A/N: And here's chapter three.

Yes, a bit of a delay, but I'll be damned if I haven't been busy as hell. I actually have a killer headache right now so please excuse my writing if it seems lacking.

And even if I haven't touched this in so long you all have been amazing. Thank you for following, favoriting, and reviewing.

Again, I will most likely come back to edit this after deciding I hate it. SO if something changes, don't be alarmed.

Disclaimer: Haibanashi does not own Five Night's at Freddy's or any of its characters (that would be Scott Cawthon). Haibanashi makes no profit off of this story.

Warnings: There is quite a bit of swearing/cursing. Also some gore but not so much in this chapter.

Read on.


Jeremy liked to think that he was pretty nice person and had some manners on him; he always tried to include the kids at school who didn't really have anyone to hang around and opened doors for ladies and the elderly. Point was, Jeremy counted himself as a decent human being.

That being said, there was nothing Jeremy could be nice about concerning Mike's apartment.

First of all, the place was small. Like, really small. Like, it was a studio apartment. Jeremy had been in hotel rooms that were more spacious than this… Jeremy hesitated to even call it a room.

A cheap kitchen counter hugged the wall on the far right corner, a nearly archaic gas stove built in and a refrigerator that barely looked half of Jeremy's height was placed next to the end furthest from him, facing the door. To the left was what Jeremy presumed would equate to a living room. A faded burgundy sofa that could fit maybe two people sat against the wall, a beat-up coffee table was placed in front of it that had a… decent television on (it wasn't ancient, but it was by no means a plasma widescreen). There was also a chair that had definitely seen better days. The back left corner was boxed off in what Jeremy guessed would be the master — no, the only bedroom. He also noticed a door that seemed to be indented into the far wall. That'd probably be the bathroom.

How could someone live in such a tiny dwelling?

"Um," Jeremy's eyes darted to look over at Mike, "nice — "

"Don't," Mike effectively cut Jeremy off, the blonde's mouth snapping shut. "Flattery will get you nowhere, especially if there's absolutely no basis for it."

Jeremy just stared. "I wasn't — "

"Yes you were," Mike rolled his eyes. "And don't try to deny it."

Well then.

"So," Mike took all but two strides before he sat down in the chair, "what is it that you want, exactly?"

Jeremy gulped. He was still pretty skeptic as to whether this guy was actually the same one who left the messages. Time for the moment of truth.

"On the second message," Jeremy started, his gaze locking onto Mike's, "you gave advice about the 'quirky' animatronic and what to do about it."

Mike's brows furrowed but Jeremy didn't miss the spark that flashed through his eyes, unreadable as it was. "You're not so empty-headed, are you?"

Jeremy felt the corners of his mouth pull down. He gave no response.

A miniscule smile slipped onto Mike's face, practically nonexistent. He continued, "Then again, you've gotten through a few nights so you must have something up there. Fine, I'll humor you; I told you to give Foxy a rave party with the flashlight to get him to go away."

And just like that, Jeremy felt all of the tension flood out of him and made his way to the couch. "Sorry," he said. "I just needed to make sure, you know?"

Mike's shrugged. "I can appreciate some paranoia after working a night or two; it keeps you alive."

Jeremy grinned. His fingers twitched. Then he threw himself at Mike.

"What the fu — "

"God, you're amazing!" Jeremy yelled (very manly like. Totally not squealing).

"Get off!" Mike's voice was muffled by Jeremy's chest, seeing as he was the shorter of the two.

"I would be dead right now if you hadn't left those recordings," Jeremy rambled, not even hearing the brunet. "I wouldn't have even known that the damned things moved or to wind up the music box — I hate the Marionette, fucker — or how to stop Foxy and I really don't wanna die yet especially by creepy as hell robots — "

"Shut up, will you?" Mike pulled back, whacking Jeremy across the chest and scowling up at him. "You're welcome for the help but I don't need to be suffocated."

Jeremy nodded. "Yeah, totally. Just forgot."

"… that humans need to breathe?"

"No."

Mike sighed and muttered under his breath, "Of course."

Jeremy stood still and watched as Mike sat back down in his chair (wow had he really pulled him out of it?), crossing one leg over the other's knee and holding his head up with the heel of his hand.

"Anyway," Mike continued, "was that it?"

Jeremy's smile fell a few watts in power. "What do you mean is that it?"

Mike gave the teen a deadpan look. "You said what you wanted to. And I do appreciate the fact that you tracked me down just to hug me and express your gratitude, truly, but usually you would leave right about now."

"What?" Jeremy was incredulous. "First of all, you'd show me to the door — "

" — I'm seriously doubting you were a night guard if you can't find it yourself — "

" — and there's gotta be more than that!" Jeremy finished, ignoring Mike's interjection. "C'mon, we both went through the same near death experience as each other! Don't you wanna talk about it at all?"

Mike raised one eyebrow (a skill that Jeremy envied). "What do you want to do, start a club?"

"Yes!" Pause. "Well, no. I just want to swap stories, you know? Maybe I encountered something that you didn't or the other way around."

Mike gave a small, brief smile. "I somehow doubt that the first one."

"And even if we didn't, wouldn't this just be nice to get off your chest and talk to someone that actually understands?" Jeremy attempted to persuade Mike.

Mike's eyes narrowed. Finally, he heaved a large sigh and slumped back into his chair. "You know what, fine. I can't say I'm not curious as to how you might have handled them."

Jeremy's grin returned and he sauntered over to the couch, the springs giving cries of protest as he plopped down his entire weight onto the piece of furniture. Mike seemed different than Jeremy had imagined him but somehow the person he saw didn't surprise him as much as he should've. Mike's physique was definitely a bit of a throw off, but the quick thinking, witty comments, sarcastic bite, and general brusque manner was a direct match to the personality Jeremy had fitted Phone Guy (or, Mike now) with.

"Well?" Jeremy startled out of his thoughts as Mike spoke. "Are you just going to sit there?"

"Can I ask questions?" Jeremy felt the words flood out before he had time to filter them.

"I would say that you just did to be a smartass but it annoys me when people do that." Mike said. "Go for it."

"Why does the Marionette need to listen to the music box?"

"I honestly have no idea. I just know it works and I suggest sticking to it until it doesn't."

"You never really said why, so how come the animatronics want to kill me? Or whoever is working there, I guess."

"Ugh, I was told that they think that you're an endo or something — "

"Endo?"

"The metal endoskeletons that are inside the animatronics. They think that you're an endo or whatever and since that's apparently 'against the rules here at Freddy Fazbear's' they try to forcefully stuff you into a Freddy suit."

"That doesn't sound bad."

"It wouldn't be, either, if the costumes weren't stuffed with servo motors and crossbeams and other sharp, metal objects."

"… oh."

And so it continued in a similar fashion, with Jeremy asking Mike every question imaginable. Most of them were received with pointblank answers ("Can't you just fight them off?" "If you want to fight off metal beings that can't feel pain or don't have a sense of self-preservation, then I wish you luck.") although some were met with indefinite responses ("Why haven't any of them been, I don't know, scrapped?" "That would be nice if it happened, wouldn't it?").

And finally, Jeremy asked the million dollar question.

"Who was the Phone Guy before you?"

Mike's head cocked to the side. "What?"

"Uh, Phone Guy," Jeremy elaborated, "the guy who left you messages?"

"Oh." Mike shrugged. "No idea."

"Really?"

"I'm pretty sure that he died on his fourth night, based on the end of the call."

Jeremy froze. He knew that death would be the result of failure, but to actually hear that someone in his exact position had…

It was an eye opener.

"Besides," Mike continued, ignoring Jeremy's reaction, "his calls would have been out of date."

"Out of date?" Jeremy parroted.

"He worked at the old pizzeria," Mike explained. "The newer models hadn't even been built yet and there was no mask. Going off of his advice wouldn't have worked."

"But…" Jeremy could feel the gears clicking and whirring in his mind, "hasn't this Freddy's been open for two months now?"

"Yes."

"Then how could have he worked at the old one?" Jeremy asked. "I mean, it's only five nights. How could—?"

"You're assuming that each new guard only works five nightshifts," Mike interrupted. "And that's a fair assumption. But it isn't right."

Jeremy paused. It took him a bit, but he understood the significance of Mike's words. "You worked more than one week."

"Yes."

"Then… how long had you been working there?"

Mike shrugged again. "Eight or so years, give or take a few months."

"What."

"I said around eight—"

"No, I heard you." Jeremy's eyes were widened to the size of saucers. "Why the hell—what would—I can't—what?"

Mike regarded him oddly. Jeremy tried his best to recollect his thoughts.

"What," he began, "would drive you to work at Freddy's for eight years?"

"Paranoia, mostly," Mike sighed. "I would get nervous as hell when I didn't know where they were, even during the day. And it wasn't just a small discomfort; I could barely function. And it wasn't like I had many options when it came to employment. Freddy's was the best I could get."

"Getting stuffed in a suit and killed was the best?" Jeremy was incredulous.

Mike's eyes hardened. "Compared to dying slowly on the streets, yes. I was fucked either way so I just took the one that actually had benefits and would provided me with the quickest death."

Jeremy felt chills along his spine. Holy shit, Mike was intense.

A tense silence fell upon them.

That is, until Jeremy jumped ten feet into the air when his phone went off. Mike looked utterly unimpressed. Jeremy scrambled to answer.

"Hello?"

"Jeremy, it's me."

"Hey dad. Uh, what's up?"

"Where are you?"

Jeremy glanced at Mike. "I'm still at work. I just had to talk to the manager for a bit. I'll start coming home right now."

Jeremy cringed at the lack of response that followed. If his dad didn't buy his excuse…

"Alright."

Jeremy had to stop himself from fist pumping and screeching in victory.

"I would like to know next time, got it? I'm going off to work and I'm calling the house in an hour. You best be there to pick it up."

"I will," Jeremy assured. "I'll see you later tonight."

"Goodbye Jeremy."

The line went dead.

"You're terrible at lying," Mike commented idly.

"Don't care," Jeremy said.

"I'm assuming that you have to leave now." It was a statement, not a question. "You know where the door is."

Jeremy walked all of three strides and reached for the rusty handle. He hesitated only when he was halfway out.

"I'll swing by tomorrow," he said over his shoulder.

The door slammed closed before Mike could get a word in.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Mike wasn't sulking.

Yes, he was pissed off and yes, he was seething, but he wasn't sulking. Brooding, yes. Sulking, no.

Who did that Jeremy kid think he was? He had gotten through four nights at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, sure, but didn't he have manners? You couldn't just invite yourself over to someone's place of living. At least he had given some form of warning. That still didn't justify anything, though.

Mike scrubbed the counters as angrily as he could. The restaurant owners would be happy with his cleaning, that was for sure. Hell, they'd probably find ways to upset him if it meant any sort of gain for them.

Several hours and countless streams of colorful swears later, Mike locked up the door to the small hole in the wall Chinese restaurant. Despite its ragged appearance, the pay was rather decent. Not enough to support him, that was what the other two jobs were for, but most certainly better than what Freddy's had given him.

Speaking of.

Mike's foul mood made a swift return only to be extinguished moments later. Jeremy may have been a bit of an asshole, but Mike couldn't wish ill will on him. He was only a kid. One that was about an hour into his fifth night of hell.

Mike wasn't religious by any means but he still murmured a few words of prayer for the blonde.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Jeremy was, in fact, in hell. Multiplied by nine thousand.

The scrapped Bonnie couldn't have been as fast as it was. It was fucking impossible. And Balloon Boy needed to take a break and leave him the hell alone. And Foxy had to stop coming back every five seconds. And the current models needed to get out of the fucking vents. And the music box needed to stay wound.

Needless to say, Jeremy was flailing over everything that was happening.

His eyes darted to the clock. Four-thirty.

Oh, this was not good.

Jeremy checked the vents and the hall. Only Foxy was visible but he was still at the end. Jeremy brought the camera up and wound the music box up and was it just him or was it draining faster than usual and oh fuck what was that noise—

Jeremy yanked the camera down and stuck the Freddy head on. There wasn't anything in the room but that didn't mean that there wasn't anything in the vents.

Sure enough, the current version of Chica slid across his vision as the lights flickered. Jeremy wasn't sure whether he was holding in a scream of terror or sigh of relief.

Probably both.

The lights cut off then dimmed back on. Jeremy checked the hall—

Holy shit Foxy was close.

Jeremy spazzed out on the flashlight with his rights hand and checked the left vent with the other.

Old Bonnie.

That just wasn't fair.

Jeremy looked at the hall again. Foxy was gone. The thought had barely processed and he was already swinging the mask back on.

Not even three seconds later did Jeremy hear the alarm for the music box go off. He swung the mask off and cranked up the only thing stopping the Marionette, not even glancing at the vent. The older versions, sans Foxy, had never attacked him while he was in the camera. He only hoped this would hold true now as well.

Jeremy finished winding the music box at the exact moment he heard childish giggling and radio static seep into the room.

He didn't even think as he slammed down the monitor and shoved the mask on. Balloon Boy and Mangle were not things that he needed to deal with. They had some sort of auditory cue. But. Still.

As soon as the static faded Jeremy plucked the mask off and checked the hall. Foxy was there again along with the original Freddy. Okay, he could deal with that. They were at the end of the hall. He had some time.

Jeremy flipped the cameras back up and continued to wind the music box. This was good, everything was going to be alright.

Laughter flooded the room. Jeremy lowered the monitor.

Balloon Boy was in the room, laughing and pointing at him.

Jeremy's initial reaction was horror, but he forced himself to calm down. Balloon Boy wasn't trying to kill him.

Huh.

Still keeping a wary eye on the animatronic, Jeremy reached for the flashlight to check the hall.

It wasn't there.

Jeremy stared at the desk. The flashlight should have been right there. It always was, so why…?

He looked back up.

It was resting at Balloon Boy's feet.

No.

No.

Clangs of metal in the vents and static accompanied the maniacal laughter.

Jeremy had no choice but to put the mask back on.

He couldn't die here. He wouldn't die here.

But he was going to.

He could hear heavy steps join the symphony of insanity. Jeremy could hardly hear by the time they stopped, his rapid heartbeat and roaring blood drowning put all other noise.

He closed his eyes.

Darkness.

.:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:..:*~*:

Mike sat cross-legged on his chair, flipping through his bills. His job hours took up almost all of his time after ten in the morning, forcing him to become a morning person if he wanted any amount of free time. Seeing as he was quite the night owl, this had proved a challenge. But it had worked.

He glanced up from the papers at the harsh rap on his door. That was odd. The landlord only came to rant on Monday mornings. The bastard probably was still sleeping right about now.

Giving a world-weary sigh, Mike set down his mail and approached the door. He swung it open.

"Hey," Jeremy greeted with a tired smile, "mind if I come in?"


A/N: I was seriously contemplating not putting that last part in. But I can't deal with cliffhangers so I'm giving you some closure.

I felt like the talk didn't flow quite right. I'm not sure whether or not to actually go more in depth; let me know what you think. Because there will be more. I promise.

I feel like my Jeremy nightshift scenes are a bit redundant. But I can't think of another way to do it. And now I'm getting to the actual meat of the story. Yay!

Please review, follow, and favorite. Your support is always cherished.