Author's Note: It tolls for thee.

Maybe all the schemes of the devil were nothing compared to what man could think up. -Joe Hill

ACT III.
Chapter 17. …won't you let it dry?

It should have worried Mike how easy it was for him to fall back into The Routine.

Check vents, doors, stop, listen. Check vents, stop. Doors. Listen. For God's sake, breathe. Don't ever forget to breathe. Panicking would only make the situation worse. Check. Adjust. Match their twisted little scheme and keep a light by your side. In Mike's case, the old flashlight that once belonged to a child who'd endured his own nightmares would suffice just fine. Mike could trust it. He wasn't much for cowering when he could fight back or—better yet—outsmart his opponent, but he would take any option he could get tonight. He had to survive. He must survive. While he didn't have to worry about power, he did have to worry about the heat buildup. The cramped room was unforgiving, and the computer tower chugged noisily as he tried to learn how to balance letting the system cool down with monitoring the restaurant and watching his own ass. It wasn't anything terribly different from the original five nights—with exception that now, Mike was very much alone in the room.

'Alone?' rumbled the spirit of Fredbear.

'Cept you, Goldy.' Mike smiled to himself, chuckling when the old bear settled back into his body with a pleased hum.

He also suspected it wouldn't have been quite so easy if he wasn't a) as mad as he was, or b) Helpy and SP's safety depended on him.

And then of course there was 'c)' which was: He and his friends were most certainly not alone in the restaurant anymore.

Because Circus Baby and Springtrap had found their way in. because they had come in with murder in their eyes and intent on their minds. He wasn't wholly surprised to see it was only them, but he did wonder briefly where Molten Freddy or Max were. And Mike also knew getting caught by both of them, as he was right now, might just be End Game.

Helpy's low angle had caught Baby's unmistakable frame, though it took Mike a while to figure out whether it was Springtrap or Scraptrap that had joined her. Then Helpy looked up, once, just as Springtrap's violet gaze lowered down to see him. Both froze. And then, in perhaps the smartest thing he'd ever done, the little funtime model fled. But Mike had seen the missing ear and knew for certain at that point.

SP was dauntless and surprisingly efficient, moving herself quietly and leading Helpy as if she'd been made for the job. Mike wondered once more who—or what—was in the odd little puppet model, but knew now wasn't the time to wonder, only be thankful.

Neither he nor Helpy had spotted Lefty yet, and it was clear Security was becoming confused at her inability to track down the missing blue band. Mike quickly picked up on her path, which had gone from thoughtful and considered to slightly confused. She looped back and forth a few times, almost appearing to teleport between two rooms as if lost herself. He was certain that spoke more to Marion's ability to hide in plain sight than anything wrong with her, though.

But no matter where she and Helpy looked, under tables and behind machines and all around the many closets and hidey holes, Lefty the Bear was gone.

"Which I guess is a good thing for the moment. Mari's on a hair trigger it feels like." Mike mumbled, half to himself, half to Goldy in his bones. "He'll make this place a war zone if he comes across those two Aftons, knowing him."

Or, worse, if he came across Max and Scrap. No matter how the kid felt, Mike wouldn't let him get hurt. Max hadn't been wrong, a lot of this was his fault, after all. But beyond the kid's accusations and hurt laid a solid kernel of something else. Something important. He'd already show a handful of times he was different than his family, that he was trying to make things right. Or in lieu of such an impossible quest, simply ensure they could not ever happen again. Mike couldn't fault Max's anger at him, it was obvious most people in his life had betrayed or let him down time and time again. With exception to Scraptrap, no wonder Max felt Mike couldn't be trusted. He wouldn't want to see Gold storming at him anymore than Max did.

'Fear is powerful, night guard. Fear can hurt. Fear can heal. Fear can teach you how to survive.' Mike winced at the memory's words and blocked his mind from thinking too hard about that one animatronic. It was half his fault poor Mari had gotten dragged back into all this. Now Mike needed to clean up his mess.

Mike shut a vent with a smack of his finger onto the keyboard, having not heard the two knocks and knowing it was nothing good trying to come down to see him.

He waited, poised in the little room, lean body bent over the miserable desk.

'Damn, this room gets hot.' Mike tugged at his shirt. He had to keep his cool, in more ways than one. He could tell this night was going to be one of the long ones.

Fine by him.

He thought he could hear William's voice, but it was too far faded to be sure. And while he could easily see everything Helpy was seeing, he also had to switch between the computer's screens and take note of the vent system, as well as use the audio to track and lure. It became obvious within minutes that this had been Henry's plan all along. To keep him here. To keep them here. Following and wandering and trying to get at him if possible.

'Busy work. And trying to survive the night. My two old friends.'

In the back of his mind, Gold snorted.

No matter how hard he tried not to, Mike recalled the rest of Mari's words, once whispered to him so long ago, when the nights were dark and cold and long, and when the animatronics wanted bloodshed and revenge.

'What you do about your fear makes you human, night guard. For better, or for worse.'

She wasn't too sure about this at first, but by the time she realized her size and paint color helped her hide with relative ease, her confidence bolstered. Well, this wasn't so hard! The night guard was right, she could do this.

The second blue band was somewhere in this room, she was sure of it. It had to be!

But the little funtime model toddling behind her was distracted, yet again, and kept cutting off down another hall way. Helpy seemed to be listening to something thoughtfully.

She chimed a scold and retraced her glide, hovering low to the ground before peeking round a corner.

They'd both mistaken the Bonnie model at first, but then she'd seen the ears and the cold gaze and they'd fled, instantly. That was most certainly not Max or Scraptrap, not with the flecks of corpse peeking out and the chilling violet gaze. Max's eyes were a deeper shade, richer in tone and glowed just a bit brighter.

Something about those eyes had alarmed them both, maybe it was their intensity. Maybe it was the lying smile below it, or maybe it was the darkness and shadows that bled and wobbled behind the creature, making it look scarier and more imposing by example. Regardless of the secrets to its intimidation, she wasn't about to stick around and find out anything beyond 'avoid that bonnie model.' The same instinct was true for the shiny girl doll that glided past one of their hiding spots, although hers was less powerful.

But there was nothing and no one down the hallway. Hmm. Just closed doors and a flickering light. Something thudded to their left in the vents, but the night guard was keeping those two occupied much better than she or her little friend ever could. Sometimes she would lead them toward the noises, but the two animatronics seemed stupid enough to fall for it on their own. She wondered why.

SP eyed Helpy with no small amount of confusion and frustration.

So why wait here? The blue band was that way, she tried to mime. Her noises were followed by a chime.

Helpy glanced at her, giving a clueless smile, and shrugged.

When he headed down the hallway, Security Puppet whined. But she could not deny her programming.

Oh well…he'd be alright, she supposed. And she could always go find him after she found her prize, couldn't she?

Security Puppet found the blue band lying on the floor in the middle of Parts and Services.

She did not see Helpy again.

"Wait, where did….did they split up? Dammit, Little Bear…" Mike cursed, knowing exactly who the culprit was when it came to forgetfulness and flighty incidents. "Screen's dark…where did you go?"

And, a better question, why had Helpy turned off his camera? Unless he hadn't by his own merit, and someone turned it off for him.

Mike scanned the restaurant's map with his now limited abilities, grumbling as he found no sign of Helpy but noticed an X far too close for his liking. There was no knock either, so he shut the vent off and counted to ten in his mind.

And then he heard a tiny rap-rap! On his left and relaxed, slouching back with a sigh as he listened to muted scuffles once he'd smacked the enter key to free open the passage.

"Hey SP," Mike drawled tiredly, and watched as she clambered her way out into the small room and set the blue band on the desk. Despite the serious and slightly terrifying implication, (someone—Henry?—had removed the band for Lefty,) she seemed so proud and overjoyed at completing her task that her happiness was contagious. Mike smiled for her sake, though he was pleased at her and so that wasn't hard to fake.

"Good job, I'm proud of you. Let me guess, Helpy got distracted by something and went off on his own?" Mike said.

She nodded dutifully, her little jester's bell tinkling sweetly.

"…awesome."

Her tiny woeful chime in reply made him relax and he chuckled. "Don't worry, that wasn't your fault. You did exactly what I asked, and gave me some answers."

While also raising some more questions, sadly. But then, what else was new at Freddy's?

"No one here at Freddy's tells the truth, Mike. Not ever."

Well…Max had been right, hadn't he?

And now look where Mike's dishonesty had gotten him? Where it had gotten all of them?

Max tried his best to ignore the calm stare from his best friend. His headphones were on, the walkman mumbling Zeppelin at him. It was sort of working, keeping him calm and ready for Dad's signal from across the way. He was sure Dad's plan had a 50/50 chance of working, which wasn't great odds for either of them, frankly. He also knew Dad never missed an opportunity to do what he called 'lessons.' Max was afraid of going head to head against Golden Freddy, but if he voiced that fear then he might as well go dig a grave outside now. Because that's exactly what would end up happening. 'Actions have consequences, young man.' That's what Max would get. He couldn't risk Scraptrap like that. Not even if the bunnybot was mad at him, like he so clearly was right now. When his nerves became too much and Scraptrap hadn't so much as twitched an ear or blinked at any other ambiance, the corpse grumbled and leaned back against the shelving unit. He felt the metal bite into his back.

"Don't you start." Max muttered finally, sullen and put out. He couldn't stand the judgmental silence any longer.

Scraptrap canted his head and lowered his eye plates with a rusty squeak.

"We disobey Dad too quick he'll just set his sights on us, so I don't know what you expect me to do." Max reminded testily. "Besides, Mike can handle them. Took on the freakin' Marionette, didn't he?"

He didn't think about how he'd never really spoken the Puppet's name just then, only focused on his hurt and mixed emotions of what to do regarding the night guard. Besides, it wouldn't matter. The thing was already out and about, but Mike had certainly chased it off without enough physical warnings that there was no way it could just sneak up on them again.

'Yes?' Scraptrap signed by way of challenge, and though Max saw him communicating he kept trying to stare ahead into the warehouse, ignoring his best friend and his obvious criticism.

He had a better chance stopping the ocean with his two hands.

"Yes. Trust me on that. Besides, you saw Fredbear heal Mike from that—from that—from what Circus did to him." Max retorted. "Even you and I couldn't pull off damage like that…granted, I'm already dead but Gold's working off a living human being. No wonder he's so much stronger."

But his ire was vanishing. His hand wandered down, staring at his now fixed cassette player. It hummed in his palm, the weight heavy and familiar and safe. They'd gotten to the subject that Max was most interested in. Tt'd been nagging at him since the little show down against Lefty.

"…did that, uh…did that flashlight Mike carries…did it look familiar to you, man?"

Scraptrap nodded softly, keeping his own expression quiet and gentle, waiting.

"I mean I knew it was a kid's toy, just from the size. And clearly it was old! I just didn't think it was…his." Max knew exactly why he couldn't manage the kid's name. He felt bad, but at the same time the wound was still way too deep. Maybe it always would be. Years didn't matter to grief sometimes. Heartache just kept on hurting and hurting.

Accident or not, the kid's death was the catalyst to all this. Not Mike, not him. That Event. The poor soul's last birthday party.

"I guess I always thought he forgot everything. About… the family. About us. When he got stuck in the Puppet. Yanno? But Mike has that flashlight with him." Max sighed, letting his head fall back loosely, staring with haunted eyes at the beams above. "Guess he wasn't as lost as I wanted to believe. I guess he trusted Mike, too. At least someone was there for the kid, right? …I shouldn't be so jealous."

Scraptrap shot him another look, and Max wilted.

"I know. I saw that crack, too." One good hit, or something emotionally devastating—like a friend leaving him behind, Max?—and even Fredbear might have a hard time carrying on, or Mike might slip and lose himself. Alex had told him some approximation of what Mike had been through, never outright telling him anything to clue him in, of course, because the family was and always would be built on secrets. (And, looking back, perhaps Mike himself had asked Nightmare Foxy to keep his true nature hidden from Max.)

But the implication…and having seen Fredbear in action, and remembering what the flashlight was meant to keep away?

'I do not wanna see any more Nightmares beside Al. Jesus, I'd pass away. Uh, again.'

So here he was. Setting the brave, heroic, and stupid dumbass in there up against Springtrap and Circus Baby, and possibly a vengeful Puppet.

There were worse things he'd done, but this was one was easily in the top 5.

Max glanced swiftly from his walkman to his best friend, sighing when he saw Scraptrap wasn't looking at him expectantly again. that could mean a few things, but he hedged his bets on disappointment and tried to explain himself.

"If we go over there right now, that'll be it, man. Dad'll never let me get this close again." That was certainly true. "He already suspects enough that I thought he was gunna…what? What are you listening to? Dude…Hey!"

Because those big ears were crooked sharply forward, and his best friend was staring into the gloom near the Rockstars, seemingly ignoring his Suit for a moment. Had been for a beat, come to think of it. what the eldest Afton sibling saw as scolding was in fact Scraptrap's attention being snared.

The bunny suddenly began to glare, chilly and firm.

"Scrap?"

Max leaned into the animatronic to see past the row of shelves, and instantly wished he hadn't.

Lefty, leaning and busted, eye missing, jaw slack. Lefty. In here. With them. He was staring at them from the back of the warehouse, looking nonplussed and out of place as ever.

"…shit…"

Max's breath hitched, and though he froze up Scraptrap didn't. The bunnybot shifted his weight, pushing himself between Max and the limping bearbot as it swayed to approach them. The darkness was bleeding from Lefty, Max realized, and it moved with him.

While still alarming and creepy, it didn't look like it was in the best shape, which might be their only hope at surviving if it attacked. Max heard a pop of locks and the taser rod was wielded forward in the time it took for him to blink, sparking as Lefty halted before it. His jaw hung as the animatronic stared at it, then at Scraptrap, who growled lowly.

"Why aren't you attacking us?" Max finally hissed.

The Puppet seemed to think on his question before it replied.

'It's easier to think out here. I don't have to be Lefty the bear like I do in the restaurant. Your Uncle's deal was to obey him provided I stayed in character as my mascot. But out here…I can do some string pulling of my own~' The Marionette chimed faintly, but the note was sour and old. It's box was in awful shape, or perhaps clogged with dirt.

He took another step, but halted with a rocky lurch when Scraptrap snarled vehemently. The Marionette chimed in amusement.

'I've always found it interesting. You and this animatronic. And you never figured it out. Not even after it was just spelled out for you.'

That sounded like a threat to Max, and so he treated it like one.

"Piss off. You fucken lay one of those black claws on him and I'll take you apart and set you on fire you Pinocchio reject—"

But the music box was chiming louder this time. The light over head wobbled and pulsed.

'Why ruin a good thing? I told you from the beginning what I wanted you to be. It's taken over forty years, yes, but we're so close. Don't you want to see the finale? What I've got planned for you?'

"I want Dad and Henrietta stopped. You can fuck off about anything else." He wondered briefly where this courage was coming from, but then chalked it up to Scraptrap. They usually were what the other one needed when times got dicey.

'Even if they kill the night guard? Or is he just collateral damage?' Lefty's one good eye rolled loosely, trying to focusing on one or both of them. 'You don't agree with your Suit. I find that interesting, too.'

Even Scraptrap grumbled at that little comment.

"Just say what you mean, Puppet, for once. Just say it, because otherwise, I'm through trusting anyone else."

'Which implies you did trust Michael at one point. Because he was kind to you? Or because he was a means to an end?'

Max blinked, weight shifting a little.

"I wasn't gunna use him. Shit, I'm, I'm not you—"

'No. I suppose not. And you're not your father either, Michael Afton. But in some ways, you are like someone else you knew once. In the important ways. I saw that right away.'

That most certainly sounded like a threat. Max swallowed, throat paper dry.

"W-what do you mean?" he finally croaked.

'What I mean is this: you, and him, are alike. You could do the same things he can, if you wanted. If you pushed yourself. Tempting, isn't it? You've been making something from nothing ever since I put you two back together. You never noticed, because you were lonely. But what did you want, more than anything…? Power? Revenge? No…

You wanted a friend.' Lefty's head rolled to the other side, his jaw creaking as his eye slid to stare at the bunny hovering protectively.

'So you made one. All by yourself. Not me. Not William. You. Subconscious or not, you treated this spare, empty suit like you had treated the original four the minute they were awake and aware.'

Max broke his gaze from the shabby Freddy model to eye his bunnybot. Scraptrap turned to stare back at him, and worked his slightly chipped maw back to manage his usual smile. It wasn't nearly as maniacal and feverish as Springtrap's expression always was when Dad was in him, but it was familiar and safe and Max softened. Scraptrap's expressions were never hard for him to understand.

"So you…so you gave me some of your power? Is that it? Like, like you did Dad?"

'Yes. I needed a new night guard. The writing on the wall made that clear. But you were too young and scared. Too reliant on your father for my liking. I suppose any child would be. Certainly my own child was beyond reasoning with most days in the beginning. So pent up and scared and live wire. That family had its hooks deep in you. But it wasn't where you belonged. Scraptrap was a test all on his own, frankly. I wanted to see what you would—if you could—make from nothing. You both might've made another killer, for all I knew.

Then we'd have two murderous Suits running around, wouldn't we~?'

"Which is why you didn't give me to Fredbear."

'Clever boy. And Fredbear…was, and is, different. I think he would have been too much. He was very angry, you know. Back then. At what happened. At killing a child. I didn't want him to hurt you.'

"Gee, thanks for that. Like I wasn't already a cast member on the Thriller video." Max snapped, and even Scraptrap snickered at that. But still, the Puppet's words made him stop and think. "…and Mike? He all part of your grand plan, too?"

'Not until we met, no. My night guard was a new player, late in the game. He entered due to his own poor choices but his loyalty became addictive. No matter what's happened to him, he never let that light of his go out. But then…I don't have to tell you that, do I? You've seen it for yourself."

Lefty gestured lazily down to his right hip, where a flashlight and a key ring might hang if he were Mike Schmidt. Max stared at him for a long while.

"…you really have changed, haven't you Puppet?"Max admitted guardedly, realizing some things. "You're more…with it. You really care about Mike Schmidt. Like he's a friend."

'He is. When the nights were dark and filled with Nightmares, he protected us. Protected my child. It's remarkable how bright a smile can make the gloom.' The creature's voice was wistful and so out of character Max felt dizzy. Even Scrap huffed a low note of confusion. But as confusing as this was, there was something else he wanted to address, especially with how chatty the Puppet seemed to be.

"If I'm like Dad…can I do those illusions? The ones—the making people see shit that isn't there?"

Could he…make people see him alive? As…normal? Even just for a little while—could he blend?

"Could I make people see me as a living kid?"

'I don't see why not.' The Puppet answered with surprisingly honesty, as if it didn't understand why Max would want that in the first place, which was such a him-like thing it made him snort.

' That will take time though. I'm not here for that type of trick either. I need to be quick, before Henry notices. I'm here for you to do something else he can do. I just need a conduit…a power up, as my night guard would say.'

Scraptrap seemed to pick up on the Puppet's silken words a beat before Max, and he snarled softly and shook his head, moving bodily between them again. The taser rod was lifted in forewarning.

'Calm down. I don't know for sure if this will kill him. But it's the only shot we have.'

"Kill me? What, again?" Max rolled his eyes, grumbling when Scrap snapped his flat teeth at him in scolding and signed something very rude. "Just trust me. Let's hear him out."

'Exhaust you, surely. You will probably survive.' Lefty leaned back a little, as if lost in thought. 'Even I don't know your limits that well.'

"…fill me with confidence, why don't you?" Max fiddled with his headphone cord, an old nervous habit he'd picked up years ago. "Why me? Your little night guard can't do this, whatever-you-need—thing?"

'Fredbear's abilities lie in protection, intimidation, and ferocity. He is flashy, the star of the show. Oh no, you see, I don't need a Freddy for this.

…for this, I need a Bonnie.' It spoke with a hint of knowing reverence, and Max felt like he'd missed something very important.

Max's eyed the old animatronic warily, but weighed his options. He was…curious, he'd admit. And if by doing this he could slowly figure out some more powers? And maybe…match Dad? Use them again him? Hm. He could work with this. But one thing nagged at him, and so he quickly asked,

"And if I don't survive? What happens to Scrap?"

'He will go with you. One cannot survive without the other, even if you two can work independently with remarkable ease.'

"As long as you don't separate us all the way, yeah. But…" That wasn't a yes, right? And though Scraptrap looked upset, frame all bristled and teeth bared, he finally nodded when Max shot him a single, expectant look for his go ahead. Max thought so. Scraptrap was curious too.

All Bonnie models usually were inclined to be.

And so Max turned back to the Puppet and pushed his chin out, nodding firmly. He was glad when the Marionette didn't remark how much it probably made him look like his father.

'You tried to save my night guard earlier.' The Puppet whispered with amusement lacing its airy tone. The air around it crackled erratically, pulling in small glowing orbs. '…do you want to try again~?'

At this, Scraptrap turned and stared at him, waiting for his answer.

Max swallowed, but stared across the silent and empty warehouse at Lefty's rickety frame.

His eyes landed on the bodies of Rockstars, and traced the air to the surrounding, glowing orbs of flickering light.

"We're listening."

The Past, 1984

It was one winter's night, and the world was dark and quiet and still. Winter was when everything slept or died, so there was none of the usual ambience summer and spring brought. Somewhere, an owl hooted occasionally, but far off and sullen. The house was sleepy and dulled and miserable as usual.

Michael Afton was stomach down, head half turned, snoring into his pillow, frame draped messily across his bed. His hand was over the bed, fingers dangling over his cassette case. His dresser, half opened and clothes dangling, held the only source of noise in the room beside his sleeping sounds. But the tape deck was nearing its end of the Smiths and would soon stop. A lava lamp gurgled on the night stand, casting some of the cluttered nightstand and bed frame in its dreamy, orange goopy glow.

Light filtered in suddenly, shining and high from the hall ceiling, and made a few of the posters caught in its strip blaze to life. The door flinched shut, because the posters the light had hit just showcased everything like goreish zombie faces from Night of the Living Dead, to eerily simple words like Friday the 13th with the shape of a man wielding a knife but with the image of a lake at night inside the body. Even Frankenstein's monster stared down at the door with a glare that chilled you, especially with the way the eyes followed the viewer.

But then the light yawned wider again, tentative and shy, revealing posters from The Cure, an artful Pink Floyd reprint, and the usual clumsy mess of a teenager's room. Less terrifying, more familiar. Comforting, even. Welcoming.

Emboldened, the door opened just wide enough and a tiny body wiggled through, moving through the still dark room to the bedside, more by memory than sight. The tiny frame tiptoed slowly, knowing he would only get in trouble if he kicked a book stack over or ran into the Nintendo by the little tv that he passed.

He stared at the pile of limbs on the bed, chewed his lower lip, and listened to music coming from the stereo. When he could stand no longer without fidgeting, he whined, hugging his favorite plush toy tighter. It was only through Goldy's imagined confidence that got him to this point after all. And it'd be silly to waste it, even if he did risk bothering his oldest brother.

"Mikey?" The child hissed with worry, trying to keep his voice low. "…Mikey, wake up."

He knew his brother slept like the dead, but this was ridiculous.

The youngest Afton hemmed and hawed, alternating between tugging at his stripped shirt and pulling one of Goldy's tiny little embroidered ears. The little boy knew not to pull it too much but he couldn't help it, the nervous habit was too deep now.

He spared a small, clammy hand, shaking his brother's shoulder until the teenager's noises quickened. He grunted then moaned, jerking his head up sleepily at the boy's rousing.

"Mhm, m'up, m'up! Whash goin' on…?" But his grope for his still silent alarm clock made him pause when he realized it was dark in his room, and his radio was silent. Or that the numbers read somewhere just past 3am. He sniffed at it in confusion, grunted, then turned toward Arthur. And seeing the boy just standing there with that owlish face staring across and so close to his made Michael jump a little.

"Ohjesusshit, kid," He breathed, rolling onto his back to Lamaze breathe at the ceiling and his glow in the dark stars.

"What'd I tell ya bout watchin' people when they sleep?" He hissed, voice low so as not to wake anyone. Especially Dad.

"I had a n-nightmare." His brother sniffed.

"So go tell Dad." Michael yawned, pawing at his face tiredly.

"He's n-not home." His little brother whimpered, as if that too would get him in trouble, as if he had any say at all in what a grown up could do.

"…big surprise." The grumpy growl wasn't aimed at him, and they both knew this. The little boy lingered hopefully.

"Awright…what?" Michael followed the kid's wide eyes. "Dude, c'mon…yer gettin' too old to sleep in here with me." He eyed the Fredbear plushie but decided not to even bring that up. But he wondered if the kid didn't cling to stuffed animals because it was one of the few toys Alexander didn't really care about.

Minus the Foxy plush he'd beheaded…they needed to get that kid into some counseling or something, before it came back to bite them.

"But the, the monsters…" the child sniffled, eyes darting to the teen's walls.

"There's no such thing as monsters, I keep tellin' ya all that's movies and shit. You gunna believe Alex and Henri over me? I'm the oldest." Michael pointed out with a grumble, shoving his elbows under him as he sat up.

The shaky nod and unsure shrug didn't really fill him with confidence.

Before Michael or Arthur could do or say anything else, the Smith's side A stopped and the cassette deck flipped off. When the kid jumped at even that noise, Michael's resolve caved a little. The kid was pathetic, sure, but he was still his brother. And of the three, Arthur was pretty easy to get along with. He was quiet, as a church mouse, but he loved reading. Way more than Michael ever did. And because Michael generally let him be, the kid would tend to linger somewhere close to the teenager while Michael tried stumbling through his homework. Art couldn't reach the counter so he usually just picked the whisp up to sit cross legged on the counter to dry while Michael washed. He held Michael's hand without complaint when crossing the road and didn't try to dash ahead like Henri, nor did he sulk and mope as much as Alexander for having to hang out with the uncool Afton's.

It wasn't even that he didn't love those two, it was just…different sometimes.

Everything was different now that Mom was gone. It was weird how the family seemed to get closer, separating into odd groups. Michael wasn't sure if it was a good thing, if it wasn't something nasty being masqueraded by healing. But he never knew how to explain it, and Arthur was too young to unload his fears onto, so he kept it to himself.

"Alright, look pint-size." The teenager made a show of sitting up, motioning the little kid closer. "I'm gunna give you something reeeal important. It's gunna make all those monsters scramble the second you use it. You want it?"

The emphatic nod made him smirk a little. After two siblings, he still had it.

Michael reached under his bed, rooting around until he felt it his fingers brush the cool plastic.

"Okay. See, I keep it down here so they know I mean business." He bragged.

Michael pulled out his prize, showing off the old yellow flashlight and giving it a few test flicks between on and off. He was relieved the batteries hadn't died, because that was honestly a gamble he'd just taken. Him getting a full night's sleep hinged on this yellow flashlight, so he'd have to really sell it to the little scaredy cat.

"The flashlight?" The doubt in his brother's voice made him chuckle. Spooked or not, Arthur was a clever kid. When he was focused and not crying in a corner somewhere, he was sharper than most. Michael kind of envied him, but never knew how to tell him. But he was sure when Arthur grew up, he'd be smart as Dad, maybe even smarter.

"Sure, yeah, but a special flashlight." Michael assuaged emphatically. "I mean it kid, have you ever seen me get scared in here? With all these monsters around?"

He illuminated a particularly gruesome Slayer poster just right and grinned when the kid flinched but then…shook his head. Smart, sure, but still just a little kid.

He wouldn't stay this way forever, right?

"N-no. you're not scared of anything. But…don't you need it?" Again, the kid glanced doubtfully at his cluttered, messy room.

"Nawh. Once you hit sixteen, those monsters piss off." Course then they were replaced by acne and hormones and wondering why you felt the same way when you looked at Seth as you did Linda, but he decided against telling his baby brother that. "You'll take care of it for me, won't ya, Art?"

The boy nodded solemnly, in his typical quiet way.

"Here you go." He handed the flashlight over, collapsing off his elbow and relaxing. "Take care of that, little dude. Anytime you see a monster, bam. Hit 'em square in the eye with this, even if they're down the hall. Sends em scattering, piece a'cake. Oh! If it starts to die, just get some batteries from the hall closet and replace 'em. Keep some in a drawer somewhere, or under the bed, wherever." Michael did a mental check list.

"Oh and, hey, keep this between us, yeah? Y'know how jealous our sibs get." He advised sagely.

More like, Henrietta would want something special too, and Alexander would undo all Michael's hard work by spoiling the kid's new security blanket, and out the flashlight as a child toy's and Michael as a fake. He could just see it happening. And he had a test coming Monday on ancient history, and didn't need any more headaches.

Thankfully, Arthur nodded, tucking the little Fredbear toy under one arm and wielding the flashlight before him in tightly gripped, small hands.

"Thank you, Mikey…"

"One more thing? Flip the tape on yer way out." He didn't feel like getting up.

He smirked into his pillow when he heard a small giggle, and listened to the deck being opened, tape replaced, door closed and Play pressed down.

"See ya in the morning, rockstar." Michael yawned, curling his arm round his pillow and burying his face with a sleepy sigh.

"See you in the morning," Arthur parroted with the tiniest whisper, and Michael slipped back into dreamland grinning.

That was the nice thing about being a kid, Michael supposed. When dawn came, the monsters always seemed to hide away.

Happy Friday!