Chapter Text
It had been like any day at the Diner. Scott had been wandering, as a preteen is want to do. Charlie had been drifting around the establishment, making friends like the eager kid she was. Evan had been sneaking around, trying to avoid Michael and his terrible friends.
Scott didn't really like the Diner. It was more basic than the other establishments, and most importantly, it had no Pirate Cove. Which meant that not only was there nothing to hold his interest while waiting for the birthday party, but also that he had nothing to work with to distract Michael and get him away from those friends.
Scott didn't like them. He wasn't sure if Michael liked them either, or if he just liked to belong. Michael seemed different when he was away from them, though Evan had told him multiple times that he still acted similar when they were at home. He'd told his dad, but apparently Uncle Afton wasn't really wanting to talk to him much these days...
He startled out of his thoughts, as he glanced over the crowds again. He didn't see Charlie anymore. He anxiously moved through the establishment, glancing under tables and behind the prize counter. Still nothing. But it should be okay, right? He was just paranoid, surely. His dad said this was supposed to be one of the safest places on Earth. Besides, that weird puppet thing always checked for their wristbands when they tried to leave the building, always searching for the bright green that designated them as important. Maybe she'd just gone to the bathroom?
Yeah. Maybe everything was okay.
He didn't realize he'd blocked out the sounds around him until he heard a sickening crunch, and a panicked scream from Michael. He turned quickly to look towards where the sound was, and he felt horrified by what he saw.
Michael's friends were running away, while Michael screamed as he tried to get his brother's head out of Fredbear's mouth.
He remembered how to open it. He'd been taught by his dad, just in case someone got stuck, or the parts got wedged while someone was trying to fix something. But the level of bite there...it was never supposed to be able to do that.
He ran past the panicking partygoers, moving to Michael's side. He shoved him lightly, moving to support Evan. "Go find Charlie!" He reached up to the animatronic's mouth, trying not to focus on Evan's shaking.
Michael snapped out of his screaming, taking a shaky step back. He nodded quickly, before running off.
Scott clicked one button, then another, and quickly caught Evan and brought him to gently rest on the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick. There was so much blood...He tried to wipe Evan's face clear, but barely managed to be able to remove the blood collecting at his eyes.
He pulled off his jacket, trying to brace Evan's head, as well as cover the wound. The cloth soaked through quickly, and he took Evan's hand in his own. "Hang on, just hang on..."
"Someone call an ambulance!" An adult shouted in the distance. How helpful.
Michael collapsed to the floor on the other side of Evan, mask abandoned. He looked distraught. "I didn't mean- it was just supposed to be a prank-"
"Where's Charlie?" Scott's voice broke as he spoke.
"I couldn't- I couldn't find her-"
A woman shrieked from outside. "Oh God, call another ambulance!"
"Michael," He tried to keep his voice from panicking. "Hold the fabric here, we have to try to stop the bleeding."
"R-right, yeah-" Michael did as he was told, rubbing the tears from his eyes with his other hand.
The doors crashed open. "Call another one, there's someone outside!"
"How- How did this happen?" Michael's voice was practically a whisper. "They...They aren't..."
"They aren't supposed to do this..." Scott looked up at the animatronic above them on the stage, blood dripping down the bear's teeth. "That...that kind of pressure, that's not- not what he designed..."
More people crashed through the doorway. "Clear a space! Clear a space!"
Scott finally turned to see what the commotion was about, and he felt like he'd been punched in the heart.
"I don't feel a pulse!"
"Evan, Evan I'm so sorry, don't you leave me-"
Scott didn't even realize that he was screaming. "Charlie!"
His therapist had said that trauma, especially for a child, can damage the brain. That it rewrites you. Changes you. That some things can heal, but some things cannot, and can only be managed.
He wondered if he was managing.
He hadn't seen Michael since the funerals. His dad said he was no longer allowed to see his cousin or his uncle any more. He didn't visit the pizzerias that often anymore, either. The horror of the Diner had sunk into his skin, and even a glimpse of Freddy caused him to go into fight or flight.
It wasn't the animatronic's fault. Freddy and the crew were more updated than Fredbear. Fredbear couldn't move off stage, couldn't think like the others do. In their artificial way. It wasn't fair for him to fear Freddy, but that guilt didn't make him stop.
So he avoided the Pizzeria. For a while. Until his dad started coming home, angry and drunk. He didn't hit, he never was physically aggressive, but the anger that rolled off of him was terrifying.
And he started sneaking out. Started preparing to run whenever his dad was late getting home. Waited until he heard the car that dropped him off pull up, then opened his window and climbed out, taking off through the trees.
He'd been given a badge as a joke, a 'welcome to work' gift, for starting to do voicework for the company when he was a kid. He used to wonder why it worked on the doors, but considering what his dad had intended the place to be, he wasn't surprised anymore. It was supposed to be a safe place to go when the outside wasn't.
Well, it sure was working for that now. But he doubted his dad intended him to ever hide from him there.
He slipped through the staff areas, sneaking into Pirate Cove, before sitting by the stage and hugging his knees as he quietly cried.
A few minutes after he arrived, like clockwork, the curtains opened, and footsteps approached.
"Ahoy, lad." A soft voice spoke.
He looked up at Foxy, at the almost concerned look he had on his fabric covered face. "...Hey."
Foxy looked around, before holding open the curtain. "...Want to talk about it?"
He would always wait a few seconds, before pushing himself up, taking the hand offered to him, and climb up onto the stage.
Sometimes, he would just cry, the fox animatronic resting an arm around his shoulders as he listened.
Sometimes, he would explain things in more detail. Explain what was going on with his dad. Explain how guilty he felt that he couldn't save Evan or Charlie.
Sometimes, when it was a really bad day, he'd admit that he felt like his dad blamed him for what happened. That he felt it really was his fault.
"Yer pops loves you, lad. It ain't your fault, what happened."
"If- If I had just stopped Michael-"
"Lad," Foxy's voice cut in, more low than usual. "It ain't your fault the machine wasn't right."
"...What?"
Foxy looked like he was going to continue, before he shook his head. "...Never you mind, lad. Never you mind."
He felt like he was betraying his dad, when he took his uncle's offer to work part time at the Pizzeria. But he needed something to do, something he could help with. After his mother had left (without even so much as a goodbye to him, he knew that Charlie had always been her favorite), he'd dropped out of school. And he knew his dad was struggling, since he himself had to make his dad dinner every night.
But the job meant some extra cash, meaning he could keep the fridge stocked when he had a chance to hit the store after work. And it wasn't hard work. Sweep up between parties. Do small diagnostics on the animatronics. Report any unusual behavior to Uncle Afton directly.
But even after what he felt was that betrayal, he had never expected to one day see paramedics at his home when his uncle dropped him off.
Maybe he deserved this. To be alone. He couldn't save his sister, he couldn't matter to his mother, and now he'd failed his dad. He couldn't even get himself to cry. He just took those feelings, and locked them deep away in a box.
He didn't deserve to grieve. Not when it was all his fault.
After taking him in, Uncle Afton had been very intent on changing 'Uncle Afton' into 'Father'. He'd given praise for doing what he was told, for doing tasks as assigned, for reading the words into a microphone that Scott barely even paid attention to.
Maybe now he could be a good son. Maybe now he was helping. Maybe.
He didn't see Michael anymore. Sometimes he heard him scream at night, but Father had told him it was just nightmares. Not to bother him at night. Michael can be dangerous when provoked, he would say, before leaving the room.
He took the feelings about the screams, and locked them away too.
Two coworkers started breaking him out of his shell, once he'd been fully employed. Jeremy and Fritz. Jeremy would take him out to a freestanding arcade, to the zoo, just try to take him places he didn't go to make him smile. Fritz would come get him on their breaks, sit on the roof and have a smoke while he stared at the stars, and they would talk.
He remembered what it was like to feel positive. To smile. To laugh.
And as he broke down his walls, he started to get curious. About things he added up from his past, that didn't make sense. And so he started digging. And when Jeremy and Fritz asked what had him so bothered lately...how could he not tell the two?
Jeremy had offered to take a look at Junior's, since Scott's shifts were starting to increase. He'd left with a smile, promising to get back to him soon. He never returned.
Fritz got antsy after a while, and one night on the roof, they said they were going to follow up on what Jeremy tried to find.
"I think you're right, Scotty." They'd said as they put out their cigarette. "I think something's up. That we're not supposed to find."
"Fritz, please don't-"
Fritz rested a hand on the man's shoulder. "Look. I already know too much. Might as well try to find more. Just, promise me." They looked him in the eyes. "Don't get yourself killed. Promise."
"..." He looked away. "...Promise."
"There's our Scotty." They smiled. "I'll be back before you know it, Jeremy in tow."
They didn't come back either.
He gave up on making friends, after that. He gave up on research. He went back to being a good son for his Father. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? To be a good son?
When he looked over the scripts he'd read two weeks later, and saw what he'd said about springlock failures, he knew in his heart what had happened to his friends. And he screamed.
Children went missing. Employees ended up dead. And Scott read whatever papers his Father put in front of him into a microphone, like he was supposed to. If he was a good son, he wouldn't get in trouble like Michael had. He wouldn't be rejected like Michael had. He wouldn't be sent away, like Michael had.
Father was all that he had left. He just had to do what he was told, and he wouldn't be alone.
Don't ask questions. Don't look too closely. Don't get curious. Do your job. Read the scripts.
He was assigned a night guard position, not realizing he'd signed up to take it. He'd long since given up on remembering anything that was on the papers he read. The less he remembered, the less he'd want to ask questions, the less trouble he'd get in.
The animatronics...he knew these ones. He knew that Foxy in particular. During the day they seemed normal. Old, movements a little off, but close to what he remembered from his youth.
At night, though...At night they were different beasts entirely.
They weren't supposed to walk around at night anymore. He'd been told they took that out. Removed the Night Mode. So what caused them to wander? To try to get into his office? To stare in at him through the window as he struggled to manage the power of the falling apart building?
Foxy banged his fist against the door, and Scott felt himself start to panic.
He didn't want to die. He hadn't realized until that moment, but he didn't want to die. The power kept draining, and he heard Freddy's laugh draw near, and he launched himself out of his chair and into the back corner of the room. He was going to die. He was going to be torn apart by the creatures he'd spent his life around.
As the power went out, he curled up on himself, and prepared for the worst. He wondered if it would be quick, or if he would end up like Evan. Maybe he deserved that fate. Maybe he did.
As footsteps got closer, as a music box started to play, he felt the locks on the box in his heart start to rattle.
When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he flinched, looking up into the glowing eye that watched him.
"...Ahoy, lad." Foxy spoke, just like he used to. "...Are ye alright?"
Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe this was the thoughts of a dying man. He didn't know. But the locks broke, the box flew open, and he was overwhelmed with emotion. He broke into sobs.
And in that moment, the arms of four animatronics, and the gentle sound of a music box, were the most comforting things in the world.
Scott knew too much. He knew his Father was starting to catch on. But that was fine. Because he was onto his Father as well. Even the thought of the man made his blood boil. He knew what he had done, now. Not the full story, but he knew some.
They had told him. The animatronics, and...and the others. It had been hard to believe at first, but with everything that had happened...he wasn't likely to toss it out as science fiction.
But he also accepted it, because it explained so much. It explained why his dad didn't want him to speak with Afton. Why he was overcome with grief. If what had happened was true...then he was now in the same position his dad had been in, years ago. Knowing the truth, but unable to get anyone to believe him. Unable to dig any further.
Well. There was only one way he could think of to get to places he wasn't allowed to be in.
He'd arranged to get the help of the crew. He knew they hated the idea, but it was the best one he had. He knew he was running out of time. He had to act before Afton acted for him.
He took a breath, before he clicked the tape recorder to 'record'.
"Uh, hello? Hello, hello?"
Afton might kill. But even he couldn't kill a man he thought was dead.
-
Michael never meant to hurt his brother. Not...not like that. He tormented him, but...but his father said that was how you got stronger. His dad loved Evan, but said he was too much of a crybaby. This was supposed to make him stronger, just like his father had made him stronger.
It was never supposed to end up like this...
His father had been overcome with grief, with the loss of a third member of their family. Now, it was just him, and his father. No Elizabeth. No Mom. No Evan.
Just William, and Michael.
And William hated Michael.
Every night, he was tormented by animatronic killer machines, and every time he tried to cry to his father for help, he would be locked back in his room.
"How far you've fallen, Michael." His father had spat at him once. "From a killer, to a crybaby. You're worthless."
He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back to when he and his cousin would go to storytime at Pirate Cove. He wanted to go back to when Uncle Henry would pick him up and smile and laugh. He wanted to go back to when he had his brother and sister.
But he couldn't go back. All he could do now was endure.
Maybe...maybe this is what he deserved.
During the day, he would do everything he could think of for his father. Every chore. Every task he was assigned. But every night, even as he grew older, he was cast back into his room with the machines hunting him. He didn't understand what he did wrong. Was this still because of Evan? Was there anything he could ever do to escape this torment?
For not the first time, he wondered if he should just give in. Maybe the only way to make his father happy was to die. Maybe that would be worth it, just to make the pain stop.
But then Scott moved in. And he saw through the crack of his door, just how broken he was. And that scared him almost as much as the killer machines. Scott had been the pillar of stability back then. What would have broken him so severely?
And then, he learned. His father thought he couldn't hear, but he could. The things he said. The things he ordered be done. The scripts he wrote. He was turning Scott into a son who did exactly what he was told, no questions asked.
He remembered the boy who had tried to help him, tried to protect him, even though he was younger than Michael. Who had been there when he'd needed him.
...Scott needed him now. He'd do whatever his father asked, now. Not just to escape the nightly Hell, but to help Scott.
He owed more than that to him. But that was all he could give. He hoped it was enough.
He'd asked his father what he wanted him to do. And the task was surprisingly simple. He wanted him to go get an education. He would send him to one of the best schools he could find. But he had to learn mechanics. His task would be to be able to repair and build animatronics from the designs he was given, when he got back.
He...he could do that. That shouldn't be too hard.
He wasn't given the chance to say goodbye to Scott, but he wasn't sure if the other even knew if he was there. His father had kept them quite separate.
He didn't realize how strange that was, until he talked to a school counselor about his home life. And then she started asking more questions, and he told her more. Not about his nightmares, but about other things.
She arranged for him to see a therapist. And he talked more and more.
Abuse. He knew that was the word for how he had been to his little brother but...he didn't realize that applied to how his father was to him, too. A cycle, the therapist told him. He still was accountable for how he treated Evan, but it wasn't his fault. He didn't know anything else.
He'd broken down crying in the office, as he poured out everything that had happened. But afterwards, he'd felt...better. Not whole, he hadn't felt whole since he'd lost Evan, but better.
He had to end the cycle. It would stop with him. ...And with Scott.
When he'd returned from his schooling, he hadn't expected Scott to be gone. Apparently he'd moved to his own apartment, and worked at the Pizzeria now? That was good, that he was away from his father. Maybe there was still a chance for him to be okay.
His father was happy when he'd returned, letting him stay back in his room again. And for the first time in ages, he slept in his room without having nightmares of killer machines.
His father approached him days later, with a job for him. There was a storage location under their home, he told him. It was where some of the animatronics were stored, for one of the sister franchise locations. If he felt ready for it, he would need to start working on those machines, to get them ready for their next performances.
...Yeah, Michael thought. He could do that. He could do that.
-
Mike had realized long ago that he was different to most kids. He was lucky that his mother had been supportive, even if he cried every time he got one of his shots at the beginning.
He'd tried his best in school, because he'd wanted to make her proud. Make things easier on her. Especially after his father had left them with his new baby sister, and his mom had to juggle two kids and a job.
He did well enough in school to get a scholarship to university, and he'd left to take some of the pressure off of her. But when he had been attacked by bigots at Uni and had to drop out to recover, he'd been afraid he'd lose everything. He'd never been so glad that people were afraid of being sued.
He'd been allowed to keep the scholarship money that had been designated for food and board, and thus was able to keep his apartment. But after the months of recovery, he knew he was running out of time. He needed to find a job, or he'd have to go back home and put pressure on her again.
He'd applied at many places, but none gave him a call back. Except for a local pizza joint. He knew of Freddy's, of course. He wasn't an idiot. He knew the rumors, knew it was a popular kids place.
But he didn't care. Pay was pay, and while the weekly check was garbage, it was far better than nothing. And hey, he could put it all into a savings account until the scholarship money ran out.
He didn't plan to stick in this job long anyway. Get some experience as a night guard under his belt, and apply to a better job for more pay.
This would be fine.