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Chapter Text

“Breaking News! Utah’s ‘Rabbit Man’ Strikes Again!” The news article read over an image of large rabbit footprints. Michael Afton rolled his eyes as he saw the same minuscule evidence for the same fake cryptids for the hundredth time. For a moment, he pondered if he should just throw this worthless paper away, but he knew that the “news” in his hand was his one way to obscure what had become of him.

Mike was no ordinary man anymore, he hardly felt like a man at all, which made going to the store for enough to last the week feel like a stealth mission. He’d almost feel lucky the store he went to had self-checkout if it weren’t for how far away it was from his home. Twenty years ago, he had to pay the price of his father’s sins, and despite the power in his soul keeping him alive, the scars never quite healed. His body was rotting as he continued to breathe, like expired food left in the fridge for years after it went bad. His skin resembled a raisin, both in its dull purple color and how it appeared shriveled up and dry. 

Mike hid the large, unhealing gashes in his torso and the peeled away scalp on his head with a heavy, dark gray hoodie. His pants were a size too large for him, just to ensure no skin could be seen. Despite his best efforts to cover everything on his body when he went out, there was nothing Mike could do with clothes to hide his decrepit face. Without the craftsmanship to make himself a mask, the most disgusting part of him was always exposed to the burning light of the outside world unless covered by an object, in this instance the newspaper he pretended to enjoy. 

Dark sunken eyes only seen through by pinprick pupils that glowed faintly, and a lipless gaping maw, useless to him, as he found he could speak from the soul, not the body. After all these years of his new “life”, the skin on his face was no more than a layer of mummified flesh, leathery and taught over his yellowing skull. If you stared into his eyes long enough, eventually you’d find the remains of haunted wires wriggling inside his hollowed-out head.

Michael’s wretched form was much more than visual, unfortunately, as he could feel everything that happened to the human body after death. His body was frigid, the last of his blood dried up ages ago, and he was left cold as ice, yet his skin felt dry as a desert. It didn’t matter how many layers he wore, he was frozen from the inside, and even on the sunniest days, (which today was not) he trembled in freezing pain at all times. Like wood damaged by termites, his body was broken, hollow, and weak; even the faintest punch could tear a new hole in him. He had been eaten away from the inside long ago, all that remained was what had been coughed up; skin and bones, only powered by the yearning for repentance.

Questioning eyes watched over Mike; they always did. The bus he was waiting for was still an hour away, and with the sun not set quite yet, his face would be visible if he dared to stand up. It was almost amusing to see the same families walk by, pointing out how he hadn’t moved after a trip to the store, or feeling birds perch on him before soaring off again.

Michael had become a statue, letting the world pass by his shell and soul just so no one would see what that statue really was. His legs pleaded with him to stand up, but he sat still and remained unmoving regardless, behind that paper mask he held in his hands was a dead body, and he’d drag that corpse through shattered glass just to make sure nobody knew that fact.

“A rabbit man…that sounds more like my father than a cryptid. If he were alive that is.”

Michael snickered to himself as he eyed the anomaly’s footprints that were the focus of the article. Despite all the terrors he'd been through over forty dreadful years, the town of Hurricane’s most infamous cryptid, a green rabbit man wielding a knife, was something he refused to believe in. Maybe for the absurdity, or the hilarity…perhaps because it hit too close to home.

Mike began to speculate on who this person could be. If all they had to go by was burnt fur, weird footprints and dead bodies, surely there’s far more obvious answers than a beast. Ever since his father went back on the news after vanishing, there would’ve been rumors of copycat killers everywhere, so maybe these reports came from one of them. Perhaps someone heard the tales of William Afton, the pizzeria owner who killed kids in the rabbit suit he wore to entertain them, and had an idea spark in their repugnant mind.

There was one answer, of course, that he wished he could let go of, but its fire raged deeply in him. What if his father, the man everyone presumed dead for ten years, had returned in his old costume to enact his sick desire to be feared? It’d be a fun story, and a thought that would keep him up at night, but Michael had already tried to come up with every single reason that it’d be impossible. He just couldn’t accept his father’s survival, he couldn’t accept he’d still be around, not after everything he put him through, thankfully, there was one glaring reason he could be dead.

The old suits in Fredbear’s Family Diner had something his dad called a “Springlock system”. When he wanted to get in character for whatever reason, he could hold the locks back and climb inside, built just for the shape of a human figure. When he was sick, however, he could simply let those locks clamp onto a metal skeleton, returning it to being nothing more than an animatronic. 

When William explained it to Mike, it sounded genius, especially with the pride in his father’s voice when he described their intricacies, glowing with glee despite not being the one who designed it. His father’s business partner, Henry, was the true creative of the two, providing the blueprints and building the animatronics themselves. Michael was amazed as a child was bound to be, until he inevitably learned of their horrible, brutal flaw.

The slightest bit of pressure, moisture, or damage would be enough to cause those locks to snap back into place while in suit mode, it would be sudden, violent, and the moment it happened, there was no escape. William would always describe the idea of it with such passionate detail; sharp metal piercing every inch of your body, puncturing every organ, like hungry animals tearing away for more meat. 

“You could always try to scream, but you’ll be choking on the blood in your lungs when you try to call for help!” 

William would explain in a disturbingly cheerful tone.

Michael nearly cried the first time his dad told him about it, how could his father so happily walk into a death trap almost every day? The commonly agreed idea of how the monstrous William Afton met his end was exactly that; a springlock failure occurring on his way to try and ruin more lives. Despite the confidence people shared in this theory, a body had never been found, in a suit or not. Until his father’s corpse is discovered, he’ll always be classified as missing, just like the many kids that everyone knows he killed.

“I hope he’s dead”

 Michael mumbled to himself repeatedly and incessantly, thinking of the poor children whose lives were ruined, not only had their lives been taken in their happiest years, but it was well known to Mike that their souls never left the earth like they were meant to. He had come face to face with these children twice, once in the old Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza location, and again in one of his father’s side projects, the very place he had met his own fate too. It was as though no matter where he went, his father’s sins clung onto everything he had touched, and yet, despite the fact he had the chance, Mike always ran before he could actually provide those kids the closure they deserved.

In Michael’s mind, he was as guilty for his father’s crimes continuing on as his father was for committing them. If his father is in hell now, he knows he’ll be seeing him again someday soon, he had no way to escape the fires that awaited him, and he felt he deserved them. But the burning heat of hell was only a thought in his mind, because now he had to stomach the cold of a winter night.

The sun was finally gone, and in its place were stars that shined faintly. Thankfully for Mike, the starry sky was never enough to reveal his face like the bright sun could. He crumpled up the paper he was reading and threw it away, because in anyone else’s eyes, there was a shadow over Michael’s face in the dark, one that masked his true appearance. 

He checked his watch…only ten minutes remained until his bus arrived. It was going to be an uncomfortable ten minutes, his rotten body couldn’t bear the frigid nights, but he had to tolerate it. If he were to walk home, he would likely collapse on the sidewalk from exhaustion long before he reached his front door, and using up the last of his energy on a desperate crawl home didn’t seem like the most fun experience to him. It was painful but necessary to sit and wait, because every other option felt even worse in his mind.

This silent, painful boredom didn’t last long, however, as he noticed a man walking towards him.

The man grunted as he sat down on the wooden bench, close enough to Michael to instantly make him squirm. The man completely disregarded his existence, not even a glance over his shoulder or an attempt to provide more room, Mike would appreciate the ignorance to his existence usually, but the proximity was unbearable. This closeness gave Mike the chance to glance at the man occasionally, slowly becoming fascinated by his presence. 

In every wrinkle in his pale skin and his long silver hair, Mike felt he could read a story in the man’s appearance. As someone who hardly felt he lived at all, there was something fascinating to Mike about being in the presence of someone elderly, a person who got to appreciate life far more than he ever could. The man’s eyes were squinted nearly shut behind cracked glasses, giving him a chance to analyze the stranger without being detected.

While Michael’s form was skeletal, the man was large, burly, and resembled a bear in hibernation. His grayish mustache was large enough to nearly cover his mouth, and his jaw was wide, strong, and covered with needle-like stubble that decorated his liver spotted face, giving him an unreadable expression, just slightly menacing enough to make Mike feel weak in his presence. He wasn’t in the best shape, his breathing incredibly drawn out and heavy, and the bags under his eyes suggested a loss of sleep.

The man’s outfit was just as peculiar as the rest of him. Dressed in an olive green puffer coat, slightly opened to reveal a beige shirt stretched out by a bloated body, and worn out jeans secured by a golden belt. Beyond the coat, it was as if the man hadn’t changed his sense of fashion in a decade, that sliver of beige alone almost reminding Michael of a repressed figure in his life. Either way, the two of them both dressed as if they had something to hide, even if their reasons were likely very, very different.

“He’d have a story to tell to a grandchild for sure.”

Michael thought to himself, his full attention on this old man. It was nearly disturbing how fascinated he was with this total stranger, but there was something beautiful and unnerving about his presence. Here Mike was, small, fragile, and taken from life far too young, next to someone so masculine, large, and venerable. It was almost tragic, maybe in another world, this could’ve been Mike himself, if he was just a bit luckier.  Thankfully, the man seemed oblivious to Michael’s eyes glancing over at him repeatedly, his body relaxed and shifting lightly as he basked in the cool winds. It was this small movement, however, that drew Mike’s attention to the man’s wrist, his entire form trembling as he saw the faintest of glows shining through the pitch black night.

The man’s wrist was barely illuminated by…a light green bracelet. Mike tried not to gasp the moment he saw it, a memory rushing back into his mind quickly. It was like he was a child again, seeing that very bracelet wrapped around the wrist of Charlie Emily, the late daughter of her father’s business partner. That one detail made many others click in his mind, the eyes, the glasses, even the hidden shirt was now clearly the same one from decades prior,  it all reminded him of one man, a man he thought he’d never see again. Henry Emily.

"Henry?"

Michael blurted out, before covering his mouth with his gloved hands, but it was too late, the man’s squinted eyes opened wide and a harsh gasp fell from his covered lips. Mike couldn’t back out of this one, the two men were now staring each other in their haunted eyes, though only one of them could see the other’s face. The frail and odd man his father loathed now appeared as a toughened giant, nearly unrecognizable beyond the small details. It was such a specific factor that made Mike remember Henry, there was no way he could back out of this even if he tried, which he certainly did. He cleared his throat, preparing to attempt an impossible excuse.

“M-my apologies sir…I must’ve been thinking of someone else when I saw y-”

“No need to cover your tracks, Michael, I remember your youthful voice too… have you not aged a day?” 

Henry interrupted, his voice husky and curious.

Mike’s words were trapped in his throat, he was caught not just for remembering him, but for how he never aged. Henry couldn’t see anything beyond the small glowing pupils, which seemed to pique his interest more than anything. Mike’s fingers tapped erratically against the wooden bench, and if he had a heart it’d be pounding hard enough to burst. For Mike, it was as if the entire world just caved in on itself, nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, yet he still wanted to scurry away as fast as he could. Henry’s words demanded answers, no matter how passive they were, and Mike felt forced to oblige.

“I-I didn’t think I would…”

Michael choked out, looking for a way to explain himself without revealing to Henry he died twenty years ago. “I suppose the lord did me a favor in youth, huh?” He weakly chuckled, tilting his head down further so that Henry couldn't see behind the darkness covering his face.

Henry was silent for a moment, maybe even a bit bewildered by Mike’s choice for humor, before simply shaking his head as he lit a cigar.

“Your father used to say something like that. He’d go on and on about how our machines would bring us something spectacular, we can both see how that turned out though, can’t we?”

He responded, putting the cigarette in his mouth. The response was clearly supposed to be humorous to match Mike, but it more felt like an honest question.

“Uhm, yeah, I suppose. He did always treat those machines as a family - more than he did for me. I mean, c'mon, Was I not his son?” 

He shrugged, trying not to feel small and weak in Henry’s presence. For a man so somber, it was intimidating just speaking to him… he knows more about life and his father than he ever could, and that thought horrified him. Michael was a grown man, not just that, he’s supposed to be in his fifties now, and yet being around Henry made him feel like a little boy again, trying to weasel his way out of a stern talking to.

“You were his son. You had his eyes, his spirit, his blood, but you were never the son he wanted. His heart always belonged to the animatronics, because they were a second attempt to prove something.”

 Henry explained, exhaling deeply as he looked back at Mike, his eyes appearing heavier with each word.

Mike stared blankly at him for a strong moment, dumbfounded by this honest, by the idea that Michael was not only similar to his father, but that wasn’t enough for him. It felt obvious, a truth that stared him in the face, but… a part of him felt like he had to believe otherwise. There had to be something there, some kind of bond he had with his father that he buried. All these years later, Mike still tried to convince himself that his father cared. The thought of being like him nearly killed him again. He thought he did everything he could to distance himself from William’s legacy, to refuse to be a part of his story. Just being his son felt disgusting, so why did he care this much? Why did Mike want to believe his father cared about him, and yet be unaffiliated with him in every other way?

“Kinda rude to say that to his son you know. H-hah, I’m sure he…never mind. Don’t worry, I uh - I figured out that he didn’t love me long ago, but, what was he trying to ‘prove’?” 

Michael questioned, trying to piece together a coherent sentence while still in disbelief.

“That he knew how to love something, and that he could create something he could love. When he accepted he couldn’t…” 

Henry shuddered, the air felt colder for him, like a memory crawling up his body and whispering her secrets into his ear. 

“He chose to take love instead. From me… from those families… he tried to take it all for himself. But he never knew how to love what he stole.”

“I’m not here for the bus…just to take my mind off things. I want you to remember one thing though, Mike…”

Henry sighed before taking another puff of his cigar. 

“He wronged us all. And I think you and I could help fix each other. We can talk again soon… you get going, I wish you the best, kid.”

Henry reassured Mike, giving him a warm smile.

“Thank you, Henry. You’re not the weirdo I knew before, huh?”

Mike giggled, trying his hardest to smile with him. 

“Well… I best get going, wouldn’t wa-“ The light of the bus flashed onto Mike’s face, it was just a moment, but that moment burnt the image in Henry’s face of a purple skull smiling back at him. The shocked expression on his face told Mike everything. 

“O-okay uhm, I have to go! Bye Henry, thanks for the talk!”

Michael rushed through his words before scurrying towards the bus, keeping his head down low when reaching the driver.

“Michael, wait!” 

Henry tried to call out, his hand reaching out to grab the air, to get some kind of answer but the bus began to drive away, leaving Henry terrified in a way he hadn’t felt in decades. For a moment, Henry sat there, frozen in shock and horror, processing the sight. He thought and pondered, and soon enough, he came to his own conclusion as to what might’ve happened to Michael.

Chapter Text

Michael got on the bus in a fluster, his breathing erratic as he shook like a leaf caught in a gust. He hardly processed the confused glares his fellow passengers gave him, he didn’t care about anything but Henry. Collapsing onto his seat just as the bus took off, he clutched his knees high, and pressed his temple against them. 

“He saw me.” Mike muttered out, his mind caught on fear, disconnecting him from reality. Henry Emily, a man from Mike’s growing years he had mixed opinions on, not only returned to his life abruptly, but became the first man to discover what he had become in twenty years. It didn’t even feel real, more like one of his many nightmares, but as Michael felt the stiff vinyl of his seat, he understood he was wide awake.

Henry was a distant man, who seemingly lived in his own world where no one could reach him. His father would groan day and night on how he only ever spent time in his workshop, like a hermit crab who wore the dingy home he worked in as if it were his shell. Mike would roll his eyes at his dad’s complaints, shouldn’t he be happy that Henry was so dedicated to his craft? It seemed that he was the only one truly getting work done, William just danced in his rabbit suit all day, while Henry was balancing the life of fatherhood with nonstop work. There’s something almost ironic in William’s frustration with Henry’s distance, he’d complain he could never grasp where his head was at, despite always pulling the wool over his son’s eyes.

Despite what his father said, and the vitriol he tried to bring out in him, Mike was only skeptical of Henry at first. He saw him multiple times as a child, whether it be a passing glance, watching him play with his daughter, or speaking in private with his dad, Henry was someone who never slowed down. Mike could tell Henry never stopped working, day and night creating animatronic wonders from his own mind or directed to him by his father. This side of Henry, while admirable, was not what stuck in Mike’s mind for years and years going forward, it was his constant need to be in his daughter’s life that, once seemed like the best thing a father could do, only to be warped by the manipulation of his father, much like the girl herself.

Mike recalled a time when Henry was at Fredbear’s diner, watching over Charlie. In the later years, an animatronic called The Puppet was built to monitor his daughter, but back in 1981, Henry took some days off work to do it himself. Michael, who was far too old to be around either of Henry’s toddler-aged kids, often just observed the animatronics and the guests from the back. There was a secondary stage where they often swapped between various bands of characters made by Henry or provided to him by their contractors, in an attempt to make use of what they had. Charlie was stuck in a trance by a large, mechanical octopus dressed as a drummer. Unfortunately for her, she seemed to be oblivious to how close she was to the “Rocktapus” animatronic, whose tentacles came down hard with each beat of the song played on the stage’s speaker. 

He didn’t realize at first, but it was only when he heard a loud slap and thud, followed by sobbing, that it occurred to Mike the animatronic just smacked Charlie in the face. Like a lightning bolt, Henry dashed to the stage and lifted the small girl into his arms, scowling at the animatronic as if it tried to kill her. The next day, Mike’s mind was able to connect two very large dots in an instant, namely that Charlie had a big purple bruise on her cheek, and that the octopus that did the crime was from that moment onward completely absent; he never saw it again afterwards.

Henry loved Charlie, he poured every bit of his heart into her whenever he wasn’t working on the next big idea his business partner gave him. Henry was a man who never stopped in any way, which led to a disconnect between him and everyone who wasn’t on his list of importance. It was Charlie, work, and then the rest of the world melted away. Michael never quite understood why his father hated Henry, even if he barely knew him, he seemed like a good man despite his quirks. But like everything else in his life, this mindset was entirely changed when Charlie was murdered.

Henry was nowhere to be seen for weeks after her death. Despite having the rest of his family to care for, they too heard nearly nothing from him around the time, it was as if he vanished. Charlie was the light of his life, and without him, he could only sink back into the dark of his workshop. The first they heard about Henry after his daughter’s death…was that his wife had filed for divorce, she couldn’t handle the neglect anymore, to no one’s surprise. Mike saw this all over the coming days, the whispers and rumors, his father’s growing frustration, and the collective mourning of the little girl whose father had buried himself in a mechanical coffin. After a week, Henry finally left his home again, but he just wasn’t the same.

Henry was disheveled, his eyes opened wide like he hadn’t slept in days, and his already lanky form appeared more malnourished than it ever did before. Most importantly, he wore Charlie’s green bracelet, which had a special chip in it, meant to let The Puppet know where she was. This item, once meant to protect Henry’s beloved daughter, now sat on his trembling wrist as if a brutal reminder of his failures as a father.

One day Mike, filled with curiosity, followed Henry to Fredbear’s, where he argued with William about what to do with The Puppet. It was a brief encounter, but Mike, nosy as ever, overheard the entire thing from the outside of their office. They “agreed” to keep the animatronic despite its purpose being lost, and every time Henry mentioned said loss, Mike could hear the spite in his soul aching to be released on the uncaring William.

Henry stormed out of Will’s office after the talk, and ran to The Puppet, still withered from the rain it crawled through to reach Charlie the night she died. Henry broke down in desperate, pleading sobs, as if it could hear him. The next day, William had the animatronic fixed, and painted purple tears on its porcelain mask. Purple was William’s favorite color, mostly because of its connections to royalty and status.

Henry never wore the Fredbear suit again after Charlie’s death, despite constant demands from his father to do so, and he was only ever silent when he would come to the diner. He watched over the shows, William eventually replaced Henry as Fredbear’s main performer, and it all continued on as if his presence was never needed. On rare occasions, Michael could see the Spring Bonnie suit’s eyes glance where they typically don’t. When he’d turn his head to see what his father was looking at, sure enough, it was always Henry, staring back with scorn. 

Henry’s presence in the company dwindled more and more, despite founding it and building its first animatronics. William took the opportunity to become as loud as he could on any part of the business. Suddenly, it was not Henry and William’s animatronics, it was just “William’s characters”. Fredbear’s hat and bow tie were changed from a deep brown to a vibrant purple to connect the character back to his father, and soon enough the only times Michael would hear about Henry would be at home. 

Michael listened more to his father’s words on Henry after the incident, every time he said he was a madman, or that he was addicted to something unhealthy to him, it stuck with him harder than ever before. William would rave to Michael in the dead of night about Henry’s failures, his inability to protect what he loved most, and his descent since Charlie died. Surely, if Henry just did his job and watched his daughter through the eyes of the bear costume he wore, she would’ve lived to see another day, he’d always say. Something about his father’s vitriol seemed to have a profound effect on Michael now that he had seen Henry in his worst days, suddenly it all started to make sense to him. Henry became a cautionary tale around the Afton household, orchestrated by his father in an attempt to discourage his accomplishments as absurd luck. When William finally ran out of words to speak on what Henry had done, he shifted his focus onto accusations, things Henry never did, but discussed in a way that made it sound real.

     “He slaved away in his workshop.”

     “He builds toys for children he doesn’t have.” 

     “He pretends Charlie is still alive.” 

William would go on and on, raving about Henry and his lunacy. His anger seemed to grow daily, as if with every lie he told, he was convincing himself of his tall tales in the process. Michael was never trustful of his father, but in a time of uncertainty, he had to cling to the only voice who would know anything about what Henry was up to, and he began to share the same spite in his soul because of it.

For years Michael was fully convinced by his father that Henry was someone who loved too much, and that he spent too much time loving a daughter the world was always going to take away from him. Looking back now it’s apparent that his father said this to deflect from himself being the cause of this tragedy, but even then, that mindset lived in him even after he realized the truth. William lied to his son and the world for decades, and by the time it finally seemed everyone was about to catch on…he was gone, with only the memory of him left behind.

Henry became easy to loathe for him in his mind, after all, the man had a son too. Sammy, Charlie’s twin brother. He was alive and well, but Henry didn’t dare to pay any attention to him when Charlie died, it was all about one thing for him. Eventually Henry’s wife got custody of Sammy in their divorce, but the week of neglect stuck with Michael, though not for the right reasons. He felt bitter and jealous knowing Henry had the chance to love another person, but was obsessed with this one child he didn’t even have. Michael would never admit this himself, but he craved nothing more than his father’s love during his childhood. Even today, he seems to cling onto this fantasy about William, one where all the pain he put him through was his own form of vile love.

Michael’s bitterness had, in recent times, become a deep curiosity. Michael’s drive to ask questions and seek answers has left him puzzled by a man who left the world and formed his own, only for it to fall so suddenly and brutally. Why didn’t he pay any attention to Sammy? Were the things his father said true all along? Why did Henry allow his father to continue for so long, despite knowing full well who was behind these murders. These thoughts rang loud, like spirits dancing through his mind taunting him. The voice in his head settled on a powerful memory, a terrifying one, and it seemed to suck Michael in the more he thought of it. 

Michael’s memory of the day is as vivid as one could be. From the moment of waking up, to being pestered at school over his father’s job, walking to Fredbear’s in an attempt to escape going home…and then, a loud, blood curdling scream. It shook Michael to his core, he had never heard such terror in someone’s voice before. After the scream, came quiet sobbing, emanating from behind the diner. 

He sprinted to the back of the building without a second thought, Michael’s body moved on its own. He knew nothing about who or what he was running to, but curiosity and answers were always a drive to keep him running. When he reached behind the diner, he couldn’t see much at first, but soon a distraught man kneeling on the ground made himself apparent. The man turned to face Michael, his teary eyes widening in fright seeing William’s son coming towards him.

“D-Don’t come closer, Michael!”

Henry stammered out as he huddled closer to what he held in his arms.

Mike took a step closer, yearning for an answer as to what Henry held in his arms. And then he saw it, the glow of Charlie’s bracelet radiating off Henry’s cheek. His face turned pale as he processed what it was, and he scurried away as fast as he could. Michael held a tough persona during his childhood, being a brutal bully to his siblings and hanging out with the rudest gang of weirdos he could, but the last thing he wanted to see was a dead body. As he ran back towards the entrance, the sound of sobbing never left his mind, Henry refused to move from that spot, clearly in as much disbelief over what had happened as Michael had for witnessing it.

To get his mind off the situation, Mike entered the diner. Grabbing a free soda he was awarded for being Will’s son, and then sitting down in a seat in the corner.

“I can always forget later… I can just move on.”

Mike muttered to himself, his chest pounding brutally. His mind flashed brutal images of an alternate scenario, where Michael didn’t slow down. As much as he tried to put it to the side, the idea of seeing Charlie’s corpse was too much to move on from. She was so young, only three, who would do this to her?

The difference between which suit was in use by a human being and which was just an animatronic was very easy to spot. When in suit mode, the performer bounced around the stage with delight, even charming the teenage siblings of kids who asked to go to Fredbear’s. Meanwhile, the animatronics were rigid and stiff, they didn’t move much, but just enough to keep the little kids happy. Spring Bonnie’s performance was filled with the fantastical life that William always carried with the character, practically dancing around to the song. Fredbear, on the other hand, only moved his hands up and down, and his head to the side to face Spring Bonnie. There were murmurs from parents, “what’s with the bear?” Seemed to be a constant question Mike overheard, but he knew the unfortunate answer. Fredbear was in animatronic mode because his performer was busy huddling next to his daughter’s lifeless body behind the building.

His father came to his side after a performance, accusatory as always when no one was around.

“Why are you shaking so much? What did you do?” 

William questioned with a hand on his shoulder, his stern tone contrasting his large smile, covered by a full beard. Mike shuddered, trying to wonder how to answer his dad… maybe he could lie and say he saw nothing, tell a half truth and say he saw a dead animal… but the words slipped out of him before he could create a plan.

“I saw Henry holding something, dad. I think it was Charlie…she died, or something.” 

He blurted, covering his mouth the moment it came out.

William didn’t seem to physically react, no change in expression, no change in tone, instead he grabbed Mike’s arm tightly, leaving Michael to rise up by instinct. 

“We’re going home, you know I don’t believe that’s the case…but I’ll have to talk with Henry later. I’ll ask your mother to make you something nice for dinner, just to ease your mind.” 

He told Mike, ruffling his hair and smiling as always as they left the diner.

Michael’s ears were alerted to a familiar sound, crying from the distance that seemed to call to him and no one else. No one else wanted to know what it was, especially not the parents leaving the building with their children, but Mike knew full well what was going on. Henry was still back there, he knew it from the way his sobbing faintly buzzed in his ear, distant yet nearby.

“Why is he crying, dad?” 

Michael asked, but William shook his head and remained silent. All this confusion, these lingering thoughts looming in his mind, they piled together into one burning question. 

 “Was Charlie Emily really-“

“DING!” The bus stopped at Mike’s street. He jolted back to life in surprise, snapping him out of his dreadful daydreaming in an instant. Michael sat there in silence for a second, the images still so fresh in his mind, but he soon rose from his seat, and began his walk back home.

Chapter Text

The icy breeze of winter air howled around Michael like wolves. His body shivered as he walked past his serene neighborhood, sparkling with Christmas decorations all around him. With every home he passed, familiar sounds tickled Mike’s hollow ears. The nostalgic sound of holiday music playing in living rooms, and the giggles of happy children followed his every move. Michael’s neighborhood had a very lively atmosphere to it, he used to be greeted by many neighbors before his reanimation, and the holiday season especially was a time his peers cherished. Mike wanted to lose himself in their joy, to feel that familiar love for the festivities once again, but these sounds only lived to remind him of a childhood he lacked.

“Mom, Can we eat the cookies?”

“Dad, can I open presents early?”

“I love you, dear.”

The words of children and parents exchanging their happiness left a bitter taste in Michael’s hollow mouth. When he was little, his experience with the holidays were a hollow one, and have become even more meaningless to remember than they were to live. At home, there was a tree, and his mom would bake cookies, but there was always something lacking. The tree was hardly decorated, the cookies were colorless, and their father would give them each a present every year. His sister would get a doll, his brother a teddy bear, and for Michael, he got a plush fox. At school, Mike could tell his peers that there was a tree, that there were cookies, and there was a gift, but looking back, it was apparent that they only did these things to say they happened.

Christmas at Fredbear’s Family Diner was always extravagant. The walls were basically recolored by the red and green lights all around, the tree in the corner was covered in ornaments with a shining star on top, and Michael could still recall every Christmas song played. William, who showed no interest in the holiday at home, burst to life in the Spring Bonnie costume singing along to the merry tunes all of December. Michael would come to the diner every day after school, determined to hear those songs, to feel the festivities, and to gawk at the way every inch of the building was redecorated to fit the holiday. His household and the diner were complete opposites, At Fredbear’s, it was “Merry Christmas”, at home, it was only ever “Happy Holidays.” It shouldn’t mean anything, even now, Michael could feel like he’s reading too deep into it all, but with Henry’s words fresh in his mind, he could only wish that he heard those songs and felt that cheer from the face of his father, and not Spring Bonnie.

Finally, Michael found himself walking towards his home, a one story building withered by time. Michael had lived in this home since the day he moved away from his parents’ home, and he’s accepted that it’s the best he’ll ever have. It’s old, dusty, and the creaking of the doorknob was a brutal noise, but it was the only shelter he had. It would be a relief to have the peace of comfort, when frigid temperatures are painful and the heat leaves him lightheaded and weak, this home was the only place with an in between.

The angry noise of winter air silenced when Michael slammed his front door shut. Standing in his kitchen, Mike brushed off the dust on a cracked granite countertop before tossing a paper bag on it. Rummaging through the papers and pencils he had bought, he grabbed a spray can of insecticide, groaning as he remembered what he was about to do. Michael lifted up his shirt, and began to douse himself in the chemicals, watching as maggots dropped to the floor. He repeated this process along the rest of his body, and even inside the holes in his chest and eye sockets, until the infestation around and inside him lay dead on the floor. With a huff and a stomp, the larvae eating at his remains were nothing more than stains on his carpet. It took all day, but finally, Michael was able to feel “clean” again, the sickening sensation of creatures crawling inside him ceased, even if temporarily. 

“Was that worth it?”

Michael asked himself as he sat the can on the counter. Sure, the pain ending was pleasant, having his body not being eaten away further felt great, but it was hard to say if any of that should’ve come at the cost of who he met today. It brought up so many unpleasant memories from his life, and now someone really does know what’s become of him, he’d rather have been ripped apart by the bugs than let this happen. Michael brushed off the thoughts as he walked towards his living room, it was in the past now, and like he’s told himself many times before, the past cannot be changed, no matter how hard you plead to it.

Michael stumbled through the dimly lit hallway connecting the two rooms, the dull green wallpaper peeling apart at the corners. Mike halted at a framed photo, its glass cracked from past breakdowns he had. Five people, his family, all smiling for a photo shoot, William beaming wider than anyone else. With his father’s fame, he’s seen this image constantly when searching for anything to learn about him, it’s the perfect image someone would want to be associated with, after all. If it was just his father, Michael would’ve thrown it out years ago, but the two people he was sitting with, his siblings, kept him from ever tearing it apart. This was all he had left of Garrett and Elizabeth, the only visual memory of them to cling onto now that he was the last remaining child of the Aftons.

Mike threw his body onto a stiff couch, mumbling something nonsensical as he gripped his TV’s remote and turned it on. Michael’s television was an aged box TV, it couldn’t show broadcasts anymore, but it did work with his DVD player. He breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar sight of a soap opera he had watched many times came on. 

Michael could never name why he loved soap operas so much, he has watched the same events play out repeatedly in the shows he had access to. Despite the similarity of everything he’s seen, the answer was always different, the twists were always slightly changed, and sometimes the tropes used weren’t always the same. Mike craved answers, he wanted to know everything he could, so even when it was always the same stories, he felt the need to have it all solved in his brain, and these little melodramas asked enough questions for him to wanna put together the pieces.

While the show played, Michael’s hands drifted mindlessly to a cluttered coffee table. His eyes were glued to the television, his ears captured every word the characters said, but his fingers moved in their own pattern, separate from the rest of his body. It was only after the episode finished that he looked down at his table, flinching as he took in the sight of numerous crude drawings the deep crevices of his mind created for him. Robotic bears, rabbits, chickens, and foxes galore, with the occasional clown and other wacky creatures – Faces of his past that live in his brain, both for the ways they hurt him, and the ways they fascinate him every night. 

Michael stared at his work, unsure of how it got there, but certain it came from himself. Foxy the pirate fox was drawn the most, and the most favorably, with the most effort put into drawing him over every other character on the page. Foxy was everything Mike adored growing up, an outcast pirate separated from the rest of the characters, along with being the most visually distinct character of the original four. Some of the sketches were in a cartoonish style, reminiscent of the old show Fazbear Entertainment created, Freddy and Friends, while others were depicted as the animatronic itself. One sketch took Mike’s interest, a stick figure with fox ears, clutching onto a pitch black figure, nothing to it but the vague image of a person, this was an attempt to draw himself.

Michael found himself struck by a surge of memories after noticing a drawing of Bonnie the Bunny on the left side of the paper. It was just the rabbit’s head, staring up with an eerie, gaunt expression. This was not something his mind conjured up from nowhere, he had seen this scene before.

On the third night of his job at Freddy’s, Michael was already sweating bullets, knowing well by then that he was in danger. Then, flipping monitors wildly to keep track of the animatronics, he nearly screamed when he found Bonnie, pressing his face against the backstage camera. The blue rabbit’s eyes were hollow with pinprick white pupils, reminiscent of Mike’s today, and his jaw hung low. Michael found himself staring back, afraid but curious, and even now, looking at the captured memory, he couldn’t resist whispering “Hi Bonnie."

What it meant plagued Michael for ages, at first he saw it as a threat, considering the same night that rabbit was at his door, ready to heal a part of itself with bloodshed, but overtime this mindset has warped. Inevitably, Mike learned the truth, these weren’t mindless killing machines…they were children, angry and violent yes, but lost and afraid all the same.

“Just leave already, aren’t you scared? Don’t you fear me?”

Mike placed the words in the rabbit’s mouth, a silent, emotional plea he never heard, but one he recognized now as the likely answer to what Bonnie wanted to say. To those children, Michael was an intruder in the building, the son of their murderer, and now he can comprehend the reality of the situation, they were just as terrified of his presence as he was theirs.

Michael continued to inspect the page, his eyes soon settling on a doodle of the animatronic clown “Circus Baby”, the single character his father ever truly designed and built by himself. Just before Mike could reminisce on its resemblance to his sister… the drawing blinked. Michael yelped, throwing his head back to protect himself from some imaginary threat. With the distance, he could see the rest of the characters on the paper begin to follow suit, the eyes of anything that had them moved up and down repeatedly, the sketches had come to life, and it felt as if they were taunting him.

“This isn’t real, stop! Stop!”

Michael screamed at the paper, pleading to the living drawings as his chest beat hard. He thrashed around, arms flailing to push the page away or tear it apart entirely, but it wasn’t working. His eyes remained trapped on the figures he had drawn, still blinking, like dozens of light bulbs flickering in and out at different rhythms. Mike’s vision was narrowing, the world beyond his direct eyesight a blurry void, leaving him alone in the dark with these animatronics once again. The outlines of the drawings began to stretch and vibrate, as if they were growing larger, becoming real. 

Micheal whimpered, mumbling desperate pleas to the drawings, knowing that they won’t listen. He knew these weren’t real, it was all in his head, it had to be. The faint movements of the outlines and the darkness around him only served to make it all feel as if he was reliving the horrible nights again. Mike’s eyes saw crude doodles moving irregularly, but his mind interpreted it as animatronics from the past marching towards him. 

Michael finally threw the paper off the table, but his vision still focused on it, the blinking quickening in speed. The throbbing of the sketches grew erratic, it felt like they were getting closer, standing over him hungrily. His hands moved around the table, searching for something to comfort and distract him. Finally he felt the soft texture of a cube, the comfortable and familiar sensation of something precious to him. His fingers drifted downwards, and began to twist a winding key, his body trembling as he clung unto salvation. Finally, he released his hands from the object, closing his eyes as music began to play. 

Michael’s body relaxed, burrowing comfortably into the couch as he hummed the little time. Opening his eyes again, he could finally see it; a golden music box on his table playing Toreador March. This music box was the last gift he ever received from his father, shortly after quitting his job at Freddy’s. Mike wanted

to believe it was nothing more than a prize, but knowing his father, there was always the chance it meant more. It could’ve been an attempt to haunt him with the memory of the job, using a song that Freddy would play when the power turned off. 

On the last night of Mike’s shift, everything went dark, the only light and sound being from Freddy, his eyes flashing as Toreador March played. Once the song ended, all that was left were footsteps and his own sobbing, until the sound of an alarm rang out across the building. The lights flickered back on, and the bear, who was only a moment away from ending Mike’s life, walked away, returning to the stage.

“I should be crying right now”

Michael thought. Surely, Toreador March would spark the same memories as the animatronics themselves did, just like the drawings. Despite the context, he only felt euphoria humming through his body as the song played, not because it happened, but because he survived it. In another world, maybe, that would’ve been the end, with the melody being the last thing he ever heard, but that was not the case. Now, he knew that the song could mean so much more to him, the monster in the office was gone, all had returned to normal, and he could always escape to a better place when the night ended.

Michael looked at the floor, where the piece of paper was now completely blank. He wasn’t sure why or how, but that didn’t matter, nothing did any more, he just wanted to sleep in peace. The memory of everything that had happened to him in his life had left his mind for once, all replaced with one singular thought.

“I am here, I am safe, and they cannot hurt me anymore. I will apologize to them some day, but for now, let me rest”

Mike murmured as he threw a blanket over himself. He made no attempt to leave the couch and make it to his bedroom, all he wanted was to be close to the music, close to the end. Shutting his eyes, Michael’s humming began to cease, while the rest of his body became limp. The final note on the music box played, and finally, with a dreary sigh, Michael fell asleep.

Chapter Text

“There you are, my darling.”

Henry gasped, crawling closer to a little girl whose back was turned. His body was crushed to the ground by a brutal, invisible weight. The little girl stood tall and free, auburn hair flowing in a raging tempest. The world around them was a dark hallway, walls hidden within the void. The cold hard ground Henry was stuck to was littered with footprints, the wandering of a spirit recorded through the patterns along a checkered floor.

“Please, listen to me this time. You don’t have to keep doing this. We can go now, my child. You don’t have to keep holding those strings.”

 Henry pleaded desperately. It was no use, the girl wouldn’t listen while sprinting to her friends.

When Henry caught up to his beloved daughter, he saw her at a dusty yellow table with four green chairs, only one was filled. 

“I wanna go home, Mr. Fox! This place is scary and dark.”

“Ms. Chicken, this is our home now! She gave it to us so we could feel safe! No one can ever hurt us here, right Mr. Bear?”

“He’s right, Ms. Chicken! As long as we stay here, we’ll never be misled again! We’re safe here, right Charlie?”

“Yes, my friends! Stay with me, and we’ll be together forever. When we all leave…I wanna go with you all! But I can’t just yet, Mr. Bear. So as long as you’re all here…I’ll never be lonely again."

Charlie whimpered. She was playing with plushies of the Fazbear cast, alongside a Fredbear plush off to the side. The table and plushies were soaked with tears, which poured from her soft green eyes. Henry’s heart shattered at the sound of his precious girl sobbing to no one in the room.

“There there, Charlie, you’re not alone, see? Daddy’s here, and he wants to help! Please…come back to me.”

Henry begged, struggling to hold back tears in his own eyes. He was correct, Charlie was not alone in this void, as there was another man here. Henry didn’t recognize him at first, his presence made clear with a booming demand echoing in the dark.

“Charlie. We have to leave.”

“But sir! I wanna play more! They need me…the bunny’s been crying so much lately.”

“I apologize, but someone else is intruding on your playtime. I’m not letting him get closer to you.”

“But…but you…hmph, fine! But when I get back, you better promise me they’re right where I left them!”

“I can promise you that and more, Charlie. Now, let’s go.”

The man spoke to Henry’s daughter, his demands assertive, yet each word ended soft and cuddly. She sat up from her chair, abandoning the plushies to run to the door. This wasn’t right, Charlie would never leave her friends behind, not unless she had to. The poor child trembled as the man grasped her hand, leading her away. It was the figure’s final words that made Henry understand who he was and why she was so afraid.

“I can repurpose them, I’ll put them all into one body. My old partner will never realize what happened to his wretched machines.”

The voice, Afton, snarled. Charlie was gone, and now only the two of them stood in the room together. William was not his usual self, not in the same way Charlie remained the same. A pitch black figure outlined by a white light, strands of himself expanding and shrinking as he scooped the plushies into his unloving arms.

Henry tried to scream, to tell William to stop and leave the characters alone. He wanted to bring them all together, but once again, this monster had come to continue their suffering. Henry pulled himself off the floor, his battered body gaining the strength to end the story, to stop him then, but just as he charged at the grinning figure of William Afton…

“CAW! CAW! CAW!”

A wooden owl Henry had built long ago screeched into his ear. The bird’s wings flapped in a jittery motion as it called for Henry to wake up. Henry grumbled curses at the owl as he pushed it off his nightstand, finally silencing it.

Henry started his day like any other, glued to his bed, wallowing in the feeling of the mattress against his aching back. He turned on his television, already set on a news channel. He was never one for an early start to a morning, and convincing himself any action was worthwhile was a seemingly impossible fight. Hearing the news always inspired him, though. He prefers to think on the issues of today, rather than those of yesterday, even if the past continues to breathe down his neck. 

He had been doing his best to avoid thinking about the run in with Michael last night, and the nauseating state he was in, but it was impossible to unsee. The way the skin stuck to his skull like paper mache, the terror in his empty eyes when the light came, it was trapped in his brain, and refused to be forgotten. Henry wanted to call it as it was, putrid, sickening, and blood-curdling. Despite those thoughts, he knew well what he’d be doing if he dared to utter those words. Henry refused to create that disconnect, he would not let himself see Michael as anything but human.

Henry’s ears perked when he heard the news from his television. 

     “Latest report on the recent deaths in Hurricane. Information on the two bodies found underneath the Hurricane-LaVerkin Bridge has been released by the police. The victims have been identified as thirty year old Lucy Olsen and nineteen year old Tyler Howard.”

The reporter confirmed. Henry’s attention was finally caught, and it was on something other than Michael. He was always curious about what happens around him, especially regarding the dead. He knew all too well that a mysterious murder in this city could easily be the result of something supernatural.

“Their bodies have slightly decomposed, suggesting their deaths to be earlier in the week of their disappearance. Major lacerations were found on their chests, several internal organs could not be located. Small wires were found around, over, and inside them as well. The case has been determined to be a homicide, but no suspects are currently in question. We hope to provide more answers soon, and pray justice for their families will come swiftly.”

“Wires.” 

Henry choked out as the continued broadcast was drowned away by his own thoughts. An aching memory strained him in an instant with that word alone. It was a dreary night returning home from his sister’s, where Henry spotted a small shambling figure scurrying off into the forest. The only thing that illuminated its presence was two bright yellow bulbs on an off-white face. Without thinking, Henry shined a light on the creature, not expecting it to stop dead in its tracks to stare back.

With the split apart face of a metal bear as its mask, the beast began to laugh manically, exposing needle-like teeth lining its disjointed jaw. Its body was a tangle of wires, slithering against each other in the many knots connecting them all into one solid body. Metal eyeballs of various colors were safely tucked inside the writhing mass of its form, all staring into Henry’s withered soul. 

Henry was paralyzed at first, staring back at the creature that only cackled in response. Before he could mutter a word, it lunged forwards, leaping at him like a rabid canine ready to bite. Henry dashed as well as his aged legs could, just barely beating its pace for as long as he could stand to. The roaring laughter never ceased, growing louder as it followed close behind. 

“This is it.” Henry’s mind repeated. He thought he was about to die by hands of this web of wires, one that he was quick to realize was made of something far more powerful than its metal parts. Henry had dreamed of his own fate countless times before, but never could he imagine that his reaper would be cackling as it hunted for him. Fortunately, it appeared that luck had blessed him for once, as he bursted into his house as quickly as he reached it. He slammed his door shut, the thudding of metal thrusting against it making his chest clench in fear. 

Henry began to lock his windows, though the masked horror never tried to break through them. He slumped against his dining room table, finally catching his breath enough to quell the scorching pain across his body. The monster did not leave quite yet however, as three voices began to call out to him from outside.

“Come on out! We just wanna say hi!” A manic voice screeched. The same voice that was laughing as it chased him.

“Don’t you wish to see our show, old friend?!” A performer boomed. The masculine voice was grandiose and encouraging.

“If you wish to confront your grief…why do you hide from us?” A lady sang. Her haunting melody was like a siren’s serenade.

None of this made sense to Henry, their voices unfamiliar, and their recognition of him seemed nonsensical. As soon as it left, he took a piece of paper to draw the monster. A writhing mass of wires, covered in eyeballs, with a mangled mask resembling a bear covering its face. At first, Henry had no clue what to make of this amalgamation of parts, or why it attacked him, but as he drew the brown top hat that sat on its head, something clicked. This was the face of Freddy Fazbear, or at least a variant of him from an establishment he had no part in.

This monster, the thing pestering him at night as he called it, had to be possessed. The story that led to its birth was unknown to him, by the time this beast took shape, Henry was long gone, having refused to communicate with or work with William any longer. There was no good explanation as to how it knew him, until he thought on a broader approach, and remembered the five children who lost their lives in 1985.

Five innocent faces lured away by a smiling rabbit, taken where no one would find them. Henry knew what was happening, he saw it through a camera the night after the incident took place. And then came the reports of odd smells and behaviors coming from the animatronics. What became of those children…was something he could never imagine. Their innocence was stripped bare, the light their youthful eyes held was captured and controlled, haunting the metal bodies of their favorite performers. 

Henry never confessed to what he knew. Of course, the truth came out eventually, but with William there at the time, he felt powerless. He heard their voices all throughout the night, tiny sobs poured from the hulking animatronics, as did their blood. He could only bear the misery he knew was taking place for so long, leaving the franchise behind before guilt consumed him.

What happened to the five missing children of Freddy’s? Their bodies were never recovered, rumors continued to spread of their souls living on, but nothing could be said for sure. Henry knew, obviously, that the figure that chased him must have been the spirits. There were reports of an intruder at the pizzeria a few decades prior, and the next time anyone saw the suits, they were all left in pieces. The souls should’ve been freed then, but if the intruder had motive to keep them there, then he could’ve given them a new body instead.

William brought them all back together, a body shared between five children, scrambling around for someone to kill. Surely, Henry could do the same thing, he could bring them together too, but for good reason. He had been working behind the scenes since the day he found one of his old Fredbear masks at an auction. The twisting feeling in his gut seeing his past be sold to him made him certain it was time to right his wrongs. He was determined to end things, to make up for years and years of neglect, to finally pull the serpent’s tail out of its jaw.

There have been rumors of strange figures lurking in Hurricane for decades now. It seemed that in every dark alley, monsters waited for someone to bludgeon or butcher. In the modern age, it’d sound impossible for something to slip through the cracks and become a mystery. Despite the technology and cameras all around, though, it was as if these monsters only lived in memory, and served to be forgotten the day after. Henry knew their true names, of course. He could never forget them, cried them out in mourning or cursing many times. Despite the knowledge he had, though, he’d never dare to call them their true names now; these are not the original people, they’re prisons holding their souls captive.

The Rabbit Man, described by some as a dark green humanoid figure with large rabbit ears, was first seen this year, leaving puncture wounds in its victims. The Tangled, the monster Henry encountered, has been wandering Hurricane since the 2000s, with large gashes left behind in the bodies of those it faced. The Clawed Woman, the largest of the four, is said to be a hulking harlequin doll with a mechanical claw replacing its hand. Finally, there was The Doll, a gangling figure with a painted mask for a face. Witnesses speak of it in a softer manner than the rest, describing it as alien, floating around in nearby cemeteries at night. Of course The Doll had committed no murders, it was always in her nature to protect the innocent.

Then, there was the fifth. He was no cryptid, no monster in the dark, not even a murmur of his existence. Michael was the fifth piece to Fazbear’s and its legacy. Henry had no idea he was still there, and more curiously, that he barely resembled the boy he once was, or even a person at all. Henry grappled with the options of what happened, finally settling on one he found likely. It’s a thought no sane man would think, but Henry had seen enough in his time to think outside the box. Fazbears always had a way to make something last forever, Michael could’ve become a byproduct of this cycle, the chain of restaurants that just refused to die. 

Henry knew that talking to Michael again would be near impossible. The horror plastered on his rotten visage as Henry saw it said enough. It felt as if a bridge had been drawn between the two in that final moment. Henry could never go up to Mike and try to shove his way into being friends, he’d have the door slammed on him in a heartbeat. He wasn’t satisfied with this, he could never be content if Michael was out of reach. The final piece to his life’s mission was in his grasp, and yet, the barrier between them was already drawn. If he wanted a chance to talk to Michael, he’d have to forge his own key into the man’s heart.

The beasts of Hurricane all wore a mask. Their clever disguise from the world hiding their true identities. Henry could never tell a soul on this earth “I know who The Rabbit Man is”, no matter how much he wished he could. Not only is its existence unconfirmed beyond strands of fur and eyewitness reports, but because no one would stop to think that William Afton had risen from the dead. None of them could be identified, because what they’ve become bears no resemblance to the people they once were.

Michael could use a way to hide too, Henry thought as he walked to his garage. He was going to make Mike a mask, to cover up the decomposition of his face. Maybe then they could talk, or even become friends, if he tried hard enough. The two of them didn’t speak often in the past, but Henry always wanted to be there for the boy, to hold him tight and give him a true family. He had always dreaded the idea of what could’ve been happening behind closed doors, no matter what he knew of William’s treatment of others, it could’ve been far worse to his family.

The idea of going this far for Michael felt idiotic at first. This was only wasting precious time that could’ve been used for cleaning out the old diner they were going to repurpose. Henry had already put out job listings for other people since his project began, he was going to find someone else, but that didn’t matter anymore. Michael was alive, a visual representation of what Fazbear’s does to people; it made him desperate to bring Mike with him, to add the final piece of the puzzle that is their story. If the memory of all that has occurred is supposed to be lost to time, then Michael needs to let go of that past too, no matter what.

Henry had a generous level of experience with woodcarving. After leaving Freddy’s behind, he kept a steady income creating small wooden toys to be sold in his front yard. Henry couldn’t let his creative spirit die out over the years, even if he had no one to design for anymore. His sister Jen, a sensible and far stronger person than he ever could be, was always there to support him. She frequently recommends his works to her friends, and gives him advice on life. Sometimes it’s small things to get him through the day…but every now and then, Henry’s mind goes to dark places. Jen was a shoulder to lean on, someone who really cared for him, even if she was terrified at times for his health. 

“It’s time to let go, Henry. You have to stop hurting yourself thinking about what happened back then.”

Jen instructed in a breathy tone, trembling as she looked over a bleeding Henry sobbing his daughter’s name.

Jen was the first person in Henry’s life to tell him that the past needs to be forgotten, and it’s a truth he’s held to heart ever since. He’s had a difficult time going through with this advice, with how it haunts his worst nightmares. Every day of his life, something returns from decades ago to haunt him, berate him, and try to maim him. He’s had enough of their continued presence on the world, to him, the past is a sickening rot that he must cleanse. Only then, once the past no longer tells its story, he can sleep at night…or sleep forever.

Henry’s garage was drab, but very spacious; he had repurposed it into another room in the house, rather than a place to park. The buzzing fluorescent light above him illuminated his workstation on the left, cluttered with tools and metal parts. A shelf sat in the right corner of the room, appearing like a collection of a mad scientist’s works, with scraps of old animatronics he recovered sitting in a dim corner waiting to be repurposed. Henry had been using these parts to put something together for his ultimate project. A shiny, round, unfinished black bear with red accessories rested on a nearby table, put together with old parts like Frankenstein’s monster. Henry’s beast in the making had to wait, as he had another job to do, giving Michael Afton a face.

Henry’s first idea for the mask was a red fox, resembling the original Foxy mask Michael used to wear. This idea was swiftly thrown out, though. Once he remembered the mask’s significance, he couldn’t bear imagining the horror on Michael’s face seeing anything close to it ever again.

Despite never being close, Henry knew a lot about Michael, thanks to his father mentioning him frequently. The words William spoke were never in praise of his son, he never applauded any of his children’s skills beyond their obedience, but he did speak curiously of Michael.

“Why does the boy enjoy the fox so much? It’s his favorite of our lot, and it’s not even ours!”

“My son, the older one, spoke back to me today. Does he not recognize I am his father?”

“How does that boy keep going...knowing he murdered his brother?”

Brief discussions at the start of a work day, Michael never amounted to anything in his father’s eyes than a conversation starter. The topic of Michael’s incident with his brother was a commonly mentioned topic between the two, because a consensus was never reached on what caused it. Garrett’s seventh birthday party at Fredbear’s turned into a disaster when a fourteen year old Mike and his friends came to harass him. William had noted this to be a frequent exchange between the two, but it was always brushed off with a “Didn’t you fight with your sibling as a child?”

As history loves to remind them, a prank involving one of the animatronics went too far. Garrett was rushed to the hospital, and passed away the same week. Henry visited the poor boy twice, incapable of holding back tears seeing the comatose child. By the bed, William stared down at his broken son, occasionally glancing at Michael, dragged there by his father to gasp and sob at what he’d done. Henry wanted to hug Michael, to tell him that it was okay, that his brother was going to make it, but the truth was clear, Garrett was doomed to die. 

Henry felt a piece of guilt in what happened too, maybe if he was in the Fredbear suit…he could’ve stopped this, but it wasn’t going to happen. When Henry arrived at the diner, everyone had run out of the building, screaming. When Michael first saw the aftermath of what happened, he nearly hurled the moment the blood met his eyes. That’s when William finally took off the Spring Bonnie suit, where he had been the entire time. The man didn’t look his way, instead, he carefully dismantled Fredbear’s head, and held Garrett in his arms. Henry helped Will into his car to bring the boy to the hospital. Once they had left, Henry heard a sound from behind the diner. Desperate sobbing and cursing, all coming from Michael. Henry peeked behind the corner to see what was happening, and there the boy was. Mike was slamming his fists down against the fox mask he wore daily up until then, the one he was wearing when it all happened. 

Michael would have no use for a fox mask, it would only remind him of what he did. Henry ditched the idea, and concluded that something better would be something unconnected to him. Maybe Mike would appreciate being a white bear instead. Henry always loved bears, it’s why he first came up with Fredbear. It could potentially boost his self confidence too, being associated with something so strong. He does not need his dad to tell him what he can or can’t do, especially not a father like William.

Henry sketched out the outline of a bear into a cut slab of basswood, with a circular face, burrowed eyebrows, and plump ears. This was Henry’s first time designing a character for someone since the original Fazbear crew, who even then, he only designed Freddy and Bonnie. Despite this, it was still a familiar animal, something easy for Henry to make. He couldn’t help but wonder if Michael would still associate the bear with the one that took his brother’s life. Maybe with the different colors, though, it wouldn’t be too traumatic. The last time Henry heard of Mike, he was working at one of the Freddy Fazbear restaurants, perhaps it was only the yellow ones that haunted him.

Carving the wood into a perfect shape, Henry paid extra attention to hollowing out the slab. He had to make sure that the mask covered not just the front of his face, but also a decent amount of the sides. Chipping away at the middle, he cleared out enough room for the size of a skull. Using the top of the wood to create two round ears, he had finished the shape of the bear. The mask had a small smile under its rounded snout, crinkled eyes locked in a joyful expression, and a big button-like nose. It was a polite and friendly face, out of the ordinary, but not disturbing by any means. This won’t blend Mike in, but it’ll make him easier to accept the idea of going out, as long as it isn’t his true face.

Henry sanded down the mask to smoothen it out, trying to block the image of splinters in a rotten body out of his mind. Painting the face a white color, and the nose black, Henry finally felt satisfied with his work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the first time Henry made something for someone special in decades. He looked through old supplies for how to present it as a gift. His eyes locked down on an old giftbox, off-white with ruby red ribbons. He had used boxes like this to shower his beloved daughter in endless gifts long ago. With her gone, whatever Henry had left sat in storage, including his presents he never gave her. His alarm clock, for instance, was a gift for Charlie’s fourth birthday, a celebration that was taken from them. Henry choked back tears as he neatly wrapped the mask in the box. For just a moment, Henry felt like his darling had returned to him, and he got to create for her once more.

Henry sighed with relief as his work was truly complete. This was it, the gift into a rotten heart. It felt immoral, but by worming his way back into Mike’s life, he could get him to agree on working with him for something truly spectacular. There was a chill in the air, a reminder that things were different today and from now on. He let the breeze soothe his body as he walked out his door, settling himself in his car. Henry had no idea where Michael lived now, but he had one idea that might work. Surely, Michael couldn’t have found a new place to live while looking like that. It was settled, in order to destroy it, he had to return to his past and appease it, there was no other way in his mind. There was only a week left until the grand opening, and Henry couldn’t waste a second.