Can We Keep Him?

Chapter 11: AJ Schmidt

"Hah, I win! In your face!"

"Honestly, Blue, show some humility!"

"Why should I be humiliated? I won!"

"That's not what – oh forget it."

Mike and Mangle giggled as the bunny and bear argued. Chicky rolled her eyes and put away the Monopoly board – she'd agreed to be banker that time, to stop any squabbling between Teddy and Blue. That had worked for all of five seconds, but that was five seconds more than they would have gotten otherwise. Blue had won this time – he'd snagged all the properties on the last row of the board, and built them up. The only way to skip past his hotel empire was to get a 'straight to jail' card, and that wasn't exactly a pleasant option. Chicky, Mangle, and Mike had been utterly trounced. Teddy had barely scrapped by – he at least had a few one notes and a ten left in his paws as they finally called it quits.

"Who wants a re-match?" Blue asked, rubbing his hands together like an 80's Bond villain, still high on the glory of completely decimating his opponents.

"No one," Teddy answered, slamming the lid down on the box and shoving it to the side of the stage.

"Just because you don't want to lose again doesn't mean the others don't want to play!"

Chicky and Mangle rolled their eyes in tandem and tuned out the fighting males. The two were best friends, and their favorite past time was arguing (though they called it debating); the girls had long sense learned to ignore it. Mike, still clutching his quilt around himself, moved to the bookshelf beside Mangle's storytelling chair. It was painted with blue waves, lighter blue crests showing movement above simply-drawn fishes. There were a few places on the sides where mischievous kids had signed their names in shaky black marker. All but the bottom shelf were full of thin children's books – the kind with big print and bright, colorful pictures that told more about the story than the text. The last shelf was stacked with plain white drawing paper, printed coloring pages (featuring the Fazbear Gang, of course – the toy versions, if the circles on the cheeks were any indication), crayons, markers, glue, and constructions paper.

Without realizing he was doing it, Mikey began to hum and pulled out the stack of plain paper and the box of crayons. They were as thick as his fingers, meant to be held in stubby toddler hands. There were a few thinner Crayolas mixed in, the paper wrappers faded and torn. The boy carefully pulled out one of each color he could find, placing them in rainbow order beside the paper. Chicky and Mangle pulled their pillows over to join him, not saying anything for fear that he would stop humming.

As soon as he had one of each color, Mike began to scribble on the top paper. Chicky picked out her own piece of paper and began to draw a pizza on it, topping it with odd treats. Mangle picked through the children's books and pulled out her favorite – one specially written and illustrated for Fazbear, Inc. Pirate Foxy and First Mate Vixen: The Adventure of Curse Island. Not exactly Shakespeare, but the children had loved it. The company had made a whole series of the books, featuring the dashing Pirate Captain Foxy and his cheerful first mate Vixen, who went on daring adventures all over the world, in all seven seas. The series had been stocked behind the prize counter, the paper-back covers making them cheap to produce and readily available to the kids for only fifty tickets. Mangle had her own special hard-backed copies, which were much larger and printed on stiff cardboard. It prevented her from ripping the pages, and allowed all the children to see the pages as she read them. The vixen settled back in her rocking chair and began to read, despite having long ago memorized every word and picture.

Balloon Boy wandered into the Cove, his system still booting up. He'd gone to see Mikey late last night, only to find the boy fast asleep on a comfortable bed. He'd never slept on a bed before – they all recharged standing up, unless they were in for repairs. The young-minded animatronic had wanted to try it, so he'd climbed up and laid down like Mikey on the end of the bed. He even pulled a blanket over himself to make sure he was doing it right. The little bot had ended up sleeping far longer than he'd intended – the bed was just so soft! He'd woken up to an empty room and the sound of Teddy and Blue fighting. It hadn't taken long to find them in the cove. The two alpha males were still arguing, while Mikey and the females were sitting by the rocking chair, each lost in their own little creative world.

"What're you drawing, Mikey?" BB plopped down beside his new friend, looking at the page curiously. Mike immediately stopped his humming, the blue crayon he had been scribbling with stilling. Instead of a picture, he had a list of words on his paper, all in a shaky elementary-school scrawl.

Friday – kidnapped by him

Saturday – Teddy, food, Monopoly (I won! Hah!)

Sunday – he was a BASTARD and gave me that FUCKING POTION

Monday – Monopoly round 2 (Blue won), ?

Tuesday -

Wednesday -

Thursday -

Friday – My Birthday

Saturday -

Sunday – Antidote

"It's a calendar." Mikey muttered, folding it up and stuffing it in the pocket on his pajama shirt. "I keep losing track since I sleep most of the day."

"You can always ask us, dear," Chicky assured him, adding a doughnut topping to her pizza.

Mikey giggled when he saw her drawing. "You can't put a doughnut on top of a pizza, silly!" He exclaimed, his voice high in delight. He immediately clapped his hands over his mouth, mortified by how he had just behaved.

Mangle, Chicky, and BB just stared at him, surprised by the childish comment. The boy hunched in on himself, dragging the quilt tighter around himself. "It's okay, Mikey, it's just the potion." Chicky comforted, patting his shoulder. When the embarrassed boy didn't say anything, she went back to her coloring, roping BB into making up his own pizza. Mangle kept one eye on her book and one eye on the boy, hoping the adorable flush in his cheeks would die down and he would return to coloring.

It wasn't until the boy began to cry that they realized he was trapped in another flashback.


"And now," fourteen-year-old Alexander Schmidt pulled his blue crayon away from the paper and exchanged it for a silver one, "for the rocket boosters!"

"You can't put rocket boosters on a horse, silly!" Six-year-old Michael Schmidt laughed at his big brother, tugging the silver crayon from the older boys hand.

"I can't?" Alex asked, looking puzzled. "Why not?"

"Becaaaaause, real horses don't have rocket boosters!"

"But this isn't a real horse," the older brother took back the crayon, "so I can draw whatever I want!"

Mikey pouted, looking down at his own blocky horse, drawn in a dark brown with a series of spiky brown lines for a mane. "But AJ, Miss Staunch says we can only draw real things!"

"Well Miss Staunch isn't here, is she?" Alex (though he would always be AJ to his little brother), tapped the boy on the nose with the silver crayon.

There was a moment of silence, then a long gasp. "You're right!" Mikey grabbed several of the crayons and flipped his paper over, then began sketching out a red horse with a rainbow mane.

"Now you're getting it!" Alex laughed, putting the finishing touches on his own space-horse. He admired the piece for a moment, then grabbed a new sheet of paper and used a pencil to sketch out two astronauts – one smaller than the other – floating out in space.

Mikey was focused 100% on his own picture, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he concentrated on getting the colors in the right order. It wasn't until a door slammed downstairs that he looked up. Both he and AJ stared at each other, waiting with baited breath as heavy footfalls ascended the stairs. They didn't start to breath again until the boots had passed Mikey's door, and the door to their parents room farther down the hall slammed shut.

"Do you think he had a good day?" Mikey asked, his voice small.

"I don't know," Alex grumbled, his good mood evaporating. He put all the focus he could onto the picture, carefully putting himself and his little brother into the faces of the astronaut helmets. Mikey fell silent. He didn't feel like working on his horse anymore. He picked out a new sheet and started to draw a house, with cheerful yellow siding and trees in the front yard. It was a stark contrast to their small, gray house, weed-eaten yard and shriveled shrubbery.

They drew for hours, until they heard their father stomp out of his room and back down the stairs. Alex had homework, but didn't want to leave his brother alone with their father again. It had taken weeks for the belt marks to heal, and the teen was never going to let that happen to his baby brother again, if he could help it.

"AJ?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I miss mom."

"I do, too."

"Can we visit her tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, scout. We'll have to leave early to catch the bus, though."

"Can't daddy drive us?"

Alex stayed silent for a moment, fighting down the acidic vitriol he wanted to spit at the thought of their father accompanying them. "No, Mikey, he can't. He doesn't like to go there, remember?"

"Oh yeah. He cried a lot the last time, didn't he?"

"Uh-huh." Crocodile tears, the drunk bastard, the teen tacked on in his mind. "I have some change saved up – we'll go to there tomorrow. Hey, lets draw some pictures for mom, I'm sure she'd like that."

Mikey perked up at the idea, then wilted. "But...but she won't be able to see them!"

"Sure she will," Alex scooted around the table and put his arm around Mikey's little shoulder. "Do you remember where mom is now?"

"H-heaven?"

"Right. Mom can see everything from heaven, even us, and I'm certain she'll be able to see our pictures."

The little boy gave a sharp nod and grabbed a brown crayon. "I'm gonna draw her a cat!"

Alex moved back to his spot and grabbed a new piece of paper, abandoning the astronaut drawing for now. "That's a good idea. Mom liked cats." He calmly began to sketch out a bouquet of flowers, keeping one ear to the door, listening for any sign of danger.

"AJ?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You won't ever leave, right?"

"Nah, Mikey. Never. You're stuck with me 'til the bitter end."

The six-year-old beamed at his older brother, assured that they would be together throughout this dreary childhood, and would escape when AJ turned eighteen and could take him away.


"Where the hell were you?"

"We just went to the cemetery."

"The cemetery? You trying to get your brother into some necro-phalic fetish?!"

"What? No! We were visiting mom!"

"Yer mom is dead! Ya can't visit her no more!"

"We can go to her gravestone, can't we?"

"No! I forbid it! Don't you ever go there again, ya hear me?"

"You can't do that! It helps Mikey, knowing there's a place he can go to talk to her."

"He can talk to her here, like a good God-Fearin' Christian! No more lurkin' in the cemetery, waiting to jump some corpse and bone it!"

"Dad, that's disgusting!"

"No, you're disgusting! Can't believe something as ugly and vile as you came from me!"

Mikey, crouched at the top of the stairs, hidden by the shadows, peered down into the living room where his father and brother were fighting. They'd ended up spending a long time at the cemetery, telling mom all about what was going on at home, and hadn't gotten back until after dad. He'd arrived home to no dinner and a messy living room, and by the time they got off the bus he'd been in a rage. AJ had sneakily shuffled him off upstairs and taken on their dad by himself. Mikey really, really wanted to go help, to apologize to their dad and promise not to go to the cemetery again, but his dad was wearing that belt, and it petrified him. So he crouched, frozen, on the second floor landing and eavesdropped.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out! You're fourteen, obviously old enough to take care of yourself. Get the hell outta my house."

"But-"

Dad grabbed Alex by the front of his shirt and dragged him up, so they were face to face, the teens toes barely touching the floor. The mans face, red from years of alcohol abuse and harsh work in a nearby tire factory, cradled a pair of blood-shot eyes that were beyond mad.

"Get. Out. Go upstairs. Pack your things. And leave."

Alex swallowed hard, but met his fathers gaze. "Then I'm taking Mikey with me."

"No you ain't. Mikey's gonna stay here. He's a good boy. You're nothing but a disobedient brat."

"I'm no-"

"Get out or I'll take the belt to Mikey again." The man threatened, dropping his disowned child to the floor. "One stroke for every minute it takes you to leave."

"No! No, I'm going, okay? Don't hit him." Alex warily got to his feet and edged around his father and up the stairs. The second he saw Mikey, he went pale. Grabbing the younger boys arm, he steered them into his room.

"You aren't really going, are you?" Mikey asked the second the door was shut.

"I have to," Alex made his brother sit on his bed, then began gathering his clothes to shove into a duffel bag he'd gotten for camp a few years ago, when their mom was still alive and their dad didn't drink as much.

"But-but-but we're supposed to go together!" Mikey protested, getting off the bed and wrapping his arms around his brother. Alex paused his packing to hold the younger boy close, fighting back his own tears as his brother sobbed.

"I know," he soothed, running his fingers through the messy black hair his little brother could never tame, "I know we were, but this has changed. I'll be back for you, alright?" He pushed the boy away and used his thumb to wipe away Mikey's tears. "I'll get some money and find a place to stay and then I'll come get you."

"W-w-why can't you go to the police? Daddy can't kick you out – you're not old enough to live by yourself! It's gotta be illegal!" Mikey protested, only to quickly be hushed.

"Shhh, he might hear you," Alex glanced at the door, then sighed. "I've tried to go to the police before, remember? At school? Dad lied his way out of it – he has buddies on the police force. He's always buying them drinks and buttering them up. They'll never believe they're hitting us." He took a deep breath, straightening his spine. "We're on our own. But it's okay. Remember what I told you?"

"We're strong." Mikey mumbled, feeling anything but at the moment.

"Right. We're strong. We're a lot stronger than dad." He wrapped his brother in another hug. "I will come back and get you. I promise. For now, just be strong."

"But AJ-"

"Promise me."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll be strong, that you'll hold out until I can come get you."

"I-I promise."

"And if you find a way out – if you find an adult you can trust and tell about what happens here, do it. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good." Alex ruffled his hair again and slung his hastily packed bag over his shoulder. "I love you, Mikey."

"I love you too AJ," Mikey sniffed back the tears threatening to run down his face. "Don't die."

Alex snorted at the sentiment – his little brother had always been a little blunt. "I won't." There was a crash from downstairs, and the older boy tensed. "I'll be back, I swear." Without a backwards glance, he left, swiftly loping down the stairs and through the living room, showing his father that he was, indeed, leaving. Upstairs, Mikey sat on his brothers bed, clutched his brothers pillow, and cried tears for his brother, who he didn't know if he'd ever see again.


AN: Guess who has two thumbs and got sick the past week? This girl! I'm much better now, but sorry about the lack of updates. My motivation went right out the window (along with my ability to breathe through my nose. Ugh!).

I feel like the last part, between Mikey & AJ was a a bit stilted, but I was trying to convey the urgency AJ felt at getting out of the house before his dad decided to use the belt again. He really doesn't think he'll be gone for more than a few days, maybe a week.

As always, thanks for the reviews! I'm astounded at this stories popularity, and it warms my heart to see so many people enjoying it.

Reviews are LOVED and APPRECIATED! I'd love to see what people think of this new twist in Mikey's life. There's plenty more twists and turns to come, of course. Cheers!