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Mike groaned as he came into the kitchen. In Henry’s opinion, it was far too early for him to be up- he’d guess it’s about 1 or 2 in the morning.
“Mike?” He called out softly. Mike froze, then exhaled softly to himself.
“Of course you’re still up,” he said, sounding a mixture of amused and exasperated. “I would’ve thought finally getting rid of William would’ve improved your unhealthy habits.”
“Did it improve yours?” Henry asked. Mike scoffed, then sat down at the table with him, staring at the beverage in his hands. Henry held it out slightly in his direction. “Tea.”
Mike smirked at him, his gaze falling to the table.
“Tea is for psychopaths, everyone knows this,” he practically mumbled. Henry breathed out a weak laugh and shook his head fondly. They fell into silence, an old routine, and if Henry were to close his eyes and take a deep breath, he might be back in his apartment, sitting with his nephew after another night of discussing their plans for the pizzeria and Paragraph 4.
It wasn’t the most comfortable thought, but it also wasn’t unwelcome. As tumultuous and trying as that period of his life had been, it was also almost peaceful once Mike had walked back into it.
He jolted slightly when Mike let out a small, soft sigh, rubbing his temples. Henry smirked half-heartedly at him.
“Parental migraines are starting a bit early, don’t you think?”
Mike snorted.
“Shut up.”
Henry studied him. The last time he’d seen Mike, he’d been watching him from a camera, watching the purple-skinned, broken man as he sat perfectly still, perfectly content, in a chair in the middle of a burning room. Henry had almost felt sick to his stomach at the idea that Mike was at peace in that fire, but looking at him now, he knew it wasn’t peace, just relief.
This was peace. That tired little half-smile, relaxed shoulders, the trust the boy had in Henry to be able to sit there, eyes closed, no tension.
He remembered the last night they’d properly spoken all too well. How Mike had insisted that lighting the building on fire was their only option, how he needed to be in that fire.
“I have to end it, Henry… I need to… no matter what it takes.”
Henry remembered shaking his head.
“Mike- “
“You asked how long I’ve been doing this. You said you cared, you said you wanted to help and you said that you would listen.”
Henry frowned now and bit his lip. Mike had told him about the remnant- something Henry lightly understood, having gained access to William’s old files and research when the monster went missing. The files and papers weren’t complete though, and he’d never been able to find any of the missing documents.
But Mike still hadn’t told him anything more about his death other than going to Circus Baby’s to find Elizabeth (per William’s request, of course) and somehow dying without dying. He understood that it had something to do with remnant, but Mike insisted it wasn’t important to what they were trying to accomplish, just that, if he and the spirits in the animatronics were ever going to find peace, he needed to be in that fire.
So Henry stayed, too. Maybe he wasn’t an undead… zombie? Restless spirit? Maybe he wasn’t either of those things, but his life had been anything but peaceful since Charlie was…
Besides, he’d abandoned Mike once before. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, not after seeing what it had cost the boy, not when all he could think about was the fact that he was alone for all these years, doing all of this.
Never again.
He swallowed a bit and forced himself to take a sip of his tea. It brought him slightly back to reality, remembering that he was sitting at the table with Mike. He jumped slightly when he realized Mike was staring at him, too, with a calculating expression on his face.
“Drifting?” He asked softly. Henry shook his head to clear it more, forcing a smile on his face.
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Sorry…”
Mike shrugged.
“It’s alright.”
“I don’t suppose you’d eat something if I suggested it, would you?”
“Would you?”
Touché. Henry groaned a bit as he stood up, walking over to the refrigerator and pulling it open.
“I’ll make us both sandwiches.”
He heard Mike shuffle around in his seat a bit, but the young man didn’t say anything. Henry decided to keep it simple- ham sandwiches, a full one for himself and a half one for Mike. He assumed his nephew’s aversion to food stemmed from however he’d died, so he wasn’t going to push him to eat too hard.
He made the sandwiches and set the half one down in front of Mike, who nodded in thanks, before turning back to the fridge and grabbing the milk. He heard Mike hum.
“Want me to grab you a pot?”
“That’d be nice. Thanks, Mike.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Henry poured the milk into the pot and set it on the stove. Mike walked to the other side of the kitchen and pulled out a bag of chocolate chips. Henry pulled out a chopping board and grabbed a knife, and both stood in silence as Mike chopped up the chocolate.
He handed the board to Henry, who carefully slid the chocolate into the pot of milk, and handed the board back to Mike, who washed it. After a moment, Mike walked off again and returned with a cup. Henry smiled softly and took the pot, turning off the stove. He turned and carefully poured the chocolate milk into the cup, shaking his head a bit.
“You like your hot chocolate un-stirred,” he mused. “Remind me, which of us is the psychopath?”
“I’m gonna stir it,” Mike said, rolling his eyes. “I just needed it in the cup first.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
He glanced at the table, where the two sandwiches sat, untouched. Mike hummed again.
“Shall we?”
Henry fought down the urge to grin.
“I suppose.”
So they sat back down, Mike holding his cup of hot chocolate like a lifeline and Henry grabbing his sandwich and taking a bite. Mike followed suit, though it looked more like he was eating with muscle memory, as if he didn’t even know how to eat.
He wouldn’t question this. Charlie told him that they ate regularly down in their Hellspace, and that Mike ate with them. He’s pretty sure the kids never noticed how robotic he was when he ate, which he and Mike were both fine with, he knew.
Henry continued eating his sandwich, sipping his tea on occasion, and closed his eyes with content.
This was… peaceful.
He could live with this.
William paced around his office, thinking.
Michael must have been the one to play that stupid song, which means that Michael probably has a way of controlling the audio in this place. Could he hear what William said and did, rather than just watching? Could he speak to him? Could he speak through an animatronic?
There was still so much he didn’t know about the fate that had befallen his oldest son. On the one hand, Michael seemed sane, put-together, and all-around normal.
But something about him didn’t feel right. He was that guard, the one who burned down the building, Henry’s little puppet on a string.
His oldest had been capable of cruelty, brutality, and ruthlessness, much like himself. And he seemed to have grown out of it, but then he was the guard. That heartless, inhuman thing that almost seemed to be torturing him. Granted, he deserved it, but still. It felt almost out-of-character for how the children seemed to see him.
He shook his head to clear those thoughts away. His mind had been moving a thousand miles a minute as of late and he suspected he was beginning to lose his mind, his thoughts bouncing around like a bunch of rabbits in a field.
He needed answers. The Ballora remnant experiment seemed to have proven mildly successful, since the animatronic could feel a connection to his wife, but did it go the other way as well? Could Rachel feel Michael, Evan, and Elizabeth through Ballora? How long had the two been connected in this way? Was Michael aware of this? Was Rachel?
Where was Henry’s wife in all of this? Was she still alive? Had she died? Would she have gone up to their little Heaven-like area if she were to die, or would she move on somewhere else? How come that place and this one were tied only to the people trapped within the mess he had created?
He sat down in his chair, putting his head in his hands. He had far too many questions and not nearly enough answers and absolutely no means to figure anything out, not without the risk of being ripped apart limb from limb yet again.
This whole situation was driving him insane. If only things were simpler, if his wife hadn’t died in that car crash because Michael just had to watch that movie. If only Michael had paid better attention to Elizabeth when William brought them to Circus Baby’s, if only Michael had stopped being a whiny little bitch and hadn’t gotten his brother lodged in the maw of the animatronic that William had failed to perform his usual maintenance check on because of his research-
If only Michael had-
…if only.
If only William had gone to the store with Rachel instead of complaining about Henry running Fredbear’s alone.
If only William had kept his children in his sights that day at Baby’s.
If only William had been at his youngest son’s birthday party.
“You hurt my children, built robots designed to lure and kidnap other kids and told Lizzie that one of them was for her, you knew Fredbear’s jaw was broken and did nothing about it…!”
“At least I didn’t get my family killed.”
Something felt like it… woke up… inside of him, something long thought to be dead, buried deep, deep beside his wife’s mangled body from the wreck so many years ago.
I got my family killed.
His love hadn’t been love, had it? Had it ever been love? Rachel had told him, once, when Michael was born, that he would be a perfect father. That he was brilliant- I am brilliant, I made the animatronics that killed my daughter Liz loved so much- that he was generous- I need the children to harvest their remnant to bring my family back and make me and Michael IMMORTAL what don’t you understand about that- and that he himself was a child at heart, seeing life among the unliving, seeing bears and rabbits singing and dancing together as friends.
William’s hands clenched into fists.
He had never been the perfect father. A part of him was starting to doubt whether he’d been a father at all. It was no wonder Michael was so easily swayed by Henry, Henry was everything that William wasn’t.
Henry was brilliant.
Henry was wonderful.
Henry loved him.
But you know what?
Michael was just like William.
And this was a fact that they both knew, whether William was a good person or not.
And William knows he’s a bad person who’s done bad things.
Finally, after what could possibly masquerade as a full day of rampant and rampaging thoughts, his mind went still. He sat back in his chair, staring out into the hallway of his admittedly very justified prison. He has some answers, at least.
Michael helped him because they’re so alike. They would both do anything for their family. They just went about it in… slightly different ways.
Michael sacrificed his life for this family. William sacrificed the lives of others. But he was content in his knowledge that he and Michael were the same, and that’s why his son was the Merciful Spirit, and that’s why Michael was brilliant and already knew about Ballora, and his mother, and knew about their connection.
Michael was like the other children.
But he was much more similar to William.