Archive of Our Own ^beta

It hurts.

That’s the only thought running through Michael’s head as he stares up at the night sky.

He’d snuck out a few hours ago to hang out with his friends, and he hadn’t told Father. It wasn’t fair that his siblings all got to visit their friends whenever they wanted to while Michael stayed home and took care of the entire house! All he was asking for was a few hours to himself.

Michael will be getting a lot of that, now. 

In order to avoid getting caught, he’d cut through the woods and some old farmland. The place had been abandoned for as long as he’d been alive, but that wasn’t exactly an uncommon sight in Hurricane. People moved en masse to St. George, leaving their old homes behind, and nobody had come to fill that gap. He can’t exactly blame them, though. Hurricane was miserable and empty in his opinion.

He’d travelled through this particular farm many, many times before—it was the most discrete way to get to Jeremy’s place, because Father just had to live on the outskirts of town on a hill miles away from everyone else.

The sudden change in weather had caught him off-guard on his way home. Rain was incredibly rare in Hurricane, and this amount was practically unheard of. Trudging through the mud in the dark, barely able to see his own hands when he held them up and shivering from the cold, was bound to end in disaster. It was just that he’d thought it would be more of a ‘get horrifically sick and therefore caught’ sort of issue.

An old urban legend comes to his mind unbidden—an abandoned homestead on a cursed plot of land where crops withered and livestock dropped like flies. Anything that managed to grow was inedible, rotting from the inside out and poisoning anyone who dared to eat it. The cows were visibly starving, ribs sticking out against their too-thin, deathly pale skin; the sheep followed you with their blank eyes, their bleating sounding uncomfortably human; people in town could hear the rooster crowing for miles in the middle of the night. It’s said that the original owners went mad from the curse and sacrificed any guests and trespassers to their well in the hopes that it would satisfy whatever force was doing this to them. Strangely, it did line up with a string of disappearances in the fifties, but no bodies had ever been found. Nowadays, people say that anyone who dares to trespass will feel an irresistible urge leading them close to the well. If you fell in, the land would make you part of it. You would rot as it claimed you for itself, dying slowly while bramble dug into your flesh and mold grew in your lungs. The other bodies down there would claw and beg and scream for help, for mercy, for anything to make it stop. If you went to the farm past midnight during a new moon, you might even manage to spy hands pulling themselves out, decayed faces peeking over the side and wailing in anguish when they see you, reaching out towards you. For those who chose to approach and try to save them, cold, dead hands would latch onto your wrist and drag you down into the dark.

Frankly, Michael had always thought that was ridiculous. Jeremy was adamant that the stories were true, but Jeremy also believed in vampires and werewolves. Michael never put much stock in those sorts of things, but now he almost wished he did.

It was cold down here as the rain slowly but surely filled the well. He’d tripped into it in the dark, and the decades-old wall had crumbled into debris. He’d always thought that falling to your death would feel longer, but it seemed as though in between one blink and the next, he was at the bottom. Something in his back had broken on impact, knocking the air out of him and making it impossible to breathe. Every attempt was a wet, gasping struggle that led nowhere, even after he’d managed to prop himself up slightly. 

In the dark, he felt around and recoiled at the feeling of something slimy and rotten. After a moment, he realized what it was that he’d grabbed: a hand. God, there was someone else down here. No wonder the air was thick with the scent of death. How long had they been stuck? Did anyone ever come for them? Were there others down here? Was Michael going to end up like that, too?

The rain was coming quicker now, and the water rose past his chest and up his neck. It’s been so long since he’d been well and truly scared, but the muddy water creeping up his form was a grim reminder of his fate. He doesn’t bother trying to fight it, he can’t, and so he simply closes his eyes and tries to take one last breath.

When Michael comes to, he’s fully underwater. It’s so, so cold, and his lungs are burning. He waited for the instinctive gasp of air that the human body would eventually make, but it never came. Everything was so still, and he realized that he couldn’t feel his heartbeat.

Was he…dead?

He had to be. There was no other explanation. Why was he still here?  He tries to twitch his hand, and to his shock, it moves. Suddenly, an idea pops into his head. It was past midnight, and there was no moon in the sky when he’d fallen. Could he escape like the legend said?

It was worth a try. Hesitantly, he digs fingers into the side of the well, getting a good hold from the cracks and gaps between the bricks. When he moves, he feels all of his weight just…vanish, and he feels around again until he makes contact with his own body, dead and cold. If he wasn’t in his own body anymore, then what was he? He was still corporeal, so he couldn’t be a ghost, and he’s definitely not a zombie. He runs a hand up one of his arms and hisses at an unexpected prick. There are…thorns? Thorns were growing out of him, and he tried in vain to rip off the vines. A further inspection reveals that his skin feels slick and grimy, and an overpowering taste of mud lingers in his mouth. It makes you part of it.

There’ll be time later to figure out what had happened to him, but for now, he slings his body’s arms over his shoulders and holds its hands down to keep it there. Slowly but surely, he manages to swim his way up. The water helps to keep him at the same height, and there is no risk of falling back down like this.

Michael never thought he’d be so happy to feel dead grass, but he might cry at the sensation. His body hangs from him limply, and he resolves to bury it in a shallow grave until he can get it home without anyone noticing. It felt wrong to leave it behind. Thankfully, he looks relatively normal aside from the brambles growing out of him and the occasional splotch of green or brown that mars his skin. There’s no telling if it’ll get worse, but he’ll be able to cover most of this up as it currently stands.

Once his body is secured, Michael stumbles his way through the field. Part of him desperately prays that this is all a dream. I want to go home, I want to forget, I want to wake up from this nightmare.

How long will it take for someone to notice? How long will he have to hide? What is he supposed to do?

Michael makes it home just before the sky starts to lighten, climbing back up into his open window and throwing on a long-sleeved shirt. He’ll figure something out, he’s sure. He always does.

— — —

Michael had been acting strangely for the last few days.

It started the last time he’d snuck out—he’d been gone for a whole day! It wasn't strange for his older brother to sneak out for a few hours, but he’d never been gone for so long without telling anyone. Even Lizzie was worried, and she's never worried about Michael. 

Father had brushed off Michael's absence, merely telling Evan and his sister to find their own food for dinner and not to bother him. Lizzie tried to make eggs, but the mushy mess that was somehow raw and burnt at the same time barely passed as food. Michael was the only one in the family who could cook anymore—Father never cared to try, and he and Lizzie were barely tall enough to reach the stove. Neither sibling wanted to eat Lizzie’s attempt at scrambled eggs, but Father would have been furious to learn that they'd wasted two meals’ worth of food. The pan was scraped into the trash, and the two went upstairs without dinner.

The next morning, Michael was back. 

Evan woke to the sounds of Father berating his older brother for his carelessness, and Michael didn't try to defend himself once. That was the first clue that something had gone wrong. Michael always argued with Father, especially once Father started complaining about him and his sister. Not a single word left Michael's mouth, eventually annoying Father into submission.

Breakfast that morning was…quiet. One of the only times that Michael ever seemed truly happy was when he was cooking, tapping his foot and humming along to the radio, dancing around the kitchen when he thought no one was looking. Today, his brother was silent as he set down a plate of toast in front of each of them. He walked them to school with a stony expression, and it only occurred to Evan once he was in class that his brother hadn’t spoken since he’d gotten home.

That night, Evan paid extra close attention to his brother. Lizzie had shrugged off his concerns, arguing that maybe he was just having a bad day, but it was more than that. Michael was acting like a zombie, and not in the way he did to try and scare him. He was paler than normal, eyes permanently half-lidded, a saddened frown where a scowl or a mean smirk would usually be. He shuffled around like his limbs were stiff, and when Evan grabbed his hand, it was icy cold. 

When he finally spoke, it was in a gargled sort of rasp. Michael opted for a simple dinner, heating up a can of chili in a pot and dividing it into three bowls. Father hadn’t come out of his study at all since he and Lizzie had gotten home from school, and as Michael scooped up the last bowl to take to him, Evan quietly asked, “Where’s your food, Mikey?”

Michael ruffled his hair as he walked past. “There’s some left in the pot, I’ll eat in a little bit.”

The second his brother turned the corner, Evan shot up and pushed his chair over to the stove. Lizzie looked at him like he was crazy as he climbed up and peered into the pot, but she furrowed her brow when he declared that the pot was empty.

“Maybe he's just not hungry?” 

Father's door slamming closed had Evan rushing to push his chair back to the table, and he made it with only moments to spare. Michael walked in, none the wiser about his siblings’ discovery. 

Sharing a concerned glance with his sister, Evan motions towards the staircase. They finish their dinner quickly, tell Michael that they'll be playing upstairs, and they bolt toward Lizzie’s room.

His sister locked the door the moment she could before turning to him. “Okay,” she starts. “ Maybe something is wrong with Michael.”

She stomps around her room, grabbing fake plates and teacups before unceremoniously throwing them down on the floor. Her favorite doll is snatched off her bed, and she shoves a cup into Evan’s hands. A stuffed elephant is tossed in his direction, and he yelps as it smacks him in the face. “Lizzie!”

With a quiet snicker, Elizabeth sits and grabs her doll. “If Michael or Daddy come in, we're having a tea party. Just play along, alright?” At Evan’s nod, she waves one of the doll's arms around wildly and puts on a voice that has Evan giggling. “Now, my dear Ellie, you had news of your dreadful older brother?”

Making the elephant nod, he replies, “Yes, your majesty! He returned from a long adventure, and I fear he is sick!”

“Oh how horrible!” Elizabeth’s face scrunches up in thought before continuing. “It has been raining, my friend. Maybe he was out too long?”

Evan pauses to consider the possibility. It was true that it had rained last night, the flooding along the road that he saw on the way to and from school was proof of that, but it just didn’t sit right. “Wouldn’t the king have told us if one of his subjects was sick, though?”

It’s at that moment that there’s a knock on the door—not commanding like Father’s, but not as quick as Michael’s normally is—and Elizabeth groans quietly when they try the knob and find that it’s locked. His twin shoots him a look as she gets up and opens the door a crack. He can only imagine the regal pout she makes when she answers.

Michael peeks his head into the room before Elizabeth starts trying to shove him out. “We’re having a very important meeting, Michael. You’re not invited.”

The eye-roll Michael gives her in response was enough to have gotten him grounded, had it been directed at Father. “Sorry, your highness, ” he rasps as he manages to push himself further into the room, “but Father wants to know if you’ve both done your homework.”

He makes eye contact with Evan first, and Evan gives him a meek nod. Elizabeth, though, seems to take personal offense at the question based on her gasp. “A princess doesn’t need an errand boy harassing her!” Her pigtails bounce with the force of her irritated stomp. “Go away, Michael!”

Smartly, Michael directs his attention back to Evan, sighing the same way that Father does sometimes. The best way to get Elizabeth to cooperate is by pretending to ignore her, something both he and Michael had learned a long time ago. “Evan, is Lizzie done with her homework?”

Elizabeth groans. “ Yes, Michael, I did my homework! I don’t need Evan to answer for me. Now get out!”

She hits his leg—not hard, never enough to actually hurt—and to everyone’s surprise, Michael stumbles. It wouldn’t have been something either of the twins would have noticed if they weren’t paying such close attention to the eldest, and it was another point to the idea that something was very, very wrong with Michael.

His brother does not comment on it, not even scolding Elizabeth to be more careful. Instead, he bolts out of the room just slowly enough to not be suspicious, though it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else. Elizabeth watches him, eyes wide, a pout only returning to her face as Michael calls, “In bed by nine, you two!”

The door to Michael’s room clicks softly, and his sister turns back to their tea party after she locks her door again. Picking up her doll, Elizabeth sits down harshly. Evan sets his elephant toy to the side, realizing that he would have to restart the conversation. “I told you he’s being weird.”

Elizabeth sets her doll down, pouting worse by the second. “I hate when you’re right. What are we even supposed to do about it? We should tell Daddy, he can deal with Mike.”

Evan frowns as he admits, “I heard them fighting this morning. Or, I heard Father fighting this morning.” He sniffles slightly, desperately ignoring the stinging in his eyes. “He was really mad, Lizzie, a-and Michael just took it! And now, he’s acting like he’s hurt, or sick, and what if something’s really wrong!?”

He buries his head in his arms, embarrassed by how upset he’s getting, and startles when Elizabeth playfully shoves one of his shoulders. “I’m sure Mike’s fine, Ev. We’ll keep an eye on him, and if things get bad, we’ll tell Daddy. Okay? I’m sure he’d say something if he was really hurt.”

Looking up into calm green eyes, he feels a bit better. He huffs, wipes his eyes, and quietly asks, “You think so?”

Elizabeth giggles. “I’m sure of it, dummy! Now, let’s get back to our party!”

That was a little over a week ago, and Michael was getting worse every day. He was deathly pale, with a greenish tint to his face and sunken, hollow-looking eyes. His arms and legs had begun swelling two or so days in, and they were at the point where Evan gets nauseous just looking at them. That’s not to mention the fact that he’d stopped talking, wasn’t eating, and took ages to react to anything he or his sister said.

And then, there’s the smell. Michael reeked of mud and rain and rot. Evan genuinely can’t tell how it happened, either. It hadn’t rained since the night Michael went out, so it had to be coming from his brother, but Michael had been showering like crazy. He was in there for over an hour every single night, to the point that Father had yelled at him about it. And yet, the smell followed Michael everywhere.

Tonight, Evan had to confront his brother, even if the idea terrified him. Michael had just finished the dishes and had told Evan and Elizabeth that he was going upstairs to shower. Evan told Lizzie that he was going to his room, and she waved him off absent-mindedly with her eyes glued to the television.

He peeks his head down the hallway just in time to watch Michael closing his door, and he creeps his way toward the room. There’s a weird amount of noise coming from inside, and Evan slowly cracks open the door to see his brother stuffing clothing into a backpack. “Michael, he whispers, “what’re you doing?”

His older brother startles, whipping around faster than he had moved all week. His face immediately melts into guilt, but he waves Evan in anyway. “I…was thinking of going out for the night, Ev,” he croaks, and he sounds awful. His hand tightens around the strap of the bag, and he glances over to the open window before looking back at Evan and crouching down.

Evan can’t remember a time his brother had ever looked so serious, stunned into stillness as Michael puts a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t tell Lizzie or Father that I’m sneaking out, okay? Promise me.”

He nods without hesitation, so overjoyed that Michael is feeling well enough to be talking that he doesn’t even think of taking this away from him. Michael smiles for the first time since he’d started being sick, and he pulls Evan into a bone-crushing hug. “ I love you and Lizzie so much, okay? Don’t even forget that.”

It doesn’t register to Evan how strange his brother is being, simply burying his face into his gross, musty-smelling shirt like he’s never gotten a hug from Michael before. “We love you too! Just come home before Father gets mad, okay?”

Michael laughs, ruffling his hair before gently pushing him towards the door. If Evan had been paying attention, he would’ve noticed how badly Michael was shaking, how he looked at Evan like it was the last time he’d ever see him again. “I’ll see what I can do, little man.”

The door shuts behind him, and he rushes downstairs to tell Elizabeth that Michael seems like he’s doing better. He keeps his promise, of course. Michael never made him promise anything, so it must’ve been really important.

Two hours later, Elizabeth barges into the bathroom because Michael is taking too long in the shower. 

None of the Aftons expected the body in the bathtub.

— — —

“Evan, I'm glad you're here!”

Evan shuffles into his manager’s office with a nervous smile. His steps kick up dust as he walks across the old shag carpet, and he stifles a grimace at the sight. There’s a single path of semi-clean floor, straight from the door to behind the desk, and even that looks like it rarely gets used. It makes sense, he supposes—this room is barely ever occupied; it’s only where people go to get fired or reprimanded away from prying eyes. Interviews are held in the break room, and all digital training is conducted in Parts and Service, as it’s the only location with a half-decent computer. “You said you needed to ask me for a favor, Mr. Kennedy?”

Gesturing for him to sit, his boss rifles through the massive pile of papers covering their desk. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed that the chair was chosen to be uncomfortable on purpose, the way that it digs into his back. A file is handed to him, and he begins flipping through its contents as his manager speaks. “Recently, our technician has been having some… problems with getting the animatronics to cooperate. We're not sure what happened, but they’ve stopped registering him as a person. He thinks that it has to do with their socialization programming malfunctioning, and considering that he’s basically revamped their systems by himself from the ground up, I'm inclined to believe him.” Mr. Kennedy glances at him, as if he hadn’t meant to admit that someone had reprogrammed the animatronics. “Don’t tell the owners about that, please.”

Evan nods—thankfully, he’d lied about his last name when he’d applied to this job. Not to bash Charlie or Elizabeth, but it would have felt wrong just to get handed a good position without working for it. He looks up from the papers at his manager with a frown. “Not to be rude, but…”

“What does this have to do with you?” His boss chuckles before answering. “I don't know what it is that you did, but the animatronics seem to like you. We’re hoping that you'll be able to walk them through the repairs while Mike does the actual work.”

He jolts at the name, a tiny seed of grief blooming in his chest, and without thinking, he blurts out, “Mike? Mike who?”

Shooting him a strange look, his manager slowly answers, “Mike Schmidt.” Evan deflates at the response. It’s silly, he knows, that he gets his hopes up every time. It’s such a common name, but every time, a part of him begs for it to be his brother. Michael has been dead for years. His manager must notice his disappointment, because he continues to explain, “He’s been with us for a good few years now. Nice kid, probably five or so years younger than you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t expect you to listen to and respect him. He’s our Head Technician, and he’s responsible for the entire cast. Trust me, he knows what he’s talking about.”

Evan sputters for a moment. “I-I would never!”

Mr. Kennedy laughs lightly, and the remaining tension breaks. “I didn’t think you would, but we’ve had people do it before. I’m not exactly supposed to encourage that sort of behavior, but it’s frankly entertaining to watch when Mike leaves an older technician high and dry. I know this might seem a bit above your pay-grade, but you'll earn an extra five dollars an hour while you work with him. It’ll be easy work, too. Mike’s going to be doing all the heavy lifting.”

Looking back down at the file he’d been handed, Evan hums in consideration. The papers he'd been given were a list of verbal commands for the animatronics to perform certain actions, alongside a basic schematic of each of the main four. The margins of the pages were filled with little side notes and doodles, and some of them got a small chuckle out of him. A tiny Bonnie with angry eyebrows, Chica serving cakes and pizzas to a crowd of screaming children, Mr. Cupcake growling like a little dog—they’re cute, and there are even professional-level sketches of animatronics from other locations. Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, in particular, catch his eye. They’d been retired after a close call in ‘83, so the fact that this technician could draw them so accurately was interesting. He’s always been a bit scared of the things, but an extra five bucks an hour is a pretty good deal, and this Mike guy seems like a decent person…“Alright, I'll do it.”

Mr. Kennedy smiles at him brightly. “Great! If the two of you get along and the bug doesn’t get fixed, I might ask you to become his official help once or twice a week.” Evan moves to leave, but his manager holds out a hand to stop him. “Just one thing before tonight, Evan. Mike's not the most sociable person. He’s a fine boy, don’t get me wrong, but the kid’s got some sort of skin condition or something, so he tries to keep himself covered. That includes a facemask, which means that he doesn’t speak much since it muffles him pretty badly. If you see anything, don't mention it, okay? We work hard to provide a comfortable environment to all of our employees, and I would hate for something to ruin that for him.”

He nods seriously. Cassidy got like that sometimes, so Evan was accustomed to bouts of silence. “Of course, sir.”

— — —

The best way to describe Parts and Service is organized chaos. 

Tools are left lying around haphazardly, and the floor is just begging to trip someone face-first onto spare endoskeletons, but the technician moves around his space with ease. He flits from table to table like it’s where he’s always been meant to be, exuding a level of comfort that has Evan slightly jealous. Working out on the main floor was quite the taxing job—screaming children, tweens looking to cause trouble, entitled parents trying to push him and his coworkers around, it was awful. 

His boss was right about the man’s lack of conversation skills, though. He hadn't spoken a word to Evan for the past half hour, simply setting out tools and cleaning off his workbench. He was a few inches taller than Evan, with a lean build meant for speed and dexterity over all else. His uniform, a pair of dark purple coveralls, was caked in grime and grease, and unlike the other technicians Evan had seen around the building, they were zipped completely up. In the sweltering, stuffy heat of Parts and Service, it was a miracle that Mike hadn’t keeled over. Dark hair peeks out from underneath his uniform cap, and the lower part of his face is covered by a medical mask that he can just barely see underneath the welding mask situated on his face. The fabric mask is red, the same color as Foxy’s casing, and it has a pattern of gold coins and hooks on it. 

The man types something into an old computer, and moments later Bonnie walks in and sits down on one of the metal tables. The bunny waves to Evan, completely ignoring Mike, and the other man huffs out an exasperated laugh as the animatronic speaks. “Well, hey there, Evan! What’re you doing here?”

“I’m just helping out for tonight,” he replies easily, smiling at the rabbit. Bonnie’s ears twitched happily, and he gently kicked his feet as Mike shuffled around looking for an instruction booklet.

Turning towards Bonnie, the technician gently pulls out each eye before he presses two almost invisible buttons on the bottom of the bunny’s jaw. The animatronic's body lurches forward as the top portion of his face pops open with a mechanical hiss, and Evan barely holds back a flinch at the suddenness of the movement.

He’ll admit that he jumps at the sound of a raspy voice calling out, “Bonnie's page, command 34-A.”

Quickly flipping to the right page, Evan reads, “Bonnie, enter harmonization recalibration.”

A tiny button lights up inside the animatronic's mouth, easily visible thanks to whatever it is that the technician triggered. The man presses it, and five notes ring out from the bunny’s speaker system. Two of them are slightly out of tune, and Mike deftly reaches up and turns their corresponding pegs.

“34-B, please.”

“Bonnie, harmonization check.”

The rabbit strums a melody on his guitar before reporting, “Recalibration successful!”

The technician gently replaces the upper half of Bonnie's face, reconnects each eye, and a quick input into the computer has the rabbit standing up and sauntering out. Each animatronic comes and goes in the same way, with Mike expertly going through each one's nightly checks. 

Chica gets a deep cleaning, which has her stuttering out excuses about rambunctious kids, much to Mike’s quiet amusement. She also seems confused about who is cleaning her, as Evan is only responsible for triggering safety latches and the like. Evan makes small talk with her, considering that the technician won’t speak to him aside from giving him orders. He learns a bit about why exactly he’s there tonight, too—Mike’s usual partner had quit on the spot a few weeks back after Foxy had a bad malfunction. The technician had pushed the wrong sequence of buttons on the fox’s jaw, and Mike had narrowly intervened seconds before the other’s hand was bitten clean off. Mike had made them a first-aid and general safety protocol soon after, and yesterday, after installation, she claimed that he had vanished from the restaurant as well. 

His coworker seemed to be particularly skilled in ignoring Evan’s prodding looks after that tidbit had made itself known. Unintentionally, Chica had told Evan that Mike’s explanation to Mr. Kennedy was, at least in part, a lie. Nothing was wrong with their ability to interact with guests, but why lie about it? Maybe the man’s condition was more serious than he had let on, and he was actually in no shape to be working. It was none of Evan’s business, though, and he powered through the curiosity to avoid making the other man uncomfortable.

Foxy has to go through a full Pirate's Cove performance, with Mike guiding Evan on the appropriate crowd responses. He finds it strange that one of the programmed songs is A Drop of Nelson’s Blood, considering the context of the song, but he relaxes slightly once he hears the altered, age-appropriate lyrics. Afterward, the technician reveals that a new chest plate has finally arrived, and Evan doesn't think he's ever seen the fox so excited. He can’t help but smile as he watches Foxy get a much-needed repair—he was always Michael’s favorite, and it had crushed Evan to watch the animatronic get retired. The animatronic chats Evan’s ear off all the while, spinning tales of high-seas adventures in the same way that he would entertain the children at his shows.

Freddy is their final customer of the night, and unlike the others, he acknowledges Mike immediately. The technician seems uniquely uncomfortable about that fact, strangely enough. Wouldn’t it be a good thing that at least one of them could register his presence? Freddy wears a concerned expression as he looks at Mike. “Mr. Schmidt, it is good to see you! The others have been worried about you. I do wish you would let me explain this bug to them, I’m sure they would be able to help you fix it.”

Mike’s shoulders tense. “There’s nothing wrong with the program, Fazbear. Drop it.”

Evan studies the younger man for a moment

The bear is made to sing a full set of songs based on complaints over the past week about his voice sounding strange. Evan personally thinks that it sounds fine, but the technician seems to notice what the customers are talking about instantly. Mike sets Evan about opening up latches once again, and by the time he’s got the front chestplate off, the technician has returned with a pair of small, odd-looking boxes. There’s no fuss with the first replacement part, but the bear begins jerking around once Mike removes the current music box. Evan yelps, almost dropping the old one as Mike hands it off to him. Like this, with jittery movements and half-slumped as his mouth hangs limply away from the rest of his jaw, he looks just a bit too similar to the old Fredbear suit. The technician seems to sense Evan’s discomfort, moving with a sense of urgency that he’s yet to see from the man.

Evan only manages to relax once the bear has been sent back to the stage, and he glances towards the clock with wide eyes. To his shock, it's almost two in the morning. The night guard had stopped by before the start of his shift, looking almost comically surprised when he made eye contact with Evan. He’d given Scott a friendly wave, and it only made the man’s eyes widen further, but he’d still stopped to greet Mike, who at the time was elbow-deep in Chica’s torso, cleaning out rotten pizza. He gives the two as much privacy as possible, but he still catches the sound of whispering and watches as Scott pats Mike on the shoulder.

Mike dismisses him early, something that Evan is secretly grateful for. “I’ve got cleaning covered for tonight,” he rasps in a voice so quiet that Evan strains to hear it. “Kennedy told me that you’d already worked a shift today, so I bet you’re tired. Thanks for the help.”

That’s the end of the conversation, and Evan is about to leave when he gets the bright idea to interrogate Scott. He clocks out, grabs his jacket and bag, and makes his way to the Security Office. The night guard startles when Evan comes knocking on the window, and shoots him a disapproving look when the younger laughs. “Not funny, punk.”

“Sorry, sorry. You guys are always so jumpy. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Scott relaxes, giving Evan a wry smile. “Just don’t do it again. This place is creepy after hours. What can I do for you?”

Evan shuffles inside, making himself at home on the desk, just out of the way of the monitors. “I, uh, I had a few questions…”

Holding up a hand, the guard interrupts, “It’s about Mike, isn’t it? Day shift people always ask about him, like he’s some kind of company cryptid. Up front, I’m going to warn you that I will tell him if you ask anything stupid.”

He hums in consideration, but curiosity gets the better of him. “What do other people ask?”

Scott smirks, leaning back in his chair. “There are a couple of theories going around, honestly. Some of them are reasonable, you know, maybe he’s just shy or self-conscious. Then there are stranger ones, like him being a serial killer.” Evan’s brow furrows, and Scott laughs. “He’s not, don’t worry. He got a kick out of that one, though, and played up his intimidation factor around that coworker for, like, a week. Nah, the kid’s harmless. My favorite ones are the ones that are completely out there, total nonsense. One of the cooks is convinced that he’s a vampire, and a few of the servers think that he’s a robot. Mr. Kennedy’s got money on him being a ghost, though. No idea where he got that one, it’s not like Mike floats or walks through walls.”

Tilting his head, Evan asks, “What’s your theory?”

There’s a pause in their conversation when Bonnie appears at the door, and Scott chuckles when Evan startles. “See, I told you they were creepy!”

Bonnie frowns—or at least Evan thinks he does, it’s not like the rabbit has eyebrows or facial muscles, it was just sort of a vibe—and puts a hand on his hip. In the most deadpan voice he can manage, he says, “Boo. Scary. Be afraid.”

Scott reaches out and pats the rabbit on the shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. We can’t really help it.” Bonnie shrugs, getting a bit of bounce back into his movements and strumming a little tune on his guitar. “Was there something you needed, Bon?”

The rabbit perks up. “Oh, right! Mike wanted me to tell you that he’s heading out. That’s all.”

Evan smiles at Bonnie. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“No problem! I’ll see you tomorrow, Evan! Bye, Scott!”

The two of them watch the rabbit leave before Scott says, “Zombie.”

“What?”

The night guard laughs again. “Zombie. That’s my theory.”

Evan can’t help but stare. “You said those theories were ‘nonsense’, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirms. “That’s what makes ‘em so fun. Anyway, if your question is ‘what is Mike?’, the answer is that he’s just some kid who’s really good with animatronics.”

“...or a zombie.”

“Or a zombie. Seriously, though, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was some kind of prodigy. Mr. Afton and Mr. Emily are amazing, don’t get me wrong, but Mike’s on another level.” Scott’s eyes darted to him for a moment. “Uh, no offense.”

Oh. Oh, great, awesome. “How’d you know?”

The night guard chuckles. “Kid, I’ve been with this company since 1980, it’d be embarrassing if I didn’t know what the owners’ kids looked like. If you’re wondering why I’m not in Hurricane, the missus got a new gig here, so I got transferred. Don’t worry, though. I don’t think anyone else is onto you, except maybe Mr. Kennedy. I can’t see him really caring, though. He’s not the type to give special treatment, even to the owners’ kids. He worked in Hurricane, too, until he and Charlotte got into a bit of a spat. Henry liked him, and William didn’t want to let him go, so he got moved here, too.”

Evan nods as he catalogues that information for later. Maybe he’d go digging through the files at the main location. Mr. Kennedy seemed like a nice guy, and Charlotte was slow to anger, so he’s admittedly curious as to what they possibly could’ve fought about. Scott waves a hand. “All that aside, were there any other questions you had?”

“...Have you ever seen his face?”

Scott sends him a strange look, almost judgmental, before his eyes return to the screen. “Didn’t think you were that kind of person, Evan.”

He’s quick to realize the implications of his question—how many times had someone asked to see what he looked like? If his condition is bad enough that he covers everything, it’s more than likely that other people would want to catch a glimpse of someone they’d consider a ‘freak’. His face heats up as shame washes over him. “Sorry, I was just curious. I didn’t mean anything by it…”

With a sigh, Scott turns away from his monitor to look Evan in the eyes. “I know. Nobody ever means to be like that, but the kid’s had a hard enough time trying to fit in as it is.” He tilts his head, looking Evan up and down before he comes to a decision. “I’ve got a deal for you. I’ll answer your question if you try to make friends with him. Everyone, aside from me and Mr. Kennedy, avoids him like the plague, and you’ve always been good with people.” There’s a knowing glint in his eye, one that Evan doesn’t quite understand. “I think you two would get along well.”

Evan shrugs with a small smile. “I was planning on it anyway, since we’ll probably be working together for a while.”

The night guard smirks. “I knew you were a good egg. Yeah, I’ve seen him. I bumped into him as he was heading out one night, and he obviously had to leave the welding mask here. Once you get past the initial shock, he’s pretty normal-looking, all things considered. His eyes are probably the most interesting thing about him, if I’m honest. I’ve never seen eyes like that. Sometimes, I swear it’s like they’re glowing. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yeah,” Evan nods. “It does.”

“Perfect. Now go home, would you? You’ve got an early shift tomorrow!”

He looks at the alarm clock on the desk and pales. 3:30 blinks back at him in white LEDs. “Why didn’t you say anything!?”

Scott laughs. “It’s more entertaining that way. Have fun coming in at eight!”

Evan doesn’t even bother trying to chew the night guard out; he lives twenty minutes away and desperately needs sleep. The only thing he says is, “You’re the worst!” as he runs towards the front of the building. Tomorrow, he would start getting to know his new coworker. Hopefully, everything turns out all right.