Peter came out of the bathroom right at the moment I left Michael crying like the little kid he was. Peter was completely clothed in his pajamas with all of the characters from his favorite TV show, 'Fredbear and Friends'. Sometimes, I didn't get what went on in that head of his. Then again, he was only seven at the time, so I wasn't especially surprised. I just disregarded it as his wild imagination getting the better of him, like many other kids his age.

Peter had left his toys on the kitchen table when we came home from the restaurant that day. I scooped them all up and brought them to his room where he was waiting for me. His expression told me he was scared from Michael's sick attempt at 'fun' from a few minutes earlier. When I took a closer look at him under the dim light emanating from the lamp next to his bed, I could see two tears streaming down both of his cheeks. He was completely silent, and seemed entranced at something on the other side of the room. I looked in the same direction he did and took notice of a limp Spring Bonnie plush that seemed to stare directly back at Peter. I carefully approached him with the stuffed animals.

My muffled footsteps snapped Peter back to reality. He whipped his head in my direction. His eyes were red and puffy, and the amount of tears on his cheeks were increasing rapidly.

"Hey, everything's OK, Peter," I coaxed. "Michael's gonna go to work in a few hours, and it'll be just you, me and Dad at the diner tomorrow." Peter gulped and nodded in reply, his face trying to flash a small smile. "You have all your new friends to protect you tonight." I sat of the corner of his bed and handed him the stuffed animals one by one.

"Fredbear, Bonnie, Chica, Freddy, and-"

"No!" squealed Peter when I held up the 10-inch tall Foxy plush. "Not him!" Peter's tears continued flowing. I glanced at the fury, red toy in my hand. It was remarkably cute for being modeled after a six-foot-tall robot. His one golden eye definitely stood out next to his black eye patch. His short stubs for arms and legs only added to the overall 'cute' effect of the toy. All of the toys had a similar design, but Foxy was always the most popular among the younger demographic. But after the stunt Michael pulled, it was evident that Peter wanted nothing to do with anything that was Foxy-related.

"Ok," I said. "I'll… put Foxy in the closet for now. How does that sound?"

"What about Bonnie?" asked Peter, pointing to the foot of his bed. I glanced at the Spring Bonnie doll that sat limply against the folding closet doors. I took a deep sigh.

"I'll take care of him, don't worry. You won't see him after tonight," I promised. "Do you want me to read you a story before you go to sleep?"

"No thank you," Peter yawned. "Good night, Charlie." He turned off the spotted black and beige lamp that sat next to him.

I felt my way towards the closet doors and opened them before tossing the Foxy plush inside. It hit the floor without making a sound. I grabbed the Spring Bonnie doll by the arm and made my way out of Peter's bedroom into the right corridor. I was too lazy to really do anything with Bonnie, so all I did for the time being was place him on the old wooden chair at the end of the hallway. The chipped white paint was getting increasingly worse every day. The creepy toy refused to co-operate with me. Every time I placed it in a sitting position, it would always fall over on its side or on its face. After some time, I finally managed to keep it upright. Bonnie's head rested on its own shoulder. The jaw hung open, and its dead stare was fixed on my bedroom door, which was right across the hall from Peter's. I wasn't thrilled that the creepy doll would be watching over me as I slept, but I brushed it off as best as I could.

I crawled into my bed but couldn't fall asleep. I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom for what felt like the entire night, but there was no trace of sunrise in my bedroom window. I rolled over to my side to take a quick glance at the digital clock that stood on my nightstand. 11:27. Dad left at about 9:00, so he should have been back much earlier. Coincidentally, it was at this moment I heard the rumbling of the garage door and the muffled conversations of Michael and my dad through my bedroom door as my ear was pressed against it.

"Michael? Michael, wake up," I heard my dad say.

"Huh? Wha-"

"What the hell are you still doing here? It's almost eleven-thirty," he interrupted.

"I was gonna leave in a few minutes, don't worry."

"Where's your uniform?"

"Dunno."

"Find it. Now."

"Don't make me go back down there. I swear to god, those things watch me, it's fucking creepy."

"Hey! Language! ... ugh, you're already late for work."

"And you're over an hour late getting home. Who's the irresponsible one now?"

"What the-? Goddammit Michael! Keep this crap up and you'll work there for an entire month on top of this week!"

"Come on dad, please? I don't wanna go! Let me back at the diner!" Michael begged.

"Drop this dumbass act of yours by tomorrow, and I'll consider it!"

The conversation was followed by a slamming door, and a deep sigh from my dad. I heard his muffled footsteps make his way down the hallway towards my room. I wasted no time in bounding back to my bed and under the covers. Dad passed by my room with out stopping so I knew he didn't hear me. He never liked being eavesdropped upon. Just from that conversation, Dad was clearly frustrated enough with Michael and his bullshittery, and I didn't want to upset him even more. A few minutes later, I was too weak to hold my eyelids open, and I drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I woke up to to horrendous beeping of my alarm clock. 7:45 exactly. I slowly sat up on my mattress and walked across the hall to Peter's bedroom. I leaned down to gently shake him to wake him up, but what caught my attention was Peter crying... in his sleep. Two thick tear streaks stained his cheeks and more tears were leaking from his eyes, but he seemed to be breathing normally.

"Peter? Peter, come on, wake up! Peter!" my voice grew louder and my gentle shaking gradually became rougher. Peter sat bolt upright in his bed and he gasped for air. His breathing became much more rapid as if he was trying to catch his breath. His expression was one of complete shock and terror, as if he's seen the most frightening thing in existence.

"Peter! Calm down, it's OK," I assured him as he hugged me and buried his face in my shoulder. "Another nightmare?" I asked him. He nodded his head in reply. He continued crying quietly.

"Shhh. Breathe. Deep breaths. Deep breaths." I told him and this seemed to calm him down. I removed his arms from around me and looked at his red and swollen eyes. "Today's going to be a good day," I said to him. "We're going to have cake and ice cream and a lot of fun." A smile seemed to be sneaking its way onto his face. He nodded his head again.

"Happy birthday, Peter. Your present is in the kitchen."