TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: You are a magical person, piecing all of that together. Like you read my mind... But yeah, that's basically what's happening!

I'm sorry for the really late update. I had a fit of writer's block for a while, and then when I finally peeled myself out of that hell, I forgot the notebook for TBWSD (this story) and so the most of the writing that finished Chapter 5 was today. GODfdklsajf;dask

Anyways, as an apology for that, I have this! It's a good chapter, I enjoyed writing it despite the delay, so I hope it makes up for the wait.

Enjoy!

"He's been wanting to see you."

Michael looked away from Cassidy, instead gazing at the floor. It was black, just like how everything in the dream realm seemed to be.

Few months had passed since Evan had been taken into surgery. A few months had passed since the doctors were able to repair him. Cassidy had kept her promise, watching over Mike's little brother when he couldn't. And now Evan was awake from that border life-death coma. Slowly he was recovering. But Mike hadn't seen him since those months ago.

"He asks for your name," Cassidy said, looking up at Mike. She was trying to catch his blue-eyed gaze, but he refused.

"He can't talk." Evan's brain almost had frozen, like an entire slate was erased. He couldn't talk. He couldn't read. He just looked, eyes always so distant. It was like Evan was always looking at something no one else could see.

Cassidy frowned at him. She had become a displeased doll. "He still wants you."

Mike sighed. Everyday he'd use the excuse he wasn't ready yet. He wasn't, right? He hadn't stepped into the hospital since those three months.

He could if he so badly wanted to. Everytime the boy's mother went to the hospital to visit her youngest, she'd always ask Michael if he wanted to come. He would say no. He would stall as much time as he possibly could. His mother would bring back photos from her little camera, printing them out. Despite Mike's immunity to the horrifying animatronics, he couldn't look at the pictures.

One time, he got a glance. Not purposefully. Evan's face looked relatively normal, but parts looked bloated and red. Rashes? The doctors said it was because of the larger chunks of bones that were reconnected. Mike just couldn't. Thinking about those sorts of things kept making him think about when he watched when brand new robots were bolted down into stages. The first moments they were turned on used to be magical, but years and years of getting older eventually destroyed that fantasy. Those robots didn't look like they were carelessly singing and moving to the songs. They looked like they were in deep agony. Someone had to help them, but it wasn't like they could get the help they craved for.

Mike didn't want to visit Evan because all he could think about was the robots. Helpless and always in agony. That was how Evan was like back before the incident. He was still like that now.

Since those three months had passed, Mike hadn't stepped foot in the hospital. He was home, locking himself in his room most of the time when his mother was home. When she was gone he would explore the house, trying to look for ideas relating to the children's hidden bodies. Laying around haphazardly were stray sheets of a newspaper, once clipped together. The cover page talked about Fredbear's Family Diner closing, and how "the joy of the customers will always live in the animatronics' hearts". Mike had to repress a scoff at that. The last thing he would always check would be the door to Afton's office. It was always locked. Somewhere in that closed off area were secrets for Mike that just begged to be discovered. But it was always locked. Stubborn, Mike checked everyday. Maybe his father would forget sometimes? The urge evolved into a habit and now there was no way Mike couldn't try the door. No matter how many times it was confirmed to be locked.

Once, Mike tried to pick the lock. He didn't know how to really do that and tried to research as much about it as he could. The technique sounded easy enough, almost similar to the functions behind retracting spring locks. But it never worked, no matter how hard he tried.

Scratched from using needles and bobby pins tore away at the knob's golden paint. Michael even snuck in the room once when his father was occupying the loo. One click of a window's lock and he would be able to open it when his father left for work. The sound of the toilet flushing would cause him to spring out from the office and take sanctuary in his own room. As predicted, an hour or so later passed and Mike was alone in the house and to his own devices. He tested the door, locked as always, and then ventured outside.

Mike passed blooming shrubs and patches of white roses, withering to a sad yellow hue. He climbed the fence to the backyard of his house, not bothering to fiddle with that old rusted gate. The neighbor's dog barked wildly at the sounds he made, but Mike ignored them. He had a goal to achieve and sure wouldn't let some mangy hellhound stop him.

With a soft grunt, he landed down on the other side of the fence. Some of the peeling patches of wood scrapped the palms of Mike's hands raw with his carelessness. He preserved onwards, barefoot as he ventured through the grass and came across the window of his father's office. The one he had unlocked in secrecy earlier that day.

His palms bore red rashes, skin flaky. Like burns, the skin ached, but there was no blood. Mike made a mental note for later to treat them with hydroperoxide and cotton balls.

The window wouldn't open. A thought dawned onto Mike like a sly snake, curling into his mind. His father locked it. Afton locked it. Mike cursed, feeling stupid that he didn't remember that his father would notice a simply unlatched window. Afton was just that observant.

Deep inside of himself, Michael hated Afton. However, that was called for. Then he felt the hate shift to his weakened mother, then to the ghost of Cassidy, who wouldn't outright tell him anything. When the hate threatened to spill onto Evan, Mike diverted its path. He was frustrated, but that was no excuse to direct his frustration towards his brother.

Mike had trouble fathoming why he had to take responsibility for any of this. He didn't do anything relating to pissing off the one his father shouldn't have killed. He didn't have a play in what happened to Elizabeth or Charlie.

But he did have a responsibility for what happened with Evan. That was true. And Mike thought himself stupid that he didn't own up to that yet.

"Are you going to visit him?" Cassidy asked after a forever of uncomfortable silence. He was still asleep and dreaming recently. Mike almost forgot.

"Should I?"

Cassidy cocked a brow at him, unamused.

Mike sighed. Again. He ran his hands through his hair. He tried flashing a smile at the dead girl but it just ended up feeling uncomfortable and unsure on his lips.

She only just tilted her head at him slightly to the right, that river of black hair following the movement.

"I guess I'll take that as a yes?" Mike asked.

"All I said was that he wants to see you," said the girl, sounding like a child speaking to an adult or older sibling that didn't listen the first time. Very matter-of-the-fact.

"Yeah. Yeah, that you did."

Dreams these days lately were much longer. It wasn't an odd thing since Mike no longer sat in that damned chair, trying to pass the somber time with a few hours of drastically spaced out sleep. Then, he would fall into the dream and have a short conversation with Cassidy, waking up not even what felt like a few minutes later. But those few hours had passed, and Mike didn't feel like he got an ounce of rest. Back at home he could have the comfort of his bed in a room that didn't feel like him anymore. Michael still always woke up from dreams feeling like he never slept at all.

He looked at Cassidy. Her silver eyes buried into his soul. It felt like he could never harbour a secret she wouldn't know.

"I'll visit him," Mike said finally. There was no reason not to. Just him being a wuss. Well, if he was expected to find the half-rotting corpses of children around Evan's age, he better toughen up.

Cassidy smiled, pleased at him. The dream ended and Mike found himself looking up at the ceiling from the sheets of his bed. He thought she always ended his dreams, a perfect timing of suspense. These thoughts grew into suspicions and very quickly into certainties. Because Cassidy was a ghost. What as there she couldn't do?

Show people Afton's sins, apparently. Most people didn't believe in ghosts. And if Mike dared trying to tell someone about all the crazy shit he'd been experiencing, they'd think he was crazy and would send him off to the looney bin. Just like that.

The only living person who wouldn't think Mike was crazy would probably be Evan. Wasn't like the little boy could talk again though. Not yet anyways.

Mike pushed his sheet off himself and rushed to get dressed. His mother was an early bird. She'd always been one. Mom would always get up before the hospital visiting hours opened. Normally, Mike would sleep right through the moments when she woke. But now he had to make sure he caught her before she was ready to leave.

Mike scrambled to pull his shoes over the back of his heels. He burst out from his room and barreled down the hallway. Catching his mother near the front door, Mike found himself stupidly out of breath. His mother gave him an odd look.

She didn't say a word, most likely presuming Mike was finally willing to come visit his brother. And she was right.

The car ride was uneventful. It really didn't need to be eventful. The time for Mike was spent with him looking out the window of the passenger's seat. Strip malls and stores flew by. Several empty, dingy stores had greying signs saying "For Lease" tapped on their doors and windows. Mike got the feeling they've been empty for a long time now.

His eyes eventually caught Fredbear's. Or, what used to be Fredbear's. Everything went into slow motion as the car drove past it. Seeing the building now, torn apart and emptied like those stores gave Mike some sort of resolution. Like Mike had faced one of his demons. One less demon to worry about.

Mike was finally able to peel his eyes away from the window. He then instead looked at his mother. Maybe Mike hadn't noticed this before... She wore a glistening red lipstick color over her lips, which really brought out those flaming curls laying on her shoulders. But Mike didn't see his mother there, behind the wheel. He saw Elizabeth.

Should he be sick? Nothing threatened to crawl up his throat. No slimy spiders. Just the frozen desert, devoid of all life.

Mike was supposed to have watched her. She wasn't supposed to get close and alone with that creepy ass clown. Afton should've paid more attention. Evan should've been at home, being taken care of by a babysitter that suddenly stopped coming. Things that happened spun into little threads of what should not have happened.

Mike was starting to get a headache. He slouched in his seat and looked at the car's dashboard. Once upon a time, coloring and activity books took residence there. Now there was nothing but probably a thin line of dust.

The car slowed as they came up to the hospital. It stood up, proud and tall, a promise to help all those who walked through its doors. A promise to help was not necessarily a promise to keep one away from the eager claws of death.

Cassidy made Michael a promise. In that hospital, it came true. Evan lived from an experience that should have killed him. Only death can keep someone away from its own grasps, it seems. Not life.

In an alternate world, what would have happened if Evan died? Or was fate inevitable, causing future events to happen no matter what happened in the past?

Elizabeth still would have died. If not by that clown, but by some other robotic monster.

Charlie would still be dead. If not by Afton, then by some other sick fuck.

Afton would still do awful things. He was a man who started off with good intentions. Bring entertainment to children using the sciences of machines. Then horrible thoughts clouded those intentions and made him into something twisted. Like all his other creations.

And Michael would still be here, trying to clean up this mess.

He didn't need guidance in the hospital. The entire place continued to smell of plastic and rank cleaning chemicals. Every hallway was painted those same white and light blue colors. For a moment, it felt like Mike stepped into a foreign land. But all at once the foreign feeling transformed into familiarity.

Evan was placed back into the same room he was in before. The sheets were switched from the ones prior and some of the five-year-old's blankets from home were draped over his legs. A few more chairs existed, and Mike's mother took a seat in one of them. She picked up one of Evan's hands and held it in her own, just like Michael did once. His little brother's skin was still pale, but it no longer looked as fragile.

Mike spotted the Fredbear plush. It sat up on top of the cart residing next to the bed. A small stack of books made its throne. Untouched but silently watching with seemingly empty black eyes.

Looking at Evan, he saw the job the doctors did for the first time in person. They actually did a pretty good job, being frank. The child's face just looked slightly swollen. His head donned a mess of brown hair, somehow coming back in wild curls that vainly tried to hide the long scars on his scalp. The skin looked sort of irritated, a bright pink as if it was newly cleaned. Despite all those small differences, Evan still had large blue eyes and a round face that showed off his toddler pudginess.

Mike forced himself to not look away. He had to face this. What happened to Evan was his doing, and he had to take responsibility for it.

The needle of an IV was pierced into the skin of Evan's wrist. Mike didn't want to touch it. He felt like that if he were to pick up his little brother's hand, the needle would fall out. So instead he just placed one over Evan's, gently.

Slowly, as if aware of the touch, Evan's head moved to face Mike. The child's eyes didn't look at him, but past him. There was a temptation to look over his own shoulder, just to see if Evan was looking at something Mike couldn't see.

But he didn't. Mike just curled his fingers gently around Evan's hand. Their mother left, mumbling something, which allowed the two boys to have a moment of privacy.

Mike took a breath in. It shook his body.

"Cassidy told me you wanted to see me." Michael smiled weakly, trying, but it didn't feel right. He gave up. "Sorry it took me so long. I-I was being a wuss..."

Evan smiled. It was subtle and almost unnoticeable, but it happened. Michael swore he was going to start crying.

Because his brother spoke. "...Mikey..."