Chapter Text
“Don’t let him push you around, Mike. I mean, I kinda can’t believe this is happening, if I’m honest.”
“I won't, Scott, promise. This whole thing is weird as fuck but - I don’t see any other way around it. It’s therapy or death for us, I think.”
Scott made a noise down the line, something in between a grumble and a sigh, before answering. “Alright then. Good luck - please, call me if anything goes south and uh, don’t be too hard on Nikki and Jay. They might not know what they’re doing, but they're good kids, I swear.”
“You got it. I’ll call you later. Good speaking to you man,” The old landline phone clicked down as Mike took a deep breath. Right. Therapy. Right. He was going to go into the party rooms and sit with his father, and they were going to talk it out, like adults. Dead, criminal adults, but regardless.
“Michael, why would the parts and service room be locked?” Springtrap called out, not bothering to ask his son directly as he searched around.
“It’s Mike, Dad,” He hollered back.
“No, it’s Michael,” He responded impatiently. “Why would the parts and service room be locked?”
“No, it is Mike, and I have no clue. I wasn’t the one who opened the place up at 12. Ask Nikki or Jay.”
“What’s up?” Nikki chirped in.
“Michael tells me you know why parts and service is locked up, still?”
“Mike.”
“Michael,” Springtrap spoke curtly, whipping his head around to face him. “I’m fed up with this. Don’t interrupt me again.” He calmed, returning his attention to Nikki and Jay. “Well?”
“Uh, no clue. We don’t have the key for that, I don’t think.”
“No, it’s only the main door, the fire exit and the office. We can’t even get into the backroom.”
“What? Then who locked it? It was open yesterday before you left.”
“No clue. What do you need it for anyway?”
“I need the room,” Springtrap clutched at the bridge of his nose. “Michael, make yourself useful and bring me the screwdriver in the toolbox under the office desk.”
“Call me Mike first and I’ll consider it.” He retorted, momentarily possessed by the confidence he had at fourteen for arguing with his father.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why is it so difficult for you to say anyway? It’s shorter.”
Springtrap looked at him as though he’d just murdered Junior right then and there.
“What possesses you to talk back to me, Michael? I am your Father, you show me some respect.”
“Alright. Call me Mike.”
Springtrap still looked absolutely baffled by this conversation. Mike, on the other hand, was incredibly grateful that Nikki and Jay were in the room with them, making it a lot less likely that he would actually be murdered by his father. Again- in a way.
“Michael,-”
“Nope, not Michael. Mike. I thought you were super intelligent, why can’t you pronounce a four-letter word?”
Springtrap’s skull might pop out of his head if this kept up any longer, the strength he held his jaw clenched shut. “Mike.” He spoke through gritted teeth, locking painful eye contact with the boy in front. “Bring me the screwdriver, NOW, or I swear I’ll make you wish you were back in juvie.”
Mike, without another word, walked off to go find his tools. A peculiar interaction, for sure. He’d won the argument, a rare victory for the son, yet his father had let him. This was even rarer. Perhaps this really was a sign of change - if Springtrap was allowing Mike to correct him on this, who knew what else he’d allow them to talk about? To Nikki and Jay, however, a different picture was painted. Their arguments, and the fact they had already had many since reuniting after thirty years, had also begun to increase in ferocity and confidence, with Springtrap allowing his calm persona to slip while around the guards, revealing a little less of the spirit who wanted to get better character that they had become used to. Therapy was going to do them good.
And so, the guards sat in the security office, watching over the cameras as Mike and Springtrap sat opposite each other, neither of them looking particularly thrilled to be there as Mike fidgeted, trying to psyche himself up to attack his father at least verbally.
“Okay. I guess I’ll start here. You gave me a terrible childhood.” Mike spoke coldly, unblinking, daring to look Springtrap in his dead eyes as he questioned him. “Do you have anything to say about how you treated me?”
The man took a moment, allowing the silence to gain tension as he waited in his seat, arms crossed, before carefully responding. “These questions might test my memory, I’m afraid. I suppose I was not as caring as you’d have liked me to be. I can’t remember.”
“Oh really?” Mike retorted, his lips pursing together, as though containing a fury of words he had to force himself to hold back. “You would call me a piece of shit, dismiss my interests, and quite literally beat me when I stepped outta line. Before Billy’s death. You were a shitty Father.”
The silence persisted.
“You were a poorly behaved child. What’s your point?”
“My point? You only stopped hitting me because I left home. Hell, was taken from home. If I hadn’t been sent to juvie at fourteen - God knows how much longer you would have kept it up.” He glanced momentarily at Nikki from behind the glass. He hated having this conversation. Having any conversation with his Father was difficult enough, but openly talking about his childhood abuse? This was a living nightmare for the man. Still, at least he knew he could make his Father feel the same uncomfortable itching as he did.
“That’s not a point, Michael, that’s trivial.”
He frowned. “Okay then, how about this? At what point did you stop hitting me out of discipline, and just out of anger?”
Springtrap barely reacted, only driving Mike more and more to anger.
“I didn’t ‘hit’ you, Michael. I spanked you. This is, perhaps, the oldest form of discipline out there. And I spanked you because you were a terrible child in dire need of discipline.”
“Ignoring the fact that spanking is hitting - it really never clicked for you that maybe, just maybe, if your child isn’t getting any more obedient after hitting them, then perhaps you should stop hitting?”
“Becoming.”
“What?”
“It’s ‘becoming’, not ‘getting’.”
Mike bit his lip. “Whatever. You’re dodging the question.”
“Which question?”
“Damnit! For god’s sake, Father! I want you to own up to your actions.”
“I never denied spanking you, Michael.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
Springtrap just sat there, entertaining the boy only by provoking him further.
“I want… I want you to apologise. To me. I want confirmation that what you did was dumb, and wrong, and just - just say sorry. Say you’d take it back if you could.”
Springtrap thought about this for a moment before replying bluntly. “No.”
Mike blinked. “No?”
“I don’t apologise. I don’t regret what I’ve done.”
Mike had to fight to hold his expression together, his Father’s nonchalant nature proving infuriating to work with.
“You don’t feel bad? Like, at all?”
“No. Not, ‘like’, at all.”
“Well… that’s…” Mike trailed off, suddenly losing the confidence he had built up as he began the questioning.
“Michael, I don’t think you realise my perspective towards this situation. I know that nowadays, there is this stigma surrounding disciplining children and regarding them as people, but this wasn’t the case when you were growing up. Every good parent hits their child. Every child learnt to put up with it. How else was I to inflict some shame upon you for bullying your brother? You were a bully, Michael. I had to remind you of the negative consequences of that somehow.”
Mike removed his gaze from his father, directing it at the ground. He wasn’t sure how his father would react to these questions, but he ought to have seen this coming. All of a sudden, he was right back where he was after Billy’s death, feeling tiny beside his father, who was clearly always right, and here he was just trying to make him pleased again.
“If that was all, I’d be grateful if we could call this meeting over.” Springtrap looked towards the camera facing them, where Nikki and Jay watched over from the office, their reactions hidden.
“Do you think you deserved it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Back when you were a kid. Did you ever look at your Father, back in 1940-whatever, and think, ‘yeah, sure he just beat me black and blue, but I guess I really was deserving of that’?”
Springtrap narrowed his gaze.
“Of course not. It’s a childish nature not to understand things. That’s why I don’t expect you to see where I’m coming from.”
“Even now? Now that you’re grown, you don’t understand your Father?”
Springtrap paused, calculating his response. “My Father was different, Michael. You are making assumptions - don’t speak to me on this subject. We were both involved in your childhood, but you were not involved in mine. You don’t know my situation.”
“Then enlighten me, why don’t you?” He provoked.
“You couldn’t understand. I’m entirely biased. I cannot tell you.”
“Out of shame?”
Springtrap’s gaze flickered with anger as he looked Mike in the eyes.
“No.”
“Then why not?”
He remained silent.
“You’re telling me I deserved it, but you didn’t, but won’t explain how? Or why? Father, it seems like you know why your history was somehow different to mine, but for some reason, you’re too embarrassed to say.”
“I’m not embarrassed.” He snapped. “I was a child. You wouldn’t understand.”
Mike scoffed. “Father, if this is a generational thing, which I am certain it is, I am the only person alive on this planet who will understand.”
“No,” Springtrap’s eyes narrowed. “You want to ridicule me.”
“What? Sorry, how the fuck can you say that when you’ve spent the past conversation telling me I was a terrible child who deserved to have his ass beat?”
“Because you don’t know my past like I know yours. There is nothing you can reveal about yourself that I don’t know, Michael.”
“So help make it even then.” Mike gazed deep into Springtrap's eyes, finally on the same, if not higher, footing than him. “What did your Father do to you?”
Springtrap paused, once again, contemplating everything he could do in this situation. He could say whatever he wanted; everyone here already knew of his worst actions and probably hated him for it. There was, frankly, nowhere else for him to go.
“I wasn’t a bully, Michael. I didn’t kill my sibling. I was,” He paused, unsure if he wanted to admit this about himself. “If anything, a victim of circumstance.”
Mike waited for him to continue.
“You know I was a bastard. I was the first of the Afton line, not a part of the Millers. My Father naturally resented that. As did- well…” His sentence faltered. “All I could resent for that was my mother, who suffered the same treatment I did, but was wise enough not to make it worse. I was a child. I didn’t understand that I could make it better.”
“So, you admit that you were a victim then?”
Springtrap scoffed. “Victim? Just within my particular circumstance, but no, no child spanked is a victim. My Father, who was not my blood, was no good man, but I am sure that I was no good son, not at that age.”
“So, like me then?”
“Please, Michael, we were nothing alike.”
“Well, hold on because I’m confused.”
Springtrap rolled his eyes.
“You’re saying one moment that you were a victim, then the next that you deserved it? So which is it? Were you treated unfairly, or can you justify your abuse like you do mine?”
“Michael, you weren’t abused.”
“You're dodging the question! And I was, too.”
“You were spanked like all naughty boys were.”
“Yeah, which is hitting. Let alone the verbal abuse that you put me through even before Billy died.”
“Was killed.”
“Shut up! Just answer me!”
“Remind me of your question?”
“God, you drive me crazy! You’ve always fucking done this - I swear to God, half the time you beat me was just after provoking me into getting mad, just like you're doing now.”
“You’re saying you could use another spanking?”
Mike’s face turned red, a combination of the rage he felt towards his Father and the embarrassment of having his trauma brought up so dismissively, as though he really didn’t care how it had influenced Michael in the past, and he really had only done it to inflict shame.
“Stop it. Just stop. I give up, there’s no hope. Guys, I’m sorry. He’s stuck in his old ways and can’t get a grip enough to move on. Let’s leave it.”
“Excellent.” Springtrap chimed, getting ready to leave.
A buzzing noise came from the speakers as Nikki switched the microphone on.
“Hey Mike, don’t worry about it. We get that shame can be a lot to unpack from older folks.”
“Yeah,” Jay’s voice chimed in. “I’d be hella embarrassed if I had to admit that I was a bratty little kid who got his ass turned red to my son too.”
Springtrap paused at this, turning to the camera and peering at it closely, as though to see them behind the lens.
“What are you-”
“You know, cos like in the 40’s or whatever they probably used a switch too. Or like a ruler. Something that left a mark.”
“Ooh, that’d sting.” The two continued. “And you just know they did it bare.” The two could be heard giggling over the speakers as Springtrap lost all of his cool immediately, furious at his mockery.
God, what geniuses they were, thought Mike. He could count on his new friends to wind up his Father right after thinking that he’d won against him, not even considering that they were there.
“You two need to stop talking. Now.”
“Oh, sorry, Springtrap. Maybe you outta give me a spanking for that one, right, Nikki? Give me a little trauma this fine Thursday evening?”
“For sure, that’d be twenty lashes for disrespect and a time-out in the naughty corner,” Nikki was providing the motion as she made swishing whip noises over the microphone, as Springtrap stared directly into the camera that they observed through, furious. Finally, it was his Father’s turn to feel Mike’s unrestrained rage and shame.
Despite the danger Mike was in just to be in the same room as his infuriated father, the wave of relief that washed over him when his friends spoke up was greatly needed. It was a joy to realise from his friends that others could still have power over his father, while he could rattle up his son through his fatherly dismissals, he had forgotten that a young person could just as easily anger a father with their own ammunition.
“How dare you disrespect me!” Springtrap spoke furiously, practically shaking with anger and failing to not raise his voice. “Ignorant children! You have no understanding of the past, and no respect for your elders!”
“I’ll respect my elders when Mike gets some respect for being your son, boomer.”
Springtrap whipped around on his heel to face his son, who immediately wiped the grin off his face. His stare alone could have made Mike run for the hills, but he stood his ground, just this once.
“Fine. Michael, I apologise. I didn’t realise how sensitive you were in comparison to everyone else your age who was able to be a man about a goddamn smacked arse. Sorry for disciplining you when you killed your brother.”
Mike opened and closed his mouth quickly, biting back the retort he had. “O-kay. Alright. Uh, thanks, I guess.” Honestly, just grateful for hearing some semblance of an apology, Mike was willing to accept.
“No, no, no, hold on,” Jay’s voice rang out over the intercom. “That was the lamest apology I’ve ever heard. You didn’t apologise for shit. Sit back down and try again.”
Springtrap scorched the camera with a glare of hatred before taking a breath and returning to his seat. Cautiously, Mike followed.
“Alright, Michael. What do you want me to apologise for? Sincerely.”
“Gee, Dad, haven’t I said it enough?” His face pleaded with his Fathers, whose face only showed hatred and spite.
“You want me to confirm that you were ‘abused’, rather than spanked. I am sorry for treating you in a way that could be misconstrued as abuse. Do you want me to apologise then for denying you of valid anger for this past, too?”
Mike thought for a moment, trying to calm his brain down enough to make his words well thought out.
“I want to know why you were so hard on me if your own father was hard on you, too.”
The silence resumed.
Springtrap responded, his voice far more gentle and quiet now as the two calmed down. “My Father… Didn’t always do things right. I don’t forgive him. He was just… worse. I suppose I can compare it, and you cannot. How are you to know the difference?”
“Then tell me this difference.” Mike pleaded. “You don’t have to be the only one who knows what happened to you. I can still feel sympathy for you.”
Springtrap was brought to a world of confusion for this. The fact that, after all these years, his son could be willing to hear him out, to understand, and even empathise with his past. Could he really bond over this experience?
“My childhood. It was-” He cut himself off, straightening his posture to tell this story. “Michael, as a child, I... well, I- every child was beaten. Obviously. It was encouraged. But there was…” He paused again. It was evident that the man had never spoken about this to anyone before. Mike wished that the man had just gone to therapy rather than passed down his trauma onto him.
“My Father didn’t hit me as other parents did. I never enjoyed hurting you, Michael. Never. It was just something you did when your child messed up. Sure, it hurt, and you felt the pain as a child, and humiliation. But you did it for a reason, and you hope, as a Father, that they understand the reason too. I don’t recall how many times exactly I gave you a spanking, maybe a few times a month? Every time for bullying Junior, or smoking a cigarette, or something or other that would cause harm later down the line. My Father didn't particularly need that excuse for me, I wasn’t his, and that was a crime enough. They-” He took a deep breath, steadying his focus on the ground but retaining his upright posture, determined not to let on how much this topic affected him.
“They joke, but, well, they’re right. It was always harder. Most schools, let alone homes, had a rod specifically to beat children with. I know I wasn’t a particularly pleasant child, but I was not the terror you became. There was little reason to put me through the same fate, and worse. It’s not traumatic though - it doesn’t work the same way as abuse because of its placement. When there’s enough shame surrounding it, you don’t complain about it. You just deal with it. You expect everyone to do so.”
Mike was quiet, listening intently to his Father speaking, urging him to continue after finally making progress with him.
“I know I hurt you. I didn’t enjoy the pain, only that you were able to finally understand what it felt like to suffer for your actions. It must have been when I was eleven or twelve, when I finally hit a growth spurt and grew too tall for my father to manhandle anymore without a fight. I imagine that I have my biological father to thank for that. But to me, it made sense for me to be spanked - I don’t argue with that. The same way I believe I was doing with you - it is meant to teach discipline. It didn’t matter that you would keep making the same mistakes, continuing to bully your brother even if you knew the result. I don’t know why I did it.”
Mike sat quietly in disbelief. He didn’t know shit about his Father’s life before him. At all. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if he had also been abused, just that he was a ‘bastard’, in his own terms. William would never have spoken about his vulnerability, ever, save for now. This strange revelation shook Mike a little, who realised how much context this provided for his actions over the years. Perhaps he really had changed.
“I see.”
“Well?” Springtrap spoke, almost impatiently. “Does that satisfy you?”
“Dad, I’m… I’m sorry. You had to go through that.”
Springtrap said nothing.
“It does make sense, now. Some more sense, at least. I thought you did it ‘cos you hated me.”
“Why would I hate you, Michael?”
His son looked at him, confused.
“I bullied Billy. I got him killed.”
“You did wrong. I didn’t hate you for it. I was angry before, and much angrier later. But I have never hated you.”
“What?” Mike just looked at him, baffled.
“But- I don’t- I thought you were going to kill me? Wait, so have you changed or not then?”
“You killed Junior. Did you hate him?”
“No - of course not. But that was an accident. Father, you weren’t a good dad to me.”
Springtrap straightened his posture slightly. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t love you. I will always love you, Michael.”
Mike found himself even more taken aback by this information than he had been at the revelation of his Father’s past.
“R-really?” He winced at himself stuttering.
“Of course.”
“I don’t- really?”
“Yes, Michael, of course. You have never considered this?”
“I guess I just… I don’t know. You weren’t nice to me. Like, ever, really. I thought that meant you hated me.”
“True. I was never the showy type.”
Mike paused. “If you really, y’know, loved me, why were you so cruel?”
“I thought I just explained that to you.”
“But… you did everything against me. You kicked me out of the house the second I turned eighteen. You tried to send me on a mission to my death - you’ve never even called me Mike, Dad.”
“Michael. I named you Michael, so I will call you that. I’m your Father, not your friend.”
“God why- you’re so damn confusing. I have no clue where I stand with you. Ever. I never have.” Mike picked up his speed, letting out his teenage confusion towards their complicated relationship.
“It seemed to me, and to everyone that I knew, that you hated me. Always. You’ve never supported me on anything - how can you say that you loved me after everything?”
“Love you, Michael. I still love you.”
The boy was quiet.
“I realise it wasn’t perhaps so clear. I thought I could show it in different ways. I left you the house in my will, after all. I gave you a job at Jr’s when no one else would hire you for your criminal record. I’ve been angry with you for a long, long time. But I will always love you.”
“You kicked me out? You sent me to die?” Mike protested weakly, his mouth dry.
“You killed my son. I couldn’t stand to see you, you know that. I couldn’t live with the son who looked just like his Father and made mistakes that ruined me.”
Mike looked at his dad. “I don’t think you’ve loved me. Maybe you think you did, but you don’t get to say that to me after treating me like that. You don’t treat someone you love like that.”
“How would you know?”
Ouch. His Father’s cold words struck Mike like a knife to the chest. He opened his mouth again just to close it, knowing that there was no rebuttal to this insult. At least, no rebuttal without outing himself, and frankly, after all the drama that had gone down today, Mike really didn’t feel like testing his Father’s opinions on that.
The noise of the microphone crackled back into action.
“Mike, you good there..?” Nikki began.
“Fine, fine- I feel sick.” He spoke quietly.
“You bitch! Dude, you were just making progress there! That was crazy good from you till then!” Jay shouted down the mic.
“Who, Michael or I?”
“You, obviously dumbass!” Jay retorted. “How could you be so cold to the guy you just said you loved? This is why he doesn’t tell you shit!”
“Michael doesn’t tell me things because he thought I hated him, and found everything out anyway. There’s nothing new for him to tell me.”
“Oh you sick son of a bitch, there’s shit you don’t know. Mike’s lived his own life without you, old man!”
“I doubt that. It wasn’t long living alone that he managed before getting scooped, and judging by his current settlement, I don’t believe he made much of a difference to his life between now and then.” He looked over to his son, who clutched at his stomach, looking as though he might actually puke.
“Unless… Michael, you fell in love?”
The room held an impossible silence as his son tried to regain his posture opposite him, clearly horrified by the conversation and what he knew had to come next.
“I can’t- no, Dad. It’s nothing.”
“Where is she? Dead, I presume, judging by your luck in all sorts of relationships.”
“I’m gonna be sick.”
“You’ve never mentioned finding yourself a woman, Michael. Did she leave you?”
“Father, please, I can’t.”
“I thought we were making progress here.” He folded his arms again. “Can I finally relate to you on something good or not?”
“No, no, you can’t. Sorry. I’m gonna hurl, seriously like, look away.” He bent his head between his knees, looking at the ground as he prepared himself to dry wretch at the ground.
“Tell me, Michael.”
“Springtrap, don’t push it. You’ve already gone too far.” Crackled the loudspeakers.
“It’s clearly something painful, I want to know what’s hurt you that finally wasn’t me by the sounds of it.”
“It’s not your life, dude, leave him.” Nikki continued to support.
“Michael, tell me. Now.”
“Father-”
“Michael!”
Mike sat bolt upright, his arms tensed with dread as he forced the words out of his quivering mouth. It was now or never.
“Jeremy,” Mike called out weakly, quietly, but forcefully, posing the name as more of a question than a statement, as though physically wounded by the pressure, unable to contain himself at the tension built by his Father.
“It w-as- Jeremy.” He spoke in an almost strangled sob, biting his bottom lip as his gaze fell, pained, to the floor. The silent reaction pushed it - Mike couldn’t look anywhere near his father as he confessed, and quickly, his emotions overcame him. He clutched his face with his hands as he sat up, barely, propping himself to the side of his chair as his shoulders heaved. Tears actually threatened to spill - tears. Mike had been dead for decades, yet now was the time that he was going to cry, sitting in front of his Father, talking about his sex life.
Springtrap sat back, quiet, clearly taken aback by the sudden outburst.
“He g-ot bit in ‘87. He got b-brain-damage…” He choked out, still clutching at his face.
The room was quiet for quite some time. Nikki and Jay came out shortly to hold him on either side, comforting Mike as best they could as he gave in to the unfamiliar sensation in his body, allowing the tears to spill.
“What?” Springtrap finally broke the muffled sobs of his son.
“I can’t,” Mike spoke quietly. “I c-can't, I’m sorry.” Mike actually didn’t realise that he could be any more uncomfortable with his Father. Shame and regret coursing through his body was a familiar feeling, but this was different. Normally, he was ashamed that he had hurt someone, but this feeling now was because he had loved someone. How could it be so humiliating, to love? To just tell his Father that he had once loved was bad, but that it was the wrong kind of love - the kind between two men - to tell his Father this, then cry openly about it?
“The little black boy you terrorised Junior with?”
From within the confines of Nikki and Jay, Springtrap could just about see Mike nodding confirmation as the pair shot disapproving glances at his Father.
“But he… Pardon?” He repeated, hoping for some sort of elaboration despite his son's clear distress.
“Look, you two, back off a moment,” Springtrap instructed Nikki and Jay, motioning for them to leave Mike as he leaned forward in his seat.
Cautiously, the two stood back, right at his sides as though they were bodyguards, as Mike began to compose himself, hastily wiping the tears from his face. He tightened his posture and stared at the ground, only daring to flick his gaze up occasionally to gauge his Father’s undoubtedly horrified expression.
“Michael, you loved a boy?”
Mike nodded once again in confirmation, clutching at the jeans on his knees with fingers tight from fear, a deep pit at the bottom of his core beginning to ache with shame. Why he should even care what his Father thought was beyond him. Perhaps he would have previously rubbed it in his face, actively shown defiance by dating a boy - but Mike’s confidence had always been shallow. His desperation for approval from his Father still had a firm grasp on him, and now that there was the potential that he could be loved, this relationship threatened to break what he never even had.
“Do you… what? How? But you had girlfriends in high school?”
“Yeah,” Mike forced himself to laugh, hastily. “I thought I could um, throw off suspicion.”
Springtrap thought about this for some time, leaving Mike to bite at his lips in dread of his Father’s response.
“I didn’t know.”
“That was kinda the whole point.” Mike shrugged, trying to play off his outburst.
“You didn’t want me to find out.”
“Well, of course. Wait, what? Why are you surprised by that? Obviously, I didn’t want you to know, you’d have kicked me out even sooner.”
“I wouldn’t have kicked you out.”
“Okay, conversion therapy then. A spanking. I don’t know, something awful.”
“When was this?”
Mike was quiet. “Just before Billy died. We started seeing each other. Sneaking out. When I got out of juvie, he was the only one there for me. Till ‘87.”
“He was made handicapped after that?”
“Not handicapped just - not the same. He lost most of his memories. Couldn’t feel fear, or adrenaline, or any sort of intense emotion, really. He couldn’t stick around after that. Working with me, at my Dad’s place, just to lose everything from an animatronic you made. It was like Billy all over again.”
“I see.”
“You’re not… disgusted?”
“I’m surprised, that’s certain.”
“I thought you’d hate me. Even more.”
“Michael, I will never hate you.”
“Just get angry at me, yeah, I get it. But… you’re not ashamed then?”
Springtrap considered this for some more time.
“Was it to rebel against me?”
“What?”
“Becoming ‘boyfriends’?”
“What? Father, no, I tried to hide it from you. I didn’t do it to make you upset, I just - loved him.”
“I thought I raised you like a man.” Springtrap spoke bluntly, nothing but confusion in his voice.
Mike winced at this. Not as deep as a usual sting from his Father, but still painful nonetheless.
“That’s not on, man,” Jay interrupted.
“Yeah dude, it’s got nothing to do with how you’re raised. People know that now. It’s just who you are.” Nikki spoke.
“Really?” Springtrap asked, somewhat sarcastically. He didn’t particularly like Jay and Nikki’s new generation, nor trust their intelligence towards many serious topics, despite his need to have them on his side of every argument.
“Yeah, I mean, it sounds like Mike was as macho as he could be for a teenage boy. That’s not because of his sexuality, it’s just who he is. You’re born with it, you don’t choose to be gay, or to become gay because of how you were raised.”
“Michael… you are a homosexual?” He finally spoke.
Mike finally gathered up the confidence to look at his Father, not quite in the eyes, but close enough as he lived out his second worst nightmare.
“I am.”
“You like other men?”
“I mean, that’s kinda the whole thing.” He said with a shrug. “Is that… cool?” He asked, hopefully.
“I see. I think… yes. Yes, it’s okay. Clearly, the world doesn’t mind quite as much as it did when you were in love, perhaps.”
“You’re okay with it? For real?”
“I don’t see anything I could do about it. You’ve never lived your life the way I wanted you to live it. There’s no point now in worrying about what you have become.”
Mike turned his eyebrow up, not sure if he should be distraught by this statement or not.
“I’m… sorry?”
“No dude, don’t apologise,” Nikki chimed in. “You’re you, you don’t have to say sorry for that. This is just who you are. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Actually, there is quite a lot wrong with that,” Springtrap added. “For Michael, he could be sorry about most parts of himself. The boy is made up of messes and mistakes that he’s made.” He turned to look at Mike directly. “Michael, look me in the eyes.”
Hesitantly, Mike obliged.
“Regardless. We are not normal people, Aftons. It is indeed a curse, I now realise - perhaps it is for the best that you failed to have children. But I will accept you, now. I am better, and I am changing. I have always loved you, even if you never understand it, and I will continue to do so for as long as I have this second chance at life.”
The words Mike had yearned to hear his whole life, just like that, dropped from his Father’s mouth. Despite everything. He couldn’t even care that he didn’t trust his Father’s love. He knew he was a profound liar, but he needed to believe this. He stood up, shakily, barely hanging on after that bizarre assortment of conversation and admittance and stood in front of his Father. The man stood too, decaying rabbit costume and all, hovering over his son at seven feet tall, and accepted the embrace that followed. Mike pressed his face, hard, against the cold metal that contained his Father, too overwhelmed with emotion to worry about what could happen next. Slowly, he felt two heavy metal arms wrap gently around him, careful not to push too hard or hurt him anymore.
Michael Afton had never known fatherly love. He might have been making the mistake of his life, accepting what was being called ‘love’ from his Father now. But he felt something. For the first time in decades, the chance to be loved by his father had presented itself. Even if this was a love that came around only to prove that he was different - that he deserved to stay alive, Springtrap said that he loved his son. And for the first time in his entire life, he finally felt it.