth shrugged, unrepentant. “You’re not ever going to tell us anything otherwise. Like you never tell us about what happens at school.”

“Nothing happens at school.”

Elizabeth frowned at him. “We could see the bruises. We’re not blind. Now stop interrupting and let me talk.”

Wisely, Micheal shut his mouth.

“You’ve been weird the entire morning,” Elizabeth told him, still frowning. “And you called Uncle Henry. You never call anybody. And ran from the room, and you were breathing too fast while you were on the phone. The way Evan does sometimes.”

Micheal turned to Evan, aghast. Since when did Evan have panic attacks? “When does this happen?”

Evan shrugged. “I have bad dreams, sometimes. It’s okay, Elizabeth lets me stay with her.”

“You can always come to me,” Micheal promised.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Evan said quietly.

“You can wake me up,” Micheal replied. “Trust me, it’s good to be around someone who gets it.”

“We’re not changing the subject,” Elizabeth intervened. “And see? You’re doing it again. You’re being weird.”

“Yeah, because I just found out my little brother regularly has panic attacks and I had no idea!” Micheal protested. “Obviously I’m going to be worried!”

“Oh, is that what it’s called?” Evan asked.

“Henry,” Elizabeth said into the phone, “We’re going to talk to Micheal now. Thanks for being there for him.”

“No problem,” Henry said. “I’m here for the rest of you too, if you need me. Bye now.”

He hung up, leaving Micheal alone to deal with his two very upset and confused siblings.

Traitor.

Elizabeth put the phone back in its rack. “You’re being weird, Mike,” she said again, getting back on track.

“How am I being weird?” It was a genuine question, actually. He didn’t know. It’s not like he knew how to act like a child again - he was in his thirties.

It seemed like Elizabeth didn’t really know either, because she didn’t have a reply for a while. “You’re being open,” she said eventually.

“Really,” Micheal deadpanned.

“Well, not open,” Elizabeth said, frustrated. “But you’re not doing the whole… every emotion is a weakness, especially affection thing you normally do. I mean, you always were nicer when Father’s gone. And you would ruffle our hair and make our food and stuff. But Evan told me you were crying, and you hugged him.”

Oh. Now that he thought about it, he did remember doing that. The only thing he allowed himself to feel was anger, because that one he couldn’t help. But everything else he tended to shut down.

Yeah, it would be weird for them that he was suddenly crying and attached to them, wouldn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” Micheal said.

“No, the hug was nice,” Evan cut in. “You can keep doing that.”

“But not the scared thing,” Elizabeth told him. “Why are you so scared? Why do you keep crying? What’s going on? What are you afraid of?”

Micheal bit his lip, using the pain to push his emotions down. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Elizabeth said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “We’re siblings. We’re supposed to stick together.”

Micheal just stared at her sadly.

Elizabeth’s anger dissipated, replacing itself with worry. “You keep doing that too,” she said quietly. “Looking at us like you’re about to lose us.”

Evan slipped his hand into Micheal’s. “We’re not dumb, Mikey. Something happened.”

Micheal could feel his resolve crumbling as his brother’s wide eyes refused to leave his own. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he admitted quietly.

“Why wouldn’t we notice?” Elizabeth demanded. “We’re around you all the time. You’re the one who feeds us and takes us places and watches us when Father’s gone. We’re always watching you.”

Evan nodded in agreement. “And we’ve been watching you even more for a week-ish,” he admitted. “You and Father got in that fight, remember? You haven’t been talking to us since.”

He did vaguely remember that fight, actually. He remembered walking around in a daze for weeks afterwards. That fight was over his grades at school. Micheal had talked back to William, saying the only reason his grades were so bad was because he spent all his time keeping their home together while William hid away.

That was the first time he’d been hit by his father.

Of course he had to come back during that week. Of course he had to be here while his siblings were on high alert.

He sighed. Maybe he could use this, though. It was at least more believable than “hey guys I’m actually thirty and I time traveled back to stop our father from becoming a serial killer and stuffing you both into metal suits to harvest your soul-metal and live forever!”

Yeah. That probably wouldn’t fly.

“Okay,” Micheal gave in.

“Okay, you’ll tell us?” Evan asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Micheal said wearily. “I’ll tell you some.”

“Not all,” Elizabeth noted.

“Not right now,” Micheal compromised. He would probably tell them eventually. But hopefully not until everything was over. Not until they were older.

Elizabeth nodded, like this was an acceptable deal.

It would’ve been more comfortable for them to go to the living room, but instead, the three Afton children sat in a circle on the hallway floor.

Micheal took a deep breath. Evan - who had never removed his hand from Micheal’s grip - squeezed his hand a little.

“So. That fight earlier this week,” Micheal began. “It was bad.”

His siblings gave him their full attention.

“We argued for a while,” Micheal continued. “About dumb things. My grades, mostly. A little bit about you guys. I told Father that he… needed to be around more. Needed to help around the house, maybe, or help make dinner or something.”

Micheal didn’t dare look at their faces now. He took another breath and finished telling the story. “Obviously, he didn’t like that. So… he hit me. A lot. And then he showed me how to cover up the bruises.”

All the money in the world couldn’t induce Micheal to meet his sibling’s eyes. “And now that he’s done it once… He’ll probably do it again. I just. I don’t want him to do it to you guys, and I’m scared that he will. That he’ll hurt all of us and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Silence. Nobody said a word, nobody hardly even breathed.

“Father… beat you,” Elizabeth clarified finally.

Micheal stared at the floor, ashamed. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“You didn’t tell us?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” he admitted.

Both siblings, in sync, hugged him tight.

He knew it hadn’t gone unnoticed that he didn’t explain his recent freak out. He knew they wanted to know the rest of the story. And honestly? It scared him that they believed him so easily, that it wasn’t surprising William would beat his own child.

But for the moment, he let himself melt into the hug. Just for a little bit.

Chapter Text

“Not now, Henry, I have things to do,” Micheal said, dismissing the older man.

“You’re staring at a blank piece of paper,” Henry pointed out.

Micheal scowled. Okay, so Henry wasn’t wrong, but it was rude to point it out. He was sitting cross legged outside William’s study, a notepad in his lap and a pencil in hand. For the past hour or so, he’d been trying to figure out how to get into William’s locked study without anybody noticing.

Micheal couldn’t pick locks, so he’d given up on that. Now he was just sitting with his notebook, trying to figure out when and where William killed the first five kids. Sure, he had to stop Elizabeth and Evan from dying before that, but it would be good to have some sort of plan.

Henry continued to insist they just tell the authorities. That would be fine, but honestly? William was probably too stubborn to stay down. Even if they managed to get out of William’s custody, they’d still have to deal with the fact that he was a murderous psycho.

Plus, what if leaving made William kill people faster? Micheal had to be prepared.

“What’re you trying to do?” Henry asked, not unkindly.

Micheal sighed. “I’m trying to prepare. I know what happened to Elizabeth, and I was there for Evan’s death, but I don’t really know how to prevent the other five.” He made a face and added, “If there were only five. There could’ve been more, actually. And I don’t know when or who he killed for all the other animatronics later on at Circus Baby’s. Plus, he’s definitely about to kill some people, because we’re super close to the time when Elizabeth died.”

Henry nodded. “It’s a lot,” he admitted. “Remember that you’ve got an adult here to help, yeah?”

“I’m an adult,” Micheal grumbled.

Henry pointedly looked him up and down.

“Mentally,” Micheal protested.

Henry shrugged. “You have the memories of your adult self. But are you an adult still? Mentally, I mean?”

Micheal blinked. Wait. What? “Um…”

Henry shrugged. “Just something to think about.”

Micheal shook his head. He would not be thinking about it, actually, thank you very much. “Henry. Seriously. You can’t just drop something like that on someone.” Except now he was thinking about it. Great. Was he actually viewing things with his adult mind? What was the difference, if there was one? “That’s actually making my head hurt.”

“Sorry,” the older man said apologetically. “Kind of a perspective shattering thing to drop from nowhere, huh?”

“A little,” Micheal agreed. He frowned. “Shit, Henry, am I a kid?”

Henry shrugged again. “Maybe?”

“Shit,” Micheal repeated, immediately beginning to compare his current thought processes to his old ones and trying to figure out if the differences were because he used to be way more dead and completely on his own, or because he was now in the body of a fourteen year old. “Fuck.”

“Language,” Henry admonished.

Michael glared.

“Sorry,” Henry said, ducking his head. “Habit.”

“Yeah, so I’m not going to deal with that right now,” Micheal decided, standing up and letting the notepad drop to the floor. “Let’s…” He sighed and rubbed his face. What did he have to do now? What was next?

Oh. Right. The murders of his siblings. That was something he could probably fix, at least. Hopefully. And maybe even before William got back.

“Micheal,” Henry said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Micheal frowned. “Huh?”

“We’ve only been back for half a day,” Henry reminded him. “We have time. You’ve accomplished a lot already.”

“What, exactly, have I accomplished?” Micheal snapped.

“You aren’t dead anymore,” Henry offered. “And your siblings know you were being abused.”

“Oh, yes, because two little kids realizing their older brother gets hit a lot is a good thing,” Michael said sarcastically, glazing right over the not dead thing. He didn’t know how to process that just yet.

“It is,” Henry reminded him calmly, thankfully also dropping the dead topic. “You’ve got them one step closer to getting out of William’s hands.”

That… was true, actually. “Right,” Micheal said, nodding slowly. “True.”

“Yep,” Henry told him. “So. I’m going to go take Evan and Elizabeth shopping. You are going to - have you eaten anything today?”

Evan and Elizabeth had, but he hadn’t touched his cereal. “....no,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Henry said with a sigh. “Eat something. And you should probably drink something too. Do that, and I’ll help you get into William’s study once I get back.”

“What, do you have a key or something?” Micheal asked.

“No. I can pick his lock, though. We should probably teach you how to do that too,” Henry said.

Micheal glanced at the locked study. “I feel like that should probably take priority,” he protested. “I mean, we could learn so much.”

Henry stared him down. “Food first.”

Micheal stared right back. “Priorities.”

Henry sighed, looking for all the world like the tired dad he used to be. “Don’t fight me on this, Micheal. We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t start taking care of yourself.”

“I didn’t last time,” Micheal pointed out.

“And look how last time turned out,” Henry countered. “Please, kid. We have another shot. Let’s make it count, okay?”

As if Micheal could say no to those pleading eyes. Ugh. He’d always had a weak spot for adult’s approval. “Fine.”

Henry smiled. “Thank you, Mike.”

That did not give Micheal a warm, fuzzy feeling. He didn’t need Henry’s approval. Or his gratitude. Nope. Because he was a full grown adult who did not need a father figure.

“Oh, yeah, we don’t have food, though,” Micheal pointed out, following Henry to the kitchen.

“You have cereal.”

Micheal wrinkled his nose. “We don’t even have the good cereal.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “The good cereal?”

Yeah. The super unhealthy, cheap, sugary kind. The only acceptable cereal. The - oh, wait. “Shit.”

Henry frowned.

“Shoot,” Micheal amended.

Henry nodded in approval.

“Gosh freaking darn,” Micheal added for good measure. “I’m a literal child, Henry.”

“I’m aware,” Henry replied. “What sparked that revelation?”

“I want sugary cereal,” Micheal told him with a full body shudder. “Ugh. I can’t remember the last time that even sounded remotely appealing.”

Henry laughed at Micheal’s plight.

“It’s not funny,” Micheal protested. “Oh, my gosh, I’m a child. Henry,” he said, very seriously, waiting for the older man to give him his full attention, “I despise Raisin Bran with every fiber of my being.”

“Noted,” Henry said, searching for literally any other food.

“I can’t even tell if I want better food because that’s what I wanted when I was this age, so that’s what my body craves, or if it’s actually just me. What if you’re right? Am I mentally a kid now? How does that even work? What if –”

“Hey,” Henry said, cutting Micheal off before he could start to spiral into a full blown identity crisis. “One problem at a time. And even if you are younger, which I’m not necessarily saying you are, you’re still incredibly mature for a fourteen year old. Okay? Either way, we’re in this together. You’re not useless just because you’re a kid.”

Mutely, Micheal nodded.

“However,” Henry added, “I do have some bad news.”

“Yeah?”

“We only have Raisin Bran.”

“Shit-”

Henry raised an eyebrow.

“-Ttake mushrooms.”

“Don’t curse in front of your siblings, at least,” Henry suggested.

“Sure,” Micheal said, accepting the compromise.

“Okay. I’m going to take the other two to the store now,” Henry said. “Finish your breakfast. And… nap, or something. We’ll figure out what to do with William when I get back, okay?”

Micheal nodded. “And, Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to bring up the CPS thing,” Micheal told him. That was one responsibility, at least, he was willing to shirk from. He wouldn’t be able to get through that conversation, that he knew for sure. “So. If you want to, you can do that.”

“I’ll bring it up on the ride over,” Henry promised.

“Thanks,” Micheal said, relieved.

“Thank you for trusting me to help you,” Henry shot back, completely serious. “Don’t let that be a one time thing.”

“Okay,” Micheal said. Henry’s praise did not make him want to cry. Words of affirmation were not Micheal’s weakness, and whoever said otherwise was a blatant liar.

Damn. He really was a kid, huh.

Chapter Text

Micheal forgot to eat.

Okay, correction, he didn’t want to eat. He drank water to appease the hunger, but it’d been so long since he’d actually really eaten something.

After all, you don’t need to eat if you don’t have a stomach.

He stared at the cereal bowl, watching it go soggy for a while before he finally admitted to himself there was no way he was going to eat it. He could feel things again now, and even the thought of putting something in his mouth made his entire body tingle like it was shouting NOPE.

So. No food for a while. He’d have to eat eventually, but soggy cereal was a definite no. Maybe he’d get lucky and Henry would bring back juice or something. Ooh, or maybe crackers. Crunchy things would probably be fine.

Micheal filed that away as a future problem.

Coming back from the dead into a fourteen year old version of himself and being smacked in the face with sudden sensory issues hadn’t been on his bucket list. But who was he to complain? At least he had senses now.

He dumped the soggy cereal down the sink and prayed Henry wouldn’t notice. He could probably eat the cereal dry, but again, the thought of putting literally anything in his mouth… ugh. He’d try again later.

Micheal figured he had maybe an hour to himself. And he definitely could’ve spent the time trying to get into William’s office or something. Or…

Curse his tiny little tired kid’s body. This was ridiculous. But the house was empty, he’d had water, and he was tired from the, like, three breakdowns he’d already had. He felt weirdly safe, even though he’d never been safe while he was in that house.

So. He decided to take a nap.

He really needed one, okay? He was stubborn, but not that stubborn. Probably. But even he couldn’t ignore how weary he felt from just existing. He didn’t know if it was because he was emotionally tired, or if he was still adjusting to having a living, breathing body again. Maybe both.

Either way, after warring with himself for a minute or so, trying to decide if he was actually going to sleep or not, he gave in. Micheal dragged himself to his bed and flopped onto it, too tired to care about how the covers felt like sandpaper against his skin. He just pulled the blankets off his bed and curled up, falling asleep without covers.

The nap was totally worth it.

He woke up to Evan poking his side. “Mikey. Mikey. Mikey.”

Micheal rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah?” he asked, yawning.

“Henry said not to wake you up but I had to because Mikey I have so much to tell you wegotsomuchstuffatthestoreandthenUncleHenrysaid-”

“Evan,” Micheal said gently, sitting up, “I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

His little brother was grinning, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Uncle Henry took us shopping. We got all sorts of stuff, and that was fun, and then he bought us smoothies, and that was great too, oh yours is in the kitchen but I think it melted, and then –” Evan paused and took a breath before continuing, “and then uncle Henry said we could live with him, and Lizzie got a weird look on her face, but I think it would be a good idea, because then you wouldn’t have to be around Father!”

Micheal blinked. “Huh?”

“I got a new dad,” Evan said seriously, looking Micheal dead in the eyes. “Lizzie did too, but she doesn’t know it yet. And uncle Henry said crying is a normal human reaction.”

Micheal was a little lost. “Um.”

“C’mon, your smoothie is on the table,” Evan said, grabbing Micheal by the arm and pulling him out of bed. “Let’s go. And you have to tell Lizzie she’s being dumb.”

“It’s not nice to call people dumb,” Micheal said, still half asleep.

Evan snickered. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“Hey,” Micheal said in mock offense, allowing himself to be pulled into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mike,” Henry greeted. He was putting various snacks in the cabinets. “Did you finish your breakfast while we were gone?”

Micheal froze. Lie, you dumbass, he screamed at himself. You’re great at lying. You lied all the time back when you were dead! It’s literally just Henry, he’ll drop it if you lie!

“..........no.”

Henry didn’t seem very surprised. “Okay. Any specific reason, or were you just not hungry?”

Well, that was not the reaction Micheal had been expecting. Of course Henry was being understanding. It didn’t make a ton of sense to Micheal, but Henry and William had always had completely different parenting styles.

Micheal realized Henry was still waiting for him to answer. “Oh. Um. Just. Dumb reasons?”

“Hey,” Evan said, tugging at Micheal’s arm. “You just said it’s mean to call people dumb.”

“I’m not, I’m calling the reasons dumb,” Micheal countered. “Not the same thing.”

“Definitely the same thing,” Evan told him in that steadfast, undebatable way that little kids sometimes have.

“I agree, Evan,” Henry said kindly. Micheal would’ve glared at him, but Evan was beaming so brightly that Micheal let it slide. “So, what’re your dumb reasons?” Henry asked. “Then maybe we can find something you can eat.”

Micheal appreciated Henry saying “can” instead of “will”. Then again, they’d known each other for long enough - Henry knew Micheal wasn’t ever difficult unless he had a reason to be.

“Um.” Literally nobody was making a big deal out of it - because it really, really wasn’t a big deal - but Micheal still felt like everyone was staring at him. “The texture,” he admitted.

“Okay. Is that something you deal with a lot?”

Wow, William would’ve just told him to deal with it. Honestly, Micheal had expected the conversation to end there. “Not normally,” Micheal said. Then he thought about it, and added, “it… might be. From now on. For a while.”

Micheal could practically see Henry connect the dots as he paused. “Okay,” he said simply after a moment. “I got you a smoothie. You don’t have to drink it.” He picked up a cup that had been sitting on the table and handed it to Micheal.

“Thanks,” Micheal said. He glanced around. “Where’s Lizzie?”

“Her room,” Evan told him. “She said she wants to think about it.”

Micheal turned to Henry. “About what?”

Henry frowned. “I thought Evan would’ve told you.”

“He told me something, I just didn’t process any of it.”

“Ah. Well. I offered to take all of you to my house for a while once William gets back,” Henry explained. “I thought they would be more willing if I phrased it as a choice.”

Evan shrugged. “Yeah, but then Lizzie said he could take Micheal, but the two of us are okay.”

“We don’t know if that’ll last,” Henry warned.

“I know,” Evan said cheerfully, like they weren’t talking about abuse. “It’s okay. He’s already not very nice to me, but he likes Lizzie. I think she thinks she can handle it. Plus,” he turned to Henry, “we learned about stuff like this at school. We both know you have to call people. We don’t actually have a choice.”

Henry smiled apologetically. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind!” Evan said. “You’re nicer than Father anyways. Dunno what Lizzie’s so upset about.”

Micheal grinned and ruffled Evan’s hair. Leave it to him to see the bright side of something. “Don’t ever change, buddy.”

“I won’t, if you never call me ‘buddy’ again,” Evan said, scrunching up his nose in disgust.

“Deal.” Micheal took a cautious sip of his drink. When his body didn’t immediately revolt against it, he allowed himself to enjoy it a little. “I’m going to go talk with Elizabeth.”

Henry nodded. “Okay. I’ll unlock the study and see what I can find.”

Evan tilted his head. “Father’s study? Can I come? I’ve never been there.”

Henry glanced at Micheal.

“He can handle it,” Micheal said, feeling the need to defend his brother. “There’s nothing bad in there, I don’t think.”

“Are you sure?” Henry countered. “Who knows what’s in his notes.”

“I know,” Micheal replied curtly. “Evan can probably help you look.”

“What’re we looking for?” Evan asked, glancing back and forth between Henry and Micheal.

“Father’s journals,” Micheal said.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Henry said, guiding Evan off.

“Why does Mikey get to know, and I don’t?” Evan asked as they walked off.

“Because Mike is older than you,” Henry replied calmly, searching drawers for something to pick the lock.

“Not by that much,” Evan protested.

“By enough,” Henry said firmly. “Come on.”

Micheal decided they’d probably be fine. He turned his attention to his sister. Henry was right, they didn’t have a choice, but Micheal wanted her to be on board. If she wasn’t, she might run off.

And if she wasn’t nearby, Micheal wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop her from dying.

Slowly, he pushed open his younger sister’s door. “Hey, Elizabeth.”

She was laying flat on her bed, facing the ceiling. “Micheal,” she greeted, her voice bland and empty. It wasn’t the cheerful tone Micheal wanted to hear, but at least her words weren’t manic and tinny, like they used to be after she died.

“So…,” Micheal said slowly, unsure of how to begin. He sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Henry’s going to take us away,” Elizabeth said suddenly, her eyes never leaving the ceiling. She laughed bitterly. “He pretended like we had a choice.”

As much as Micheal wanted to insist, you do, he couldn’t. So he kept quiet and watched his little sister process what was happening.

“I… he’s not wrong,” she admitted. “He hurt you. He’s mean to Evan.”

It was quiet for a long time. The only sound was the steady hum of the ceiling fan as the siblings sat, completely still. In the dim light of the room, Elizabeth’s blond hair almost glinted the same red as Baby’s.

“Then,” Micheal said quietly, not breaking the stillness, “what’s the problem?”

After a long moment, she finally admitted, “I don’t want to go.”

Micheal held his tongue. He had a feeling Elizabeth just needed someone to listen.

“I mean,” Elizabeth continued. “This came from nowhere, Mikey. You’re so different and you won’t tell us why. Uncle Henry’s different, too. Something happened, and we all know it - something changed. I don’t like it. I don’t like change, I don’t like not having a choice, I don’t like that you’re lying about something.

There was more than that, Micheal could tell, but it didn’t look like she was going to talk about it without prompting. “And?” he asked.

“And I like it here,” Elizabeth whispered, like she was confessing some big secret. “Father’s mean to you, but he’s nice to me. He likes me. I don’t want to leave him.” She turned her head so she could meet Micheal’s eyes. “Henry said, in the car, that he’s worried Father is a bad person. Is he a bad person?”

Her eyes were begging him to say no, begging him to let everything go back to the way it was. But he couldn’t. “Yeah. He is.”

Micheal saw a little spark of hope die in her eyes, but she nodded slowly, like she’d expected this. “He did something to you,” she stated matter of factly. “Other than slapping you. Didn’t he?”

He sighed. “I…” He debated with himself for a moment, trying to decide how much he could say. Because, technically, William hadn’t done much yet. “Yes,” he said finally.

“What did he do?”

Mechanical laughter, cold metal, corpses of children, blood leaking through the hinges and the wiring. Headless bodies and faceless spirits, all consumed and warped and forced to become killers, bent to the deranged will of William Afton. Desperate creatures - no, children. They were still children, beneath all of that pain. Abandoned, alone, confused. They never wanted to become monsters, never wanted to murder everyone in their path - they were just afraid. Their souls, their being, mutilated beyond recognition, all of the good wrung out and leaving them with endless sorrow and pain.

The better question would be, what didn’t William do?

But Elizabeth didn’t know that. And she probably wouldn’t believe him, anyway. “I can’t tell you,” Micheal said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Please,” she begged, sitting up and grabbing one of his hands. “I need to know.”

“You don’t,” Micheal promised.

“I do,” she protested. “I need to know what kind of person he is. How bad he is, to hurt you and Evan and whatever else he did. I need to know. Because… if he can do all that, and then turn around and love me…” she trailed off.

Oh.

Oh, okay. He knew what she meant. He had a similar conversation with Baby, once, during one of her more lucid moments. They’d bonded, almost, until she had to turn around and try to kill him again.

“Father’s actions have nothing to do with you,” he promised, making sure his little sister was looking him in the eyes. “Okay? It’s not your fault that he loves you. It’s never been your fault that he loves you, and not us.”

For the first time, her composure broke. “But what if it is? What if there’s a reason he loves me and not you? Because you’re…,” she struggled to articulate herself, waving her hands in Micheal’s general direction. “You’re you,” she finished lamely. “You’re good. Father can’t be a bad person, because if he is, that means he doesn’t love me because I’m good. He loves me because I’m the most like him. Why else would he choose me over you?”

Something in his heart shattered. “Elizabeth–”

“No,” she interrupted, “I’m right, aren’t I? Both you and Henry keep saying he’s a terrible person, and somehow, I believe you. I don’t know why, but I can feel that you’re right - you’re both right. And I don’t care. I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle it, though,” Micheal said gently.

Elizabeth’s eyes began to well up with tears. “But I want to,” she protested. “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay with Father. After this whole thing, and him slapping you, and Evan being scared of him, and your panic attack and Henry’s concerns and everything, I want to be with Father. I want him to love me,” Elizabeth admitted, voice hushed. “I want a terrible person to love me. I just want to pretend nothing bad is happening. What does that say about me?”

Micheal scooped up his little sister in a hug. “Wanting your father to love you doesn’t make you a bad person. But,” he hesitated, remembering cold words, crying children, and dripping blood, “if you let that kind of thing control you, a good person can become a bad one. Okay?”

Elizabeth sniffled. “You think I’m a bad person?”

“No,” Micheal said firmly. “You’re not a bad person, Lizzie. But everybody has the potential to become bad. I’ve been a bad person before,” he told her, thinking back to all the times he turned a blind eye, when he let William run rampant before he got that job at Circus Baby’s, and the day he killed his own brother.

“Really?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yeah. And I can’t let that happen to you, so I can’t let you stay with Father. Even if you want to. I’m sorry you don’t get a choice. None of us do. But it’s better than becoming something you aren’t when you try to earn love that Father won’t give you. Okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. I still don’t like it.”

“But it’s the right thing,” Micheal promised.

Elizabeth sighed. “The right thing sucks.”

Micheal laughed. “Yeah. It does. C’mon, Evan is waiting for you.”

Elizabeth stood up and followed Micheal out of the room. “You won’t tell Evan about any of this, right?” she asked desperately.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Micheal reminded her. “But no. I won’t, as long as you don’t want me to.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

They joined Henry and Evan at the kitchen table - Henry was trying to teach Evan a new card game. Just as Micheal moved to sit down, someone knocked at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Micheal offered. Before anyone could protest, he walked over and opened the door.

A face Micheal had never wanted to see again greeted him as soon as the door was open, but the man looked right past Micheal and directly towards the table.

“Henry?” William Afton asked, his voice sending shivers down Micheal’s spine. “What are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

William glanced down at Micheal, then back up to Henry. Like a switch had been flipped, his entire composure changed.

William’s posture relaxed, although one hand continued to clench and unclench at his side. He smiled wide - a normal, friendly smile, not the manic one Micheal was used to seeing through the rotting mask.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you stopped by,” William said warmly. “Is there a reason, though?”

Henry was a far better actor than Micheal could ever hope to be. He laughed and said, “There you are, Will! I was just dropping in to ask how the progress was going on the Circus Baby franchise.”

William raised an eyebrow. “You could’ve called me.”

“I called the house phone,” Henry said apologetically. “Micheal here picked up and told me you were gone for a bit, and you’d be back soon. I didn’t have anything else scheduled for a while, so I thought I’d check in while I waited for you. Besides, Charlie’s been asking how your kids were doing.”

“Ah. Yes, well, thank you for entertaining them. I hope they weren’t any trouble,” William said, placing one hand on Micheal’s shoulder.

“Oh, of course not,” Henry promised, still smiling. “So. Now that you’re here, would you like to talk business?”

“Absolutely,” William replied. “First, though, Micheal’s going to show me his grades, right?”

William’s fingers dug into Micheal’s shoulder. Micheal was sure that if he could see William’s knuckles, they’d be white.

“Right,” Micheal agreed. Thankfully, the fingers stopped digging into his skin as soon as Micheal agreed.

“We’ll be right back,” William told Henry with a casual smile.

Henry smiled back, but his eyes were on Micheal. He seemed to be asking, are you okay?

Micheal dipped his head slightly in a tiny nod. William wouldn’t dare to hurt him as long as Henry was in the house. Probably.

Micheal knew Elizabeth and Evan were watching him, too. He couldn’t look at Evan - he knew there would be worry in those innocent eyes, worry he didn’t deserve. He did look at Elizabeth, though.

All he saw on her face was calculation. Her eyes lingered on the spot on his shoulder that William had been gripping. She inspected her father thoughtfully, but not with the desperation Micheal had expected. Instead she looked at him like he was an interesting subject, but ultimately disappointing.

Huh.

Maybe they could convince Elizabeth to join them after all.

“Come on, Micheal,” William said warmly, guiding Micheal down the hallway and into William’s room. As soon as they were alone, William straightened, all signs of warmth immediately melting off of his face. He turned to Micheal slowly, predatory eyes locking on to Micheal’s face. “So. What exactly did you tell him?”

“Nothing, I swear,” Micheal promised hurriedly. Even though he knew, logically, that William wouldn’t severely hurt him when another adult was in the house, his heart was pounding. William’s words felt fuzzy and unreal. Micheal struggled to focus, struggled to remind himself that his father’s voice was still human. They weren’t a sound coming from a metal voice box and a mutilated mouth, the words crackling and harsh as he laughed, limping on rotting legs intertwined with metal, ever searching for his next victim, searching for Micheal, reaching—

“Pay attention to me,” William said harshly, slapping his face when Micheal’s eyes began to glaze over.

“Yes, sir,” Micheal gasped. Fuck, Micheal, calm down, he repremanded himself. The slap hadn’t been hard enough to leave a mark - again, William wouldn’t risk that - but the stinging in his (still alive, how was he still alive) face grounded him in the present.

“What exactly did you say?”

“What Henry told you,” Micheal said. He let fear and honesty leak into his voice, but now that the initial panic had worn off, all he felt was cold hard disgust for the man before him. “I told him you were gone just then, but you’d be back soon. I tried to get him to stay away, but he wanted to come. I promise, he doesn’t think you would’ve been gone longer than an hour or so.”

William’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, but he nodded sharply. “Good. You are not to say a word to Henry from now on, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” William grabbed Micheal with both hands, his thumbs digging into Micheal’s chest. Micheal struggled to breathe, even though William’s hands were nowhere near his neck.

“Yes sir,” Micheal amended, gasping.

William pushed him away. “Go entertain your siblings. I’ll talk with Henry.” He sighed heavily. “I only came back to grab my notes. Now I’ll be here all day.” He glared at Micheal, like this was all his fault.

Wisely, Micheal backed out of the room before William could blame him for anything else. William followed close behind him, that smile plastered back on his face like nothing had happened.

Micheal’s legs felt shaky, but he was fine. He managed to get all the way back to the kitchen where Henry was waiting. He even pulled off a little smile. Was it convincing? Probably not. But it was something.

“Henry,” William said, smiling, “let me show you the Circus Baby plans, yes? It shouldn’t take very long. I’m sure you have to get back to Charlie, anyway.”

“True,” Henry admitted. “I just have a couple questions. It’ll be quick.”

With that, the two adults left for William’s study.

Micheal made his way to the couch and collapsed. Two minutes alone with William Afton was two minutes too long. His heart was still hammering in his chest with leftover fear. Some small part of him had honestly thought he was going to die.

But he was fine. And Evan was fine, and Elizabeth was fine. Everyone was fine. They were all alive.

So why was he still freaking out? Was he so weak that his father simply existing in the same space as him was making him panic?

“Mikey? You okay?”

Micheal’s vision focused on his younger brother, who was looking at him with concern.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to reassure Evan. But he couldn’t. Not when he looked into those eyes - clear for now, but he remembered them best filled with tears from when William would verbally abuse him - and all he could remember was that he snuffed out the life in those eyes.

He was a murderer. Sure, it was William’s invention, but Micheal had put Evan there. He couldn’t even remember why, anymore, he could only remember the years after that he spent trying to atone for it.

As if anything could ever be worth a life.

Seeing William had brought all the memories back. The cracked skull, the tears mingling with the blood as they trailed down his lifeless cheeks.

“Micheal?” Evan asked again.

Oh. Right. He hadn’t responded. “Yeah?”

Elizabeth spoke up. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not really,” Micheal told her, but his skin still burned where William’s fingers had dug into his chest.

“So. Kind of,” Elizabeth decided.

“It won’t bruise,” Micheal promised, but he bet he’d be finding fingertip shaped marks on his shoulder the next day. They wouldn’t know. It would be fine.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Evan double checked.
He leaned in close to stare at Micheal’s face for any sign of distress.

Wait. Were those eyebags? “Evan, have you been sleeping?” He wasn’t deflecting, okay? He was genuinely concerned!

Evan shrugged guiltily. “Yes? I’ve been having nightmares, but it’s fine.”

Oh, shit. “That’s right,” Micheal said out loud. “I forgot about that.”

Evan frowned. “Forgot about what?”

Micheal sat up straight, way calmer now that he had something he could actually fix. “How long have you been having nightmares?”

Evan tilted his head, confused. “Um. About a week now?”

Huh. Micheal had thought that they didn’t start until right before Evan’s death - although they were actually probably pretty close to it. It was 1983, and given that they weren’t in school, it was probably summer, or a weekend. Evan had died in October.

“What month is it?” Micheal asked suddenly.

“Um. October? 8th?”

Okay, so it was a weekend then. So… they had five days until Evan was supposed to die. Wow. That was a lot closer than he’d thought. Right, not the time to think about that too much. But he remembered reading through William’s notes years later and finding something about sound illusion disks and all the research and testing he’d done on Evan with them.

Micheal smiled at Evan. “I know how to make them stop.”

“Okay…,” Evan said slowly. “That’s great. But are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Micheal promised. Seeing that Evan wasn’t going to let it go, he added, “It’s easier if you let me focus on something. Can I fix this for you?”

Evan and Elizabeth exchanged a look. “Okay,” Evan decided. “But how are you going to fix a nightmare?”

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Micheal remembered reading the report, and he knew there were multiple disks, but he didn’t remember where they were. One of them was for sure in Evan’s Freddy plush, but they’d have to search for the rest. And then, of course, there was the problem of William finding out someone had removed the disks.

In the past, William had gathered info on how the illusion disks worked by quizzing Evan every morning about his nightmares. As long as Evan could lie about it convincingly, there would be no reason for William to actually check the disks themselves.

Yeah. That could work.

So… now he had to explain all this without giving too much away. He could do that, right?

“I’ve looked through Father’s notes a couple times,” he started.

“Father is causing Evan’s nightmares,” Elizabeth deadpanned.

“Yes, actually, there’s these things called sound illusion disks–”

“Wait, seriously?” Elizabeth asked, surprised. “I didn’t think that was even possible.”

Micheal laughed. He’d dismissed ideas of “possibility” years ago, far before he’d even died and kept his soul in his body. “Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things that are possible that shouldn’t be. So, sound illusion disks. They’re… well, sound disks, and they cause vivid hallucinations. I’d guess Father planted them throughout your room to test and see if they work.”

Evan blinked.

“Yeah, I know, it sounds crazy. But believe me, that’s not the weirdest thing Father’s done,” Micheal said with a sigh.

“Do I want to know?” Elizabeth asked.

“No.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I’m assuming I don’t want to know how you know all of this stuff?”

“Probably not.”

The Afton children sat in awkward silence for a minute before Evan finally asked, “So… do we break the disks or something?”

“No,” Micheal replied. “We can’t. He’s using them, remember? He’s been asking you about your nightmares, right?” Evan nodded, so Micheal continued, “You’re going to have to lie about that and tell him they’re still going. In the meantime, we can find the disks and move them. If we break them, he might know. I don’t know if he built something into them so he can tell if they break or not, but we can put them somewhere else so they don’t bother you when you sleep.”

“Let’s go do that, then,” Evan said, looking up at Micheal. “Thanks.”

Micheal smiled at the (not dead, he’s not dead) little boy in front of him. “Well, I am here to fix things, after all.”

Chapter Text

“Where should we be looking?” Elizabeth asked, hands on her hips, gazing around Evan’s room.

Micheal shrugged and turned to Evan. “When you have nightmares, do they take place in this room?”

Evan nodded.

“Okay,” Micheal said, nodding. “Where do the scary things come from?”

Evan pointed first to the closet, then to the door leading to the hallway. Then, after a moment of consideration, he added, “The bed, too. But not under the bed or anything. Just on top of the bed.”

Micheal had been expecting that one. “Where you keep the fredbear plush, right?”

Evan nodded slowly. “You think it’s that? But Father gave it to me.”

“Exactly,” Micheal told him.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “So he is causing Evan’s nightmares.” She didn’t wait for a response. Instead she held out her hand for the plush.

Evan handed it to her quietly. Elizabeth examined the back, then turned to Evan’s little desk in the corner of the room and pulled out a pair of scissors. She pulled up a stitch in the back of the plush and snipped it, carefully working the bear open, revealing its white insides. She rooted around for a moment, then pulled out a thin, black disk.

“Is this it?”

Micheal nodded. “Yeah. Now we’ve just got to find the other two.”

Evan stared forlornly at the plush. “Can we… fix it? I know it was just there to give me nightmares, but I liked it.”

“We can fix it,” Elizabeth promised. “I’ll go find a needle and sew it back up, okay?”

Evan grinned and threw his arms around her. “Thanks, Lizzie.”

She smiled at him and left the room, fredbear plushie in hand.

Before she left the room, Micheal was already rooting through the closet, desperately trying to avoid one on one conversation with Evan. Not because he didn’t love Evan, more because Evan had the uncanny ability to see through any lie Micheal might say. And he really didn’t want to explain to his little brother why, exactly, he wanted to cry every time he saw Evan breathe.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t escape. So he busied himself with finding the disk.

“Hey, Mikey,” Evan began.

Oh, boy.

“Yeah?”

“How did you know about the disks?”

Micheal paused. “I read Father’s notes.”

“Why’d you do that?”

Micheal sighed. “Evan, I would tell you. I really would. But I can’t, okay?”

“Why?” Evan pushed.

“It’s a crazy story,” Micheal replied, still looking for the disk.

“Crazier than Father torturing me in my sleep for science?” Evan asked.

Micheal turned around and faced his brother. Because yeah, Evan was right, that kind of was torture. “Are you okay?”

Evan nodded. “I mean, I didn’t like the dreams, but they’re still just dreams. You didn’t answer my question.”

The older boy laughed. “Yeah. A lot crazier than that.”

Evan crossed his arms. “Try me.”

“No.” Micheal turned back around and started searching the closet’s floor. “Ha! Found one!” Triumphantly, he held up a little disk.

“Yay,” Evan said, arms still crossed. “Tell me, Mikey.”

Micheal looked Evan dead in the eyes. “You won’t believe me, Evan. There’s no point.”

“I’ll believe you,” Evan promised.

“You really won’t. I don’t believe me, and I lived through it.”

“Lived through what? What’s going on? Why are you so… broken all the time? What did we miss?” Evan demanded.

“You didn’t miss anything,” Micheal replied. “You’re just a kid. I can’t tell you.”

“You’re just a kid!”

“No, I’m not.” Evan looked taken aback by the intensity in Micheal’s tone, but Micheal continued anyway. “I’m not a kid. I haven’t been a kid in a long time. Not like you and Elizabeth. This whole thing?” He gestured to the disks. “This is my responsibility. Not yours. I’m sorry for hiding things from you, but I’m not going to stop, because you don’t deserve the pain of knowing the truth. Okay?”

“You don’t either,” Evan protested.

Micheal smiled sadly. “I do.”

Evan sighed. “Fine. You’re not gonna tell us. But you are a kid.”

“A kid wouldn’t have done the things I’ve done,” Micheal replied, turning away from Evan so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment on his little brother’s face. “A kid wouldn’t know what I do. Let’s just… drop it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Micheal dragged Evan’s chair from his desk to the doorway and climbed on top of it. He felt along the top of the door’s trim and grabbed the illusion disk that’d been lying there.

“I’ll go put these outside later,” Micheal said, pocketing the disks.

Evan opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the loud slamming of the front door.

“Bye, Henry,” William called.

Micheal froze. There was an undertone to those words that he didn’t like.

“MICHEAL,” William yelled, a few moments later, probably as soon as he saw Henry get out of earshot. “Get over here RIGHT NOW. The rest of you too.”

Micheal’s heart immediately began to slam against his chest, like it was trying to escape his body. Quietly, he obeyed. Evan trailed silently behind.

William Afton stood in the center of the living room, seething. “Micheal,” he said quietly, “my notes are missing. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Chapter Text

There was a light of insanity illuminating his eyes. It was a familiar light, wild and dangerous. The same light that glowed in his half dead eyes, his anger manifesting in wheezing laughter, every sound dripping with such malice and agony that it filled the room with the stench of insanity.

“My notes, Micheal.” The man extended his hand and Micheal flinched back involuntarily.

“I didn’t take them,” Micheal promised, his voice steady even as his hands shook and his heart pounded. He was terrified, yes, but more importantly, Evan and Elizabeth were there. He wouldn’t let William hurt them.

William shouldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone, anymore.

But things are never as they should be.

“Oh?” William asked, low and dangerous. “Then maybe Evan did?” He kept those wild eyes trained on Micheal as he called the boy’s bluff. “Evan,” William said, still looking at Micheal, “come here.”

Evan whimpered.

“He didn’t do anything,” Micheal said softly.

“Didn’t he?” William’s harsh voice cut into Micheal’s skin, seeping deep into his soul. “Come here, Evan.”

Slowly, Evan inched towards his father. Once he was within reach, William’s hand shot out and gripped Evan’s wrist hard enough that it had to hurt and twisted it, forcing Evan to stand directly next to William.

Bravely, Evan made no sound, but his brown eyes began to well up with tears.

“You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good, Micheal,” William hissed. “But this…” He twisted Evan’s wrist further. Micheal could’ve sworn he heard a pop. “This, I think, is incentive enough. Now. Tell me. Where are my notes?”

“I don’t have them,” Micheal stated calmly, but his mind was screaming and his thoughts were clouded - the only thing he managed to focus on was the thought, he’s hurting Evan. “Let Evan go.”

William hummed. “Let’s try something else. Elizabeth, leave the room. You don’t need to see this.”

Micheal glanced at his sister. She was standing stock still, glaring at William like he’d just ripped the world out from under her feet and she was going to make him pay for it. “I’m staying.”

William sighed. “I tried.” His hands traveled from Evan’s wrist, letting it flop limply, clearly dislocated. He held Evan’s shoulder, one hand on the top of the shoulder and one hand gripping the other half of Evan’s arm. He looked at Micheal, terrible disappointment and hatred mixing with the mania in his eyes. “You made me do this.”

A crack. Evan cried out, and the tears spilled over.

And Micheal? Micheal saw red.

“Elizabeth, go,” he said, barely restraining himself.

This time she listened. Without a word, she backed out of the room and retreated into the hallway.

“William,” Micheal said, his voice low and hard and belonging to someone much older than him, someone who had seen too much, someone who refused to let everyone suffer again. It was one word, but the one word was instilled with a world of hate and pain. A voice that knew everything. Cold.
Empty.

Dead.

“Micheal,” William replied, insanity creeping over the syllables.

“Let him go.”

William’s deep laugher bounced off of the walls, echoing and distorting until the sound matched his twisted soul. “Make me,” he challenged.

The thin thread of restraint holding Micheal snapped. He had suffered too long. His world had been agony because of the man standing before him. It was time to right a wrong.

Micheal didn’t even reply to William. He simply lunged.

For a moment, it felt like the world had shifted. Instead of what was - because that had to be what was, didn’t it>? - there were two figures.

A being out of time, fighting with fists raised. Dozens of souls, mostly young with a few old, hanging in the air around him, watching and infusing the remnants of themselves into him. One, more solid than the rest, placed her hand on the being’s arm and lent him her righteous fury.

The second figure was nothing but a creature. A twisted concept forming itself of darkness and the solid strength of agony, its eyes vaguely human but backlit with the horrors of its true essence: a bitter, broken bonfire of pain and shattered minds. It fought back against the being out of time, surging forward to corrupt everything it touched.

They grappled with each other, and it felt like all of time had led to this. Neither backed down. Neither were perfect or pure, both of them shattered and corrupted, but one’s brokenness sang of the promise of healing. The other’s only held the stench of the dead.

One does not fight a being as corrupt as the creature and come out unscathed. The first being never wavered, but its soul grew heavier. Darker. Had it not had the strength of the others behind it, it might’ve been corrupted completely. Even so, it fought with the intention to kill, and while it may have been justified, hatred like that doesn’t leave a soul unmarred.

There is no good being in this fight. There is no right side.

There is, however, a wrong side.

Then the illusion broke, and the world became reality again - a child struggling to attack his father, hoping he could pull his brother out of the way.

Micheal did actually manage to land some solid blows, one even hitting William in the jaw. William winced and let go of Evan, who immediately dashed out of the room. The two Aftons stared at each other warily.

“You’ve just made an enemy,” William whispered, eyes flashing.

Micheal would have smiled if he could feel something other than all encompassing hate. “Oh, that happened a long time ago.”

Chapter Text

Honestly? Despite how stressful the next few minutes of his life were, Micheal didn’t remember any of it. Or maybe it was because of that - all he knew was adrenaline was pumping through his veins and his father was right in front of him. In that moment, Micheal wanted nothing more than to see William covered in blood - to make him suffer the way Micheal had suffered, to watch him writhe in agony as the blood coating him grew stale, doomed to survive as everyone around him found peace one by one.

For the first time, Micheal understood the thrill of the kill. He didn’t want to just incapacitate William. No, he wanted to watch the life leave his eyes and laugh as his body grew cold.

Somewhere deep in his mind, that terrified him. The bruised, broken child in him was screaming that this was wrong, this was all wrong, he was becoming the man he swore to defeat, but Micheal didn’t listen. He’d spent his whole life hearing that he looked too much like William, and he’d paid the price for it. Now it was time for William to be afraid to look like Micheal.

The world blurred as he fought. There was blood on his hands. Was that his, or William’s? It didn’t matter, there would be blood on his hands no matter what. The stain of Evan’s blood would always linger on his fingertips. Now, there was just physical evidence to show for it.

He fought on. He didn’t know how long he and his father exchanged blows. Probably not very long, but he’d lost the ability to comprehend time years ago.

But then. He looked into his father’s furious eyes, his bloody face, and all Micheal saw was himself. And suddenly, shame began to burn through him, coming from his very core, wiping away the brutal anger he’d just been utilizing.

It was like he could hear Henry’s comforting voice in his head. You have a second chance, Micheal. You don’t have to be a murderer this time.

His shoulders dropped, and he stepped back. William came at him, but Micheal didn’t move to attack.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he said softly. “I’m not going to be that person this time.”

William scoffed. “That’s fucking stupid.”

All Micheal could do was curl into a ball and take the hits. He knew he could defend himself, but he didn’t - he was afraid that if he did, he really would kill William this time. And sure, William deserved to die. Micheal hoped he would, and painfully too. But he wasn’t going to be the one to take his life this time.

Micheal was never going to let blood stain his hands again.
The world began to fade in and out, and Micheal’s memory stopped.

The next thing he was aware of was Elizabeth’s voice, loud and strong, saying, “It’s Henry Emily. His contact is…”

A group of men in uniforms surrounded her. Evan stood next to her, his tiny hand wrapped around hers, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Behind them were two more men in uniforms, escorting someone away. Was that… William?

Micheal decided this was too much for him to handle and closed his eyes, allowing his exhaustion to drag him back down to unconsciousness.

He woke up in a bed that was distinctly not his own. Sitting in a chair nearby was a young girl with short hair. Her bright eyes sparkled with hidden knowledge, and they locked onto his as soon as she noticed he was awake.

“Charlie?” Micheal asked. “Where am I?”

“Good. You’re back,” she said, standing up swiftly. “You’re at my dad’s house. I’m going to get them for you, okay? Don’t move.”

Confused, Micheal did as he was told. A moment later, there was the sound of heavy footsteps, and the door was flung open to reveal Henry, Evan, and Elizabeth.

“Mikey!” Evan called, grinning. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, bud, I am,” Micheal said with a laugh, letting Evan climb onto the bed and curl up next to him, being careful to not put any pressure on Micheal’s more obvious bruises. A moment later, Elizabeth joined him on the other side. He turned to Henry. “What happened?”

“Evan called the police,” Henry explained. “By the time they showed up, you were unconscious. They took William into custody. None of you have any emergency contacts set up, for some reason, so Elizabeth listed me as your godfather and got the police to send you all here.”

Micheal frowned. “Doesn’t that mean there’s a bunch of legal stuff we have to do now?”

Henry sighed. “Yeah. Don’t worry about that, though, I’ll take care of it. That’s my job anyways.”

“What about William, then?” Micheal asked hesitantly.

Henry shook his head. “That’s not going to be the end of it, I don’t think. But it’s a start.” His face softened as he looked at Micheal. “You did good. You can rest now, for a little bit.”

“But–”

“I’ll take care of it, Mike,” Henry promised firmly. “Don’t worry.”

Micheal would have protested more, but his whole body ached, and the warm pressure of his siblings next to him was comforting. So he nodded. “Okay. I’ll rest.”

Henry smiled. “That’s all I ask.” He backed out of the room and shut the door, leaving the Afton siblings alone as they drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

We’re not done yet. Wake up.

But Michael’s eyes were heavy, and his soul felt cold. The darkness he was hiding in was so much easier. The longer he kept his eyes closed, the longer he could pretend like he was a normal person. Like everything was fine.

He’s still out there. Get up.

No.

Michael.

….what? Was someone… talking to him?

Yeah, dumbass. You thought you got back here on your own?

….who?

Get up. He’s coming for you.

Michael jolted awake, eyes wide, gasping for breath. He took a moment to calm down.

He’d been having that recurring dream for a while now. Ever since he’d been at Henry’s, actually. Just like all the times before, he tried desperately to remember the details, but they slipped away. All he could remember were those final words ringing in his ears.

He’s coming for you.

He knew better than to ignore a direct warning like that. Sure, having dream visions is weird, but he’d also been a corpse for most of his life, so who was he to judge?

He slipped out of bed and headed down to Henry’s kitchen. He still felt… wrong… for existing in a space with other people in it, like him breathing the same air was an inconvenience. Henry was helping him through it, though. He’d given Michael a routine of sorts, which gave Michael more confidence when he entered a room, because he knew he was supposed to be there.

As per their routine, Henry was already in the kitchen, waiting for him.

“Good morning, Mike,” Henry greeted, pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “Ever made an omelet before?”

Michael shook his head mutely. He wasn’t sure why, but he never felt like talking in the mornings. Probably had something to do with readjusting to having working vocal cords again. Mornings always made his voice feel rusty, and he didn’t like the way it felt like they were decaying again. Henry, the saint that he was, never mentioned it.

“Great,” Henry replied, sounding genuinely excited, “I can teach you. Can you grab the eggs?”

Michael did so, but he knew it was time he actually tried to talk with Henry. He’d been putting it off for a while now.

He cleared his throat a couple times, forcing it to cooperate, before he said, “So… I’ve been having dreams.”

“Oh?” Henry asked curiously. “What kind of dreams?” He placed a bowl in front of Michael and instructed him to crack the eggs while he chopped up green onions.

Dutifully, Michael continued to help make the omelet as he talked. “Um. A recurring one. I think a spirit from the last timeline is trying to talk to me?”

“Okay,” Henry hummed. “Do you know who’s spirit it is? Or if they managed to hop timelines with us?”

Michael shook his head. “All I know is they keep saying he’s coming for you.”

“Ah. That's probably not great,” Henry admitted. “We’re assuming they’re talking about William, right?”

Michael shrugged. “Probably.”

Henry mixed in the ingredients and began to show Michael how to properly cook an omelet. “Well. He is still free.”

The court case had gone through about a week ago. Micheal and his siblings had been staying at Henry’s for almost a month until the actual hearing, and it was only a little while after until the court had decided. After hearing Micheal’s, Evan’s, and Elizabeth’s testimonies, William was removed as their guardian, and they were transferred over to their godfather, Henry.

All in all, it hadn’t taken very long. Normally a process like that could take years. Michael was pretty sure things had been sped up supernaturally by whoever managed to visit his dreams, but he wasn’t about to complain.

That said, William - the rich asshole that he was - had not been imprisoned for child abuse. He was still free and roaming around, running the Freddy franchise.

“What should we do about it?” Micheal asked.

Henry smiled at him. “I say we be a bit more proactive this time. Go get the rest of the kids, will you?”

“What do you mean by proactive?” Michael asked, already walking out of the kitchen.

“I think we could afford to give Freddy’s a visit. Make sure he doesn’t kill any kids. See if we can sabotage an animatronic or two. After all, he’s still got Baby with him right about now, doesn’t he?”

Right. Baby. Micheal shuddered. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Can I bring your gun?”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “How did you know I own a gun?”

Micheal grinned. “I have my ways.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll bring my gun. You can’t have it, though.”

Okay, fair. “I’ll go get the kids.”

“Thank you, Michael,” Henry said softly as he set the table.

Breakfast was uneventful. Everyone ate their omelets happily. Charlie glanced at Michael and for a moment her eyes were knowing, the eyes of someone he used to know, and then it was gone.

He saw it when her eyes changed, and silently thanked his own Charlie for sending him back. At the very least, now he knew it wasn’t an enemy that’d been trying to warn him. That only hardened his resolve.

After breakfast, he asked, “Can we go now, Henry?”

Henry blinked. “Now? Today?”

“Why wait?” Micheal asked simply.

Charlie was told to watch the other two Aftons while they were off ‘shopping’. It was time to make things right.

No matter what universe, it was always Michael and Henry against William. This time, though, they were going to finish the job.

Chapter Text

“Wow, I hate this building,” Michael announced, staring at the doors to Freddy’s. “I forgot how much someone could hate inanimate objects.”

Henry laughed, but it was tinged with sorrow. “Yeah, well… hopefully, this is our last time here.”

“Maybe,” Michael agreed, but he doubted it. “You think William’s here?”

Henry shrugged. “Probably. If I had to guess, we’re about to hit the missing children incident pretty soon. He’s probably in the back, preparing for it.”

Micheal wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That’s not supposed to happen for another few years or so, isn’t it?”

“No, but events seem to be happening a lot faster since we interfered,” Henry reasoned, “and he’s always been one to kill out of anger and frustration. Which, I imagine, is how he’s feeling right now.”

Henry had a point. Michael sighed, pushed down his hatred for this place, and opened the doors. Immediately, he was hit with a wash of noise. Kids were running around, playing and shouting. Adults were trying and failing to both hold conversations and make sure the children didn’t bite each other. Loud, upbeat music was playing from speakers behind the stage. The three main animatronics were ‘dancing’, joints creaking with every move.

Fun.

Michael took a deep breath and willed himself to not deal with flashbacks today, no sir, thank you very much. At least it was daytime, and filled with people, making the place feel more alive than it ever had during his night shifts. And hey. This didn’t hold as much trauma for him as Baby’s did.

Except for Freddy.

He refused to look at Freddy’s mouth, knowing all he would see was crimson blood dripping down from his jaw, mixing with the salty tears that still flowed from Evan’s unseeing eyes.

Nope. He was not thinking about it.

He turned to Henry. “Should we go look in the back? Actually, wait. What exactly is your plan? We can’t exactly sabotage any of the animatronics right now, they’re performing.”

“Not those animatronics,” Henry agreed. “But William’s already made Baby by now. Where else do you think he would’ve been keeping her until he could open her own franchise?”

Ah. Good point. “I’m going to hate this, I think,” Michael announced pleasantly.

Henry winced. “Sorry, Mike. You don’t have to come with me.”

“Yes, I do,” he said immediately. He couldn’t explain why. He just knew it had to be him. He needed to do this - for closure, for his old timeline, and to fuck over William Afton. “Come on, let’s go.”

Michael headed to the back. He’d been here enough times to know his way around, so he figured if Baby was going to be anywhere, she’d be in the parts and services room. Nobody but William was allowed in there anyways, since he was the only one who worked on and repaired the animatronics. That’s why they fell into such disrepair after William had ‘died’.

Lucky for them, Michael knew where all the keys were. They stopped in front of the door. William usually kept the key on him, but there was a second key just in case - not a very well hidden one, either.

Michael frowned when he realized he was too short.

“Henry, there’s a key laying on top of the door trim.”

Henry made a face. “Really? That’s where he put it?” He reached up above the door and swiped the top. A key flew off of the trim and clattered to the ground.

“Yep.” Micheal picked it up and slotted it into the keyhole, then slowly pushed open the door, wincing as it creaked loudly. “After you.”

Without any argument, Henry entered the room and flicked on the light.

Endoskeletons and spare suits stood against the wall, lifeless and unmoving. Scattered pieces of animatronic lay on a little table in the corner, tools hanging above it. Lockers with who knows what lined one of the walls.

There were no spirits here. Not yet. But Michael still felt uneasy.

The main cause of his unease was the deactivated Baby standing in the middle of the room. Her head was hung low, her eyes closed, no sign of a scoop coming out of her chest. But still, Michael could hear her soft, cold voice ringing in his ears. Soon, you will be as broken as I am.

Michael shook his head. Not the time. Baby had no spirit in her, and she was perfectly harmless until she was turned on. She wouldn’t attack. He was fine.

“Right. How should we go about this, then?” Michael asked.

Henry grabbed a screwdriver from the table of parts and smiled. “I think we can take the back panel off and actually remove the scooper, if we’re careful,” he replied. “How about you see if you can take that out, and I’ll see if I can change some of her programming?” He tossed the screwdriver to Michael.

He nodded firmly. “Okay.” For once, he was glad he had so much experience with animatronics - if he knew how to fix one, surely he knew how to break one.

They got to work. Micheal was taking out the second screw in Baby’s back and Henry had just taken off the plate on the back of her head when both of them suddenly froze and whipped around to stare at the parts and services door.

Ever so slowly, the handle turned down, and the door creaked open. Micheal held his breath, hoping in vain that if he was quiet enough, he wouldn’t get caught.

The door swung all the way open, revealing William Afton.

The three of them stood frozen for a moment, nobody willing to make the first move.

William swung the door closed and locked it. “Baby,” he said quietly, “On.”

Michael jolted back as the animatronic in front of him whirred to life, lifting her head and opening her glowing eyes. She turned slowly until she was facing Michael.

He felt like he was frozen in place. At this point, he would almost welcome the scoop, if only to rid himself of the heart that was beating so quickly in his chest he thought he might explode. The world felt blurry around the edges as Baby tilted her head to examine him. She wouldn’t attack - not yet, not unless Michael was alone. Not until there were no witnesses.

That didn’t stop the rising fear slowly taking over his body.

“Michael,” William said, deceptively calm, “What are you doing?”

Michael swallowed thickly, but said nothing.

“William,” Henry said. “Turn off Baby. We’ll talk about this, work something out.”

A pause.

“No,” William replied. “No, I think this has gone too far. Children are much easier to kill than adults, you know,” he said conversationally, picking up a knife that’d been hanging on a nearby wall. “But I’ve always liked a challenge.” He took a deep breath. “Baby, sc–”

William was cut off by the loud sound of a gunshot.

Michael broke out of his haze just enough to turn and see Henry lowering his gun. “Baby, Off.”

The animatronic’s eyes went dim and it lowered its head once more.

Micheal kept his eyes away from the body on the floor.

Quietly, Henry wiped off the hilt of the gun on his shirt, removing the fingerprints, and placed it in William’s hand.

Michael blinked.

“Losing the custody of his children was just too much for him to bear,” Henry explained, voice low. He glanced up at the singular camera in the room. It was off. “It’s a tragic end to a tragic man.”

Michael nodded slowly. “Terrible.”

Henry looked at Michael, sorrow in his eyes. An unspoken apology. I’m sorry you had to see another death. Micael didn’t think Henry had anything to apologize for.

“So,” Henry said, “do you think the spirit that brought us back will cover this up for us?”

Michael nodded again. This was how it was supposed to end, he felt. The presence that had been visiting his dreams briefly touched his mind and sent an affirmation - she could give them one final gift. Immunity.

Henry smiled at Michael and wrapped one arm around him. “Let’s go home, Mike.”

They stepped over the still warm body of William Afton and left the room. For the first time since he’d died, all those years ago, his soul felt… free.