Author's Note: This is one of those chapters that has been seen in my mind's eye from the beginning, all the way back in January or February. It sets up a bit for the next story, too. Or at least, hints as to who will be in it. And who won't. So here's a lil treat, a slightly quicker upload than usual due to me having more free time with the holidays coming up. (Please don't get used to them, I can make no promises.) I DO want to finish this story before SB releases so I can play it and enjoy it! (And take notes)

"Hickory dickory dock,
the mouse ran up the clock.
The clock struck one,
the mouse ran down…
hickory…dickory…dock."

ACT III
Chapter 19. His Life Seconds Numbering

"So. It's come to this, Puppet?"

He watched quietly, maintaining eye contact and keeping his posture relaxed and unbothered as the Nightmare advanced slowly on those stilt like legs, its smile gaping and wide. The too many needle like teeth crammed into its maw gleamed in the pale light. And the ever moving, slithering tentacles that splayed from between its strong shoulders flared outward, making it appear even bigger as it advanced, fearless and hissing its defiance.

'Sstand asside, old man.' The Puppet seethed it's advice. The Nightmare holding its prize with deceptive, odd carefulness. 'Isn't this what you wanted~? My power back? In full force? How did you put it…ah, yes, 'Afton's worst Nightmare?'

"Thought we had a deal." Henry replied in lieu of an actual answer. But it was answer enough, for Nightmaronnie gave an insidious hiss of what could only be mockery.

'We did.' It agreed. 'And we both broke it. To be fair, you broke it first.'

"You would have obeyed, then, from the very beginning? If I let that…" Henry's eyes glanced at the pale human slumped, dangling silently in the monster's hold. "If I had left Schmidt alone?"

The Nightmare leaned down a little further, slightly covering Mike from view with its cracked mask.

"He's dying." Henry realized after a beat, his eyes drawn to the shallow cave of Mike's chest and the entirely unresponsive frame, his head lolling on the monster's shoulder with every move Nightmaronnie made.

A warning, shrill note was the reply this time.

"What are you going to do, stop time for the idiot?" The old man scoffed. "Not even you can do that, reunited with Fredbear's soul or not."

'Maybe, maybe not. But I can wait you out.' Nightmaronnie's smile seemed to gape wider, its ruined mask sliding down to stretch the smile into something revolting and inhuman. 'We both know the one place you won't return is perfect for me and Michael to hide in~'

Realizing he had been had, and finally accepting for how long and how serious the issue was, Henry snapped. Frankly, he didn't have far to go, but he had enough left that the expression on his face gave away the loss of his sanity and scheming. It was absolutely twisted snarl, ugly and cracked.

"No! You're staying here, devil, where you belong!" Henry roared, as if he had any say at all in the matter. 'This is all ending here, like it's supposed to!"

'End it yourself. Whatever goodness that was left of you is long gone, Creator.' The Marionette spit the title like a curse. 'Accept that. Move on. Kill the others. Or don't. See how you fair without my help, you miserable old fool!'

A tentacle slammed forward, sweeping Henry into the wall and allowing the creature to stalk past through the door frame, the shadows leaping to greet it. The two were gone in the time it took for Henry to raise, his teeth gritted as the doors slammed shut and he was left in the dark, ruined building.

'I have what I wanted.'

Max hadn't felt it at first.

Which is how he knew something wasn't right. He and Scraptrap kept their little two-way highway of a mental bond open pretty much 24/7. They just did. It felt the safest, and it was probably Max's security blanket in all the years they'd been together. Until now. Scraptrap was shutting himself off from Max, hiding from his Suit for some reason. No explanation why. No apology, nothing. It was scary, and Max had grown up around giant animatronics with glitches and personalities and shiny teeth and big hooks. But this was what scared him most of all. Something was absolutely not right. His worry dipped from concern down to fear, then seeped into full out dread when something that had been there for years seemed to sever between him and his Bonnie model.

They made it just the end of the hall that lead to the office when it finally, really, truly hit him. Pain, right along his chest, searing in a straight line at his center. He could feel Scraptrap's terror as if it was his own, but suddenly the connection was locked down again. Refusal to let him in kept him bewildered, and the prickles of pain that itched along his skin kept him too confused to put up much of a fight.

'He's being ripped open.' Springlocks were starting to give and then would broke, plating lifted into angles that made hinges and joints creak or outright snap. Scrap buckled under the force of whatever—The goddamn Nightmaronnie, it had to be—was attacking him to get to where Mike lay inside.

The collide was a shockwave felt only by him of course, but that didn't make it any less real. Any less devastating. It was enough to make him stumble though, sneakers slipping.

Even through the piercing ache, Max felt betrayal sting and bite deep into his heart when he pieced everything altogether.

'So much for helping us, I guess. The fucken Puppet hasn't changed as much as I thought.'

The statement somehow felt unfair to think, and yet Max felt justified in the moment. He woke up the Fazes, got them into new bodies. He helped save Mike! He…hell, he even laid him out for the little bastard, leaving him alone with an old hollow Bonnie model. He played his part perfectly.

Max had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Deflection.

'I am so sorry, Scraptrap.' Max whimpered across their bond, even as he knew it likely didn't reach the bunny.

Something gave way between them a second time, like the cruel tolling of a bell.

Plastic cracked onto the ground and Max and everyone's glass eyes swept down to pinpoint the noise.

The cassette player's door had fallen off with a heart wrenching snap, inexplicable save for the fact that Max knew what was happening to his best friend, his other half. The rest remained at his side, but it looked strange with the cassette bare and its inners exposed for the world to see. Max groaned, feeling lightheaded.

"That can't be good…that shouldn't happen, I mean. Right?" Bonnie winced, ears falling backwards as the gang clustered closer to Max. The Rockstars were all making a tight, protective circle. Freddy stooped to fetch the fallen piece and managed to fit it back in place, but it was clear the walkman was busted and the two that it belonged to were only going to get worse.

"O'course it ain't," Foxy growled. "Kid's gone white as a sail! Erh, well, sort of."

"Gone pink as Sis's icing." Bonnie corrected, and he wasn't wrong.

The recoil of whatever it was that snapped between him and Scraptrap caused the corpse to gasp. He toppled almost directly after, only kept from completely wiping out by Rockstar Freddy, who'd snapped to attention at his strangled yelp and swept out his thick arm to catch Max round the front. Max collapsed gratefully into the steady limb, struggling for breath and trying to focus as spots danced across his vision.

"Michael?!" Startled, Freddy even forgot to call him by his new, given name. Max didn't blame the old bear, not when it probably looked like he'd just been stabbed or shot or some shit. "Son, look at me, what's wrong?"

"H-hurts," He managed around a choke. Black ichor, a strange thin slime, dribbled from his lips and he swiped it away, wincing as his body protested the loss of its stability. His embalming fluid was coming out. What did that mean? "F-Freddy…"

It couldn't be anything good. But it seemed to have stopped, which…was good? He guessed?

"What hurts?" Freddy demanded, all business and steady, as if all he had to do was tell Fazbear and Freddy would make it all better. Max gripped himself into that protective confidence, like a little barnacle to an anchor, and curled up closer into the bear's front.

"Chest," Max gasped, pressing a weakening hand over the area, letting his legs give out even as Fazbear took the rest of his weight and rumbled soothingly. Fazbear ran his other paw up and down the teen's back and glanced at his band, eyebrows low and expectant.

"The Puppet got Scraptrap." Bonnie puzzled out, and not sounding happy about his estimation. "Kinda need both parts of a Suit to work together, yanno?"

Mike had certainly proved that, after they'd seen him give up Gold for the sake of the Marionette.

The Rockstars all shared troubled looks but agreed.

"Just…just get me to 'im," Max pleaded with the looming, near pristine bearbot holding him stable. He gripped Freddy's wrist tight when the bear looked like he wanted to protest, "Please, Freddy. I need to see him."

He needed to know. To see for himself. Broken things got fixed all the time. Maybe he still could…do something. Even if it was just to make the poor Bonnie model comfortable until…

Max refused to think about what came after 'until.'

It was clear why they all were hesitating. Getting anywhere near Nightmaronnie was a sure trip to the scrapheap. And now with Max to protect, and Scraptrap likely injured…maybe even beyond repair…

"Ain't safe, son." Freddy warned once, but his expression showed a crack in his will. He sighed and said no, a second time.

But Max's protests were silenced with a raised paw, as Freddy grunted and shifted their positions. He swept Max up into his arms and backed up. He nudged the kid's body up, glancing to Max as he let his head rest trustingly on his shoulder before Faz turned back to dole out the orders for whatever plan he'd just come up with. He started with Foxy and Chica.

"You two, get his Animatronic. Meet us in Parts and Services." Fazbear ordered. "Bonnie—"

"Yo!"

"Make some noise. Keep everything distracted until you think it's clear, then rejoin us." Freddy kept his voice low, but he wondered where William had slunk off to, what dark corner he was hiding in.

"That's my specialty!" Bonnie cackled, slamming a loud riff on his guitar, making Foxy's parrot squawk in alarm.

"Blazes! Not yet, ye daft rabbit," Foxy swiped his hook near the rabbit as Bonnie cackled and dodged the hook.

"Anybody seen the little Security Puppet?" Rockstar Freddy said. She usually hung around Mike but now…

"I think she's hiding in her box." Chica replied. "Nightmaronnie hasn't gone after any of us; I doubt it'd bother with her."

"Creepy little doll got what it wanted…takin' our night guard from us." Bonnie grunted, sour and upset as he lurched down the hall. Freddy was startled to realize his best friend wasn't limping, then shook himself. Right. New Bodies.

Still, with Henry out there, Freddy didn't need to risk both his kids, his family, or any other animatronics that hadn't done anything. He supposed SP was part of his family now too, what with Mike's affection towards her.

"Bonnie, you keep your ears up. Anything goes south…don't wait around."

Bonnie saluted on his way around the corner.

"Freddy—" Max whined, trying to sit up out of the protective carry but ultimately failing.

"None of that now," Fazbear warned, keeping Max comfortable as he was able as he retraced their steps and broke off from the group. "We'll get 'im back. But where ya gunna do repairs, eh? Best place is Services."

Freddy was right, and they both knew it.

"…what about Mike?" Max's voice was small and young. Worried. Freddy couldn't blame him. "If it got to Scraptrap, then Bonnie's right. It got Mike and without Gold, he probably…"

Both their deaths would ruin and gobble down whatever courage Max had left. He didn't even want to think about it. Even Freddy's disturbed glower was clear they were on the same page.

But there were unanswered questions. And some of them had big teeth, and were dangerous if let unsolved. According to Max and Foxy, their Creator was not acting like the pleased man who'd gotten all his way. Which meant something good for them, and good for Mike, didn't it?

Freddy pondered things.

If he were the Marionette, ghostly and half-alive, barely clinging to its powers, and it got Fredbear's spirit back? What would it do?

Years ago, the answer would have been a far simpler one.

Rampage. Chase down Afton. All the Afton's, most likely. Use whatever means it had, stretching all its strings, threatening and deadly. Maybe even turn on Henry for trapping it in Lefty the bear, and keeping it from fully reuniting with Michael. Of course then there was Max's summary of the events, how Fredbear had chased off Lefty without so much as a howdo. Ah. That was the answer, there. Right in front of him. It wouldn't do that searching, sweeping seek and destroy. It would seek out Mike, and get him safe first. Mike had saved it first after all, helping it get out of Lefty the bear.

William and Henry both had a bone to pick with the man, and he was powerless. But the Marionette certainly wasn't right now.

'I'll be damned.'

There was no use for it now, then. At the very least, this likely meant Chica and Foxy could retrieve Scraptrap with ease. Nightmaronnie wouldn't have lingered in the small, cramped, and hard to defend Office. It might not even be in this building anymore, with how possessive it tended to be. But that did mean Mike was gone with it, too, spirited away. Where…? He hoped, begged, prayed to whatever there was up there that would listen to haunted, living animatronics, that his kid was somewhere safe.

"…you let me worry about Mike. Now, he can take care of himself, and Goodness knows none of us can say what that blasted Devil's up to…but worrying's my job. You just rest."

"…okay…"

Max gave in surprisingly quickly. Freddy wasn't sure if he was imagining things, but the purple glow of his eyes seemed dimmer than it had before.

The soft, steady sound of drizzling rain was actually quite nice to listen to. The added ambience of the sleepy crickets and the cicadas helped too. Rain itself was nice, frankly. The chilly effect it brought outside, making the inside seem warmer by proxy. The airy and trickling giggling it did along a rooftop, the way the whole world seemed to sigh in relief and fall silent, stopping just for rain. It just had never much cared about things like weather and strange, relaxing moods until recently.

If recently could be considered almost ten years ago, that is.

'Do you remember the first evening it rained, night guard? Your third day on the fourth week, wasn't it? What you referred to as 'a total wash out.' It was dark when you arrived because you overslept—still getting used to powering a Spirit as a Suit. Freddy gave you an earful, but I think he was worried a bit. A summer night that you told me was oddly chilly. You took me out onto the front walkway, carrying an umbrella, and let me feel the rain on my arm. I don't think I ever mentioned how much that meant to me, or my child. I suppose I liked assuming you already knew.

You always seemed to understand me. To respect me, even when we didn't agree.'

There came no answer, but the speaker didn't much mind.

All this time, Mike wasn't the only one who talked to thin air. It had indulged in the same little oddities, unsure at first but finding comfort in the dark and dreary. It hadn't felt alone. The talking had kept it comforted, even when it was stuck inside Lefty and forced to play a part for a man hell-bent on revenge even the Marionette couldn't agree with.

'Our little game went on for a while, didn't it? When I hid from you as Lefty. I knew you'd find me eventually, and I knew you'd try and get me out. I scared the original four and Max back there. I do feel terrible about that, but I had no choice. I had to play my part, you understand, don't you? Well…you would if you woke up. I had no choice but to become a Nightmare. I was so angry, and Goldy is still so powerful, so overwhelming when he's mad…and so is Henry.'

The Marionette's fingers tapped idly along its thin leg, and it gave a tired hum.

'I'll take care of Goldy for you, until we figure out how to stop that man. Both of them.'

It sighed, disquieted and discontent with the situation. Even as it tried being grateful for whatever closeness it could get now. Because this really wasn't it had in mind. Their reunion. But it would have to do.

'I've been slightly aware of things for a few months now. I think. It's hard to tell Time when there are no clocks. But I was down there with you, in the depths. In Pizza World. And when Ennard attacked you. I took care of Circus Baby, for what she did to you, trying to wear you as a Suit. She was as bad as her father, you know. I understand why you tried getting through to her…but I wish you hadn't. Still, that wouldn't make you my night guard, would it?'

It wanted this moment to last, even as much as the Puppet knew it wasn't right. Nothing ever lasts.

It forced levity into its tone anyway, trying for chipper and comforting.

'At least I look much better now! Well…as best as I am able to in such a situation.' It didn't see itself as a vain creature—although perhaps Mike might disagree in amusement, if he were able to. 'That Nightmareish form is worth the effort it takes.'

The Marionette, looking almost original in his design save for the cruel crack that split his mask, lapsed into silence. Sure, he was scuffed and dirty covered and one of his legs was missing up to the knee joint. His paint was smeared and half of it was even gone, faded or chipped right off. And his strings were frayed, and something had chewed and nibbled at his body…but he had endured. Mostly. The lithe creature stayed settled quietly on the pillows of a bed, somewhat neatly cuddled up against the headboard, shifting closer as if to shield the night guard from some invisible threat. The two of them lingered in the peaceful and dimly light bedroom. He eyed the two doors on either side of them, but paid them no mind after a beat. Nothing and no one was coming their way. He listened for any noises under the bed, but nothing came of that either.

It was the same for the closet, which remained half opened and showcasing its emptiness.

'No more Nightmares.' And the Puppet sounded relieved. 'Nothing here to bother us. To harm you.'

And outside the door, whatever that lay beyond the room in this world, the rain pitter-pattered on and on.

'I'm glad you figured out my clue about little Charlotte. I wasn't sure it would get through to Henry though. I'm not happy to be proven correct. But at least you tried.' And Mike knew now. Her little ghost hadn't lingered, she'd been loved and adored by Henry so well there was no unfinished business. Even the trauma of her death hadn't caused her to stick, and so she had died twice. Henry hadn't spoken her name, and the others…they forgot. The Marionette didn't like the concept but it wasn't any business of his for once. He was alarmed when the little Puppet began displaying powers similar to his own, and at first loathed the idea of sharing them. Gradually he'd realized Charlotte wasn't in the smaller model anymore, and so little SP was left alone.

Looking back, if she'd stayed, she might have offered comfort to Henry. Kept him sane. Who knew? They would never know now, that much the Marionette was sure of.

Nothing was going to stop that old man from burning it all down and erasing the future, covering up the past.

The Puppet groused to itself quietly. Not everything, he thought. Henry had taken enough. Now it was just him and Michael. Together. No danger. No threats. It was nice.

The Marionette ghosted its spindly little fingers through chestnut hair, sloppy and untamed as ever. A few more passes calmed its nerves, helped the Puppet focus. Stay soft and not creating edges and pain and getting lost. Mike's presence could be felt, even now. Even with the man like this. Without realizing it, the cracked face shifted, trying to widen its smile as it observed the young man that lay on the bed. Mike's eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. As if he were merely sleeping.

But like the Puppet, there were cracks all along the frame of the man to hint at otherwise. At something more sinister happening just below the surface. The Marionette's cracks and chips and splinters, those were obvious. But these ones…

The hollow eyes. The grey skin. His far too still form. The slow rise of his chest or the way his breaths rattled under his sternum like fall leaves crinkling.

Mike was alive, yes. But not for long it looked like, and only just barely even in this moment.

The Puppet, however, was nothing if not stubborn.

'I'll keep you safe, night guard.' The Marionette promised, voice low and dark. 'I can't give you back what you gave me. I'll only return to Henry or…worse, lose the stability that's keeping me from my grave. We're back together again…just like we wanted.'

But its tone was regretful and full of woe instead of celebration, and its inner chime grinded unhappily as it kept vigil.

'I'll stay with you, Michael.' Marion tried again, perhaps one of the few times in its life it ever managed to sound almost afraid. 'Once Henry is taken care of, I can return Goldy to you. Won't that be nice?'

Of course, then the Puppet would get pulled back into its grave, which is where it rightly should have been this entire time. (Unless Henry was not taken down, in which case the Puppet supposed…they would stay like this.)

But he was so close now. He'd been so close. This was the first time in a while the Puppet felt solid and stable enough to even consider that it could survive out in the real world. Not just on the Other side. And no Lefty needed! He'd been able to survive in the shell with Henry's aid and careful building. Strange carvings and blood smeared along the inside of plain, simple, shabby ol' Lefty the Bear.

It was barbaric, but it worked. And it made the Marionette start to think. A dangerous pastime to be sure, but one that could return dividends.

'I look a fright. I'm broken down, missing a soul to anchor to…I'm a deflated little balloon that's been untied and set adrift….

And what goes up must come down, right, Michael?'

Mike gave no reply save for his breaths.

'I don't know how to levy up the amount of power it would take to raise something like me again, Michael. Arthur is gone, and he should be. That's fine. But the original four manage to survive without their children. You've helped them physically, certainly. And then there's me. I came back. Mostly. I'll never know how. But between you and Henry, you did it. You didn't even mean to, yet your intention and grief was so strong you managed enough that I wasn't lost to Henry's will fully. He tried, I'll give him that. but underneath, you and Arthur were there. Reminding me to stay true to myself, that you knew I could be Good if I tried hard enough.

Oh, how he wished the young man could hear him. It was fun to scheme, but it was even better to scheme together. Especially with a best friend.

'I wonder…what do you think would happen if you tried calling me back with intent?'

Maybe in some small way Mike was able to hear him, though. Perhaps small part of him was listening, his subconscious or something of the like. The Puppet could wish it so, anyway. Wishing was free, as he often used to tell his child.

The wishing was interrupted suddenly, almost as if on cue. The Marionette rattled its chimes in warning and glared at the sound of thudding footsteps coming down the hall on the right side.

"Cahn't keep 'im forever," spoke up Nightmare Foxy as he lumbered in from the right room, shaking the rainwater from his thick fur. "S'not his place, Mar…"

'Silence!' The Puppet hissed, but only loomed more over the human. It gave a sour grind of its inner music box and stopped the Nightmare leader's advance. The gruesome creature gave a noise like a metallic sneeze, one of rude denial and refusal to be intimidated by the Marionette.

"Nohh," Nightmare Foxy sighed out in a gust through his long, sharp and terrible teeth. He hovered worriedly by the side of the bed but didn't approach the angry little wraith that glared at him through cracked eyes.

"Hees'gunna die here! Want tha'?" Alexander demanded, knowing the creature's reply.

'What type of question is that, you ungrateful little brat!?' asked the Puppet. 'Of course I don't want him to die! But should I have let him fall in either of those men's clutches? Or burn alive? Fire exorcizes ghosts, you idiot. It would pull Goldy right out of his body and they'd both perish! Which, if you ask me, is what Michael should have done to you a long time ago. But he let you linger.'

If Alexander was upset about the insult and venom aimed at him, he hid it well.

"Frehdd-beer…" the Nightmare said but he nodded toward the ashen figure lying limp on the bed.

'You let me worry about Fredbear. He's safe. I don't know what Henry expected, but he got what he wanted. More power. Shame that power took off on him, though~'

Nightmare Foxy's jaw worked a bit, stretching into a grisly, rueful sneer of agreement. There was something the two of them could agree one, wicked and amused.

Uncle Henry wasn't acting right, that was plain as the teeth in Alex's severe, rotted maw. But the crazed, heartbroken old man was in control of the situation still, and he wasn't interested in letting go it seemed. Not until he finished what he'd started. The Nightmare's world was safe only because of Alexander's refusal to be dominated, and the denizens, who followed the leader even better than the original four, backed him up. Henry hadn't stayed when he'd risen from whatever hole he'd crawled out from. He'd fled, outside, into the world.

And his scheme had begun.

Giving Golden Freddy's spirit back to the Marionette had been exactly what Uncle Henry demanded—but in the end it hadn't been what he wanted. Not exactly.

Because, to the surprise of nearly everyone, Marion had scrapped together enough free will in the resulting merge, manifesting as a Nightmare itself once more. Cloaked and hidden in plain sight, it attacked. When in reality, it wasn't attacking at all. Seeking, certainly. For Mike. It needed to protect Mike. The man couldn't do it on his own, especially without Gold's protection. And the Marionette had no one left to be loyal to but the night guard. It hadn't attacked the Crying Child during those long nights either, after all. Only pretending, trying to get close. Then stealing it away back to Reality, where it thrived off the Child's spirit and quickly settled at the top of the Animatronic hierarchy.

And so of course it hadn't done much damage despite the old man's demands.

'Your sister is gone.' The Puppet informed Alexander, tone airy and bitter.

Nightmare Foxy eyed him, optics narrowing but remained strangely silent. It was clear by the fidget of drill like claws and swish-swish of the matted tail, the Afton sibling seemed at a crossroads with how to feel about such news.

The Puppet eyed him, but hummed, noncommittal.

'And I'll cut them all down if they get between me and what's mine. But it worked out for the better, didn't it? Your little sister has been gone into Circus Baby's programming for years. The two entangled so tightly it was impossible to find where one began and the other ended.'

That was most certainly true. That didn't mean Alexander liked the fact nor wanted to be reminded of it. The Nightmare seemed to weigh some options before he bared his huge, impressive teeth.

"Not Michael." Nightmare Foxy ground out, in perhaps what was the best attempt at vocalizing the Puppet had ever heard from the brat. "Not—my brother."

'Pardon?' It still asked, amused by this emboldened glare and warning snarl. 'I can't have him, is that what you're saying? Why, it's a little late for that. He's been my secret weapon all this time, and he will remain to be.'

"Youh hur'him, tho?" Nightmare Foxy stated, pointing from the Puppet to himself, and then bit down hard, on the air in an impressive display of strength. "No one gunna sah've youhh…nohht evehn Mike."

'Is that so?' But the Puppet knew the teenager wasn't bluffing. Every inch of the awful creature radiated anger and protectiveness. It feigned boredom and sniffed, looking back down to fuss with Mike's bangs absently. 'You Foxies…always so unstable, so prone to violence.'

But terrifyingly vehement in their loyalties.

Nightmare Foxy snorted, then turned and stomped toward the door he had entered from.

'Where do you think you are going?' The vengeful, sour little creature asked.

"Goin' back ouht." Nightmare Foxy pointed with his cruel, curved hook. "Gunna help."

'That will be a first, Alexander Afton, won't it? You helping anybody.'

"…s'whah Mihke woolh'doo." It was hard to talk through these teeth, but he made it work. And he meant what he said too, biting the comment in half with conviction and confidence.

"…bolth of 'em." And then he was gone.

The Puppet said nothing at this, and he tried to pretend it was because it wasn't worth replying to. Not because he was so startled that he was speechless in the time it took for the Nightmare leader to duck under the door way and vanish back into his own personal, brand of Darkness.

'Teenagers.' Muttered the Puppet moodily once the little beast had left. A tired, heaving exhale lifted up into a low laugh from just below him.

"Mm…glad I never was one."

The Puppet froze. He looked down, the loose side of his face slipping a bit but he could see well enough, the way Mike's half-mast gaze was aimed at him. Poor Mike squinted at first, looking alarmed before managing to tilt his head into the pillow a bit better. Of course, Marion was sitting on the night guard's right side, and he likely couldn't see anymore through the now washed out, milky eye. No Golden Freddy to bolster and aid him. Right.

'Michael!'

"Hey, Mari." Mike rasped, sounding bone dry exhausted and spent but wonderfully, stubbornly awake. Even the tiny tug at one corner of his mouth, though he licked chapped, purple lips and coughed a sound that was too weak to be of use to clearing his register.

"…what happened? Where…?" he croaked.

'Safe.' Was the only word the Puppet had for a moment, its voice deadly and firm. 'You're safe, I won't let anything harm you.'

"Mmm," Mike yawned. "Sure, yeh…I know that." He was so certain and trusting and it made the Puppet's core clench.

"But where are we?" Mike asked.

'The Remains of the Other World.'

"…sounds'pooky," Mike slurred, sounding groggy despite the blinking he was managing. He didn't seem to comprehend what the little creature meant, how serious it was, but Marion chimed comfortingly anyway.

'Very spooky.' It agreed sympathetically.

"Man," Mike sighed, wondering why it came out as a wheeze. "Is it good to see you, buddy. I missed you."

'I know.' The Puppet chimed lightly, almost as playful as its tone was warm. 'I missed you too. But Freddy has been keeping his eye on you, hasn't he? You two are quite close now.'

"Mm. Not jealous, are we Mar?" Mike poked, playful and fearless as ever of the looming, slender creature that had made nightmares reality and reality a nightmare. But with Mike, it never felt dread or hate aimed at itself. He spooked easily sometimes, sure. But recovered quickly, tended to laugh things off or even scold if he felt the need.

'Me…? Goodness, never~' But the dark twang of his inner workings gave one note and they both knew the little devil was being slightly facetious.

Mike snorted. It might have been another laugh, had he the strength. The Puppet knew he did not. That he would have less the longer he lingered here. But out there, he would have even less of a chance by himself. Out there, it was dangerous and only going to get worse.

'Fine. Perhaps a little.' The Marionette admitted, unable to stop another fond pass through Mike's messy hair. 'But you two get along so well, and I'm certainly not mad over it. Just very…'

"Melancholy?" Mike murmured with a knowing grin. The Puppet couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a smile look so…old.

The Puppet nodded slowly.

'That is a good word for it, yes. I do owe that lead bear quite a bit. I just wish I could have had the choice to share you, night guard.' Instead it had been decided for them.

The Marionette played and prodded self-consciously at its cracking face, even went so far as to lean out of Mike's eye line, weary and unfocused as it was. He didn't want to scare the man, and he knew he looked a fright, all wrecked and ruined and held together by broken strings and a tiny flutter of hope.

"I wish you were alive again too, Mari." The man's voice was paper thin and fading fast. The Puppet had a feeling that it had little to do with his physical strength bleeding out and more to do with the emotional pain that was bleeding inwards as well, festering like a reopened sore.

It was hard to watch, and it made certain things tempting beyond belief.

'Maybe I could be.' But the Marionette's voice was lower than the farthest grave, and twice as quiet. It would do no good to be putting ideas in this foolish man's head now, not when he was in this state. The Puppet didn't want Mike getting worked up.

Gold lay slumbering and silent within the Marionette's core, but even now they both felt the faint pull of their Creator's embittered, cruel spirit. Henry was still trying, and damn him for not giving up. The others were still trapped most likely, and the old man was toying with them or perhaps he had already set the building to blaze.

The Marionette didn't know. Didn't care.

It wasn't even sure something like that would work, but it knew what it would end up costing.

It couldn't ask that of its night guard. Not after everything it had already put the man through.

"…been hidin' here?" Mike hummed suddenly, interesting weaving sleepily through his tone. But the comment raised some confusion and uncertainty in the Puppet's mind. Hadn't they just…?

'Not until a few days ago, no. I was dead, night guard.' Oh, this wasn't good. 'Don't you remember…?'

"I…I remember…" Mike didn't sound so sure. He squinted with fuzzy eyes at an equally fuzzy ceiling. His words slurred a little bit, but mostly he was coherent enough. Or perhaps the Puppet just knew him well enough. "I think I remember? There was…a fight. At the restaurant. Someone…Freddy was angry ana' different color…"

A woeful chime interrupted him. 'No, night guard. Try again. Try to think. To stay.'

"M'tired, Mari." Mike admitted then, voice faint and skeletal. He didn't seem to have the energy to try clearing his throat again.

'Try anyway.' It pleaded. It could never remember a time in its life when it had begged for anything—even when it cut itself from the Purple Man, it had done so out of anger and bitter rage. Arthur had grown strong enough to power its frame, and together they had made history.

But history had a problem sometimes. It liked to repeat itself.

'Michael? Stay awake.' The Marionette whimpered again.

Mike made a noise that might have been an agreement at one point, but was drowsy and mumbled to the point it was barely a low hum. The Puppet sighed, and watched his friend slip back into sleep. If half-death could be called that, but the term didn't sit well with the creature. So sleep it was. How horrible it felt to be useless. The left half of his shattered mask slipped just a little bit lower, and another piece chipped away.

Denial can do horrible things to us, you know.

Somewhere beyond the room, far into the depth, an old clock chimed. The note was deep and low, and it struck only once. The Puppet hissed angrily at the sound, white pinpricks flying up to desperately search toward the noise of the piece of furniture it could not see but knew was out there. Just beyond these walls, at the apex of the halls.

'It's started already!? Cursed thing.' He snarled to himself, a possessive grip landing on Mike's shoulder.

But it went back to worrying over its night guard. The clock did not chime again, which was good.

There weren't many chimes left.

Scraptrap was hauled into Parts and Services, and when Max saw the state he was in he could have cried, if he were still able to shed tears. The heartbreak was certainly enough to replace the lack of water. And it was small miracle he had stopped leaking his embalming fluid, though he didn't understand why.

"Scrap…Scraptrap, no," but no amount of crying or pleading would bring his bunnybot back.

"This…this how ya found 'im?" Freddy rumbled over them both, having let Max crumple down beside the Bonnie model after Foxy and Chica set the wreckage gently down. Scraptrap slumped backwards against the wall and half lowered, sagging onto one side where its missing innards could no longer support him when Max was outside.

"Most of 'em." Foxy admitted, sounding pained to admit such a thing out loud. He shot Max a look then shook his head sharply at Fazbear.

"It was awful, Freddy," Chica whispered hurriedly. "And neither Mike or the Puppet were anywhere to be found. Just…just poor Scraptrap."

Then his fears had been on the right trail.

"So it took 'im. Fine. Where, then?" Fazbear demanded of the entire, decrepit and dank room.

But no one had any answer to that, not even clever Foxy.

"Hey, kid, maybe we can fix 'im…" Bonnie tried, leaning carefully down. It was clear all of them were getting used to their new bodies, but in the best ways. Their mobility had increased that every little gesture was appreciated.

"W-with what?" Max demanded, feeling bad at snapping but relieved as the pressure valve in his hurting heart released. "Look, look at this shit! That fucken Puppet lied, too! He said he needed us. He said if one of us went, so did the other! So I'm still here, isn't that great!"

It was evident the teenager would rather not be. Freddy shared an alarmed look with the others but rallied.

"Maybe that means Scrap ain't gone." Freddy tried, half advice and half a calm attempt to aim the poor kid's anger onto himself, in some small way trying to help.

"He's gone all right." Max sniffed wetly, shooting Freddy a wet glare. "I can't feel him."

"Max," Chica gasped, startled. "Max, hunny, are you….crying?"

And so he was.

"…I'm crying?" He dabbed two fingers against his cheeks and blinked, pulling back to stare at the filmy, lavender liquid that had trickled to freedom from his eyes. "I've never…corpses can't cry…"

They couldn't walk and talk and bring others back to life either. And he'd certainly been doing those things as of late. Max lapsed into distraught silence, turning instead to gaze at his best friend.

"Hey…" Bonnie balked suddenly, then canted his head, ears flopping. "Yanno, maybe it's the light in here, but you do look kinda…bright all of a sudden."

"Bright?" Foxy warned, then eyed the corpse crouched beside the busted animatronic. "Lad…ye might wanna lookit yerself…"

"What," Max snapped, sniffing as he looked down at his own two hands and then craning to stare at the problem. A soft light pulsed from his center, opalescent and violet. "What's happening to me…?"

"Looks like how Gold sometimes shows himself," Chica mused. "Usually when he's healing Mikey."

"Max ain't hurt though, Scrap's the one that needs…that's it!" Bonnie pointed out to his sister, then his ears shot upright. "Ohhh, I geddit! Hey, kid, put that in Scrap! Go on, do it!"

Max stared at the rabbit as if he'd suggested going out and asking his father for help. Despite his stare, the rabbit's eagerness didn't fade.

"Think yer onto somethin' Bon." Freddy praised, catching on. "Yer rabbit ain't gone; he's just hid in his Suit. Puppet didn't snuff 'im out. Rattled ya both, sure. Try and geddim back home."

A big brown paw gestured form Max to the nearby animatronic, the aforementioned shooting Freddy his own worried look.

"Puppet taught ya how to scoot souls around, ain't he?" Foxy hummed, giving a thoughtful nod. His bird crowed, "Scoot souls, scoot souls!" And earned a growl from the already grouchy pirate fox.

"Y-yeah…"

'…it did use me. But it left me with what I'd need to keep Scraptrap with me. How many moves can that thing see beforehand?'

Now wasn't the time to worry about that.

"Try, sweetie, we'll be right here in case anything happened." Chica encouraged sweetly.

Turning in place on his knees, trying to center himself and remember how to pull and guide and nudge. He felt into his chest without looking, afraid if he saw his fingers sink through his body he'd break his concentration or worse, try and vomit. It took Max a lot of trial and error, his nerves making his ashen hands shake and misdirect, the tiny light stubbornly refusing to leave when it decided it wasn't going in the right direction. It rehid in Max's center and had to coached out all over again.

Warmth finally tickled his fingertips, bleeding both honey-warm sweetness and ice cold relief.

That was Scraptrap in there. Hiding somewhere in his ribcage, waiting. Patient. Safe.

Max sobbed out a breath, felt his cheek grow damp all over again but it had nothing to do with physical pain and only to do with his relief.

He eased the orb out, feeling strings fray and twist apart. But they didn't hurt, didn't cause alarm. One stayed, thick and healthy. That one was meant to be there, forever connecting the two of them.

"C'mon buddy," Max whispered, leaning close enough to rest his forehead against his bunny's. "Come back to me. I'm nuthin' without you."

He closed his eyes, pushing the purple sphere in and leaning onto the bunny's chest to keep it closed. The busted springlocks suddenly clicked, reengaging. A surge rocked through Scraptrap, making them all jump a little bit. His optics rolls back down. They powered on, flickering to their usual sunny haze before the model blinked and lifted his eyeline, trying to lean back to see Max fully.

Scraptrap gave a rusty noise, sounding relieved and fond, his ears drooping and frame relaxing. Max was okay.

"We really owe that stupid Pinocchio for teaching us this trick," Max admitted with a weak, watery smile.

Scraptrap grinned.

'The Puppet's returned, Billy.' Springtrap sounded almost pleased, and William scoffed.

"Keep quiet. Can't hear myself think…" A lie, and they both knew it. Springtrap hummed, and irritatingly, kept talking as they methodically moved through the restaurant.

'It's alright to be scared. You should be. We're going to die here.'

"Shut up!"

He paused, good ear crooked, listening.

Silence.

"Anyway, let's say we do, my old friend. I'll only come back. I always come back. Maybe not with you, maybe not like this…" the very thought of his contingencies was enough to make his optics sparkle, hungry and delighted. "We both know I've got enough left in me. Enough left out there in the world…even when I'm gone, I will still be here."

'Not if the night guard stops—'

"Bah! The night guard," William rolled their eyes, and ground their teeth irritably. "You saw what his choice was. Trying to get through to half crazed, broken apart Henry. And how did that work out for him, my little bunny? Schmidt gave up the ghost! Literally." He cackled meanly at his own joke, but his cheerful mockery soon faded as he pushed and rattled on yet another door. No way out through the kitchen. Fine. Fine.

Springbonnie lapsed into silence. William assumed this meant he'd won their argument, and so he gloated about it.

"No Goldy to protect the restaurant. No Puppet to channel all that energy either. It isn't obeying Henry, because it's a creature that doesn't understand such a concept. And say what you want about my son but he is useless as he ever was, nothing he does could ever amount to…hello, what's this?"

There it was. Sitting on the table in the Dining Hall.

The flashlight.

William smiled, which was hard to notice since, due to rot and age, Springtrap's outer shell was eternally smiling.

"Finally, Springbonnie. Our lucks turning around…"

But when he reached for it, there was a tiny tinkle of alarm and something small and stripped leapt into view.

'What was that about our luck?'

William wouldn't admit to his hiss of fright, fear icing his long-gone veins, but Springbonnie would have, happily. It wasn't the Marionette though. Their jump was for nothing, it turned out.

"…you?" Afton paused, staring at the little Security Puppet model, her green eyes bright and clear. "…hmm, no. Not much left in you, is there? You're empty like the original four. Just a lost little AI."

She stared at him, quivering, then grabbed Mike's flashlight and fled into her box. He was almost impressed by her speed and daring to defy him. But she wasn't the Puppet. And it wasn't enough to deter him, not when the prize was the flashlight that could make real what wasn't there. That could open Doors.

William's wicked grin returned, his eyelid plates lowering with a creak.

"It's alright~ Come on out, little Puppet. You can trust me…" The murderer cooed, keeping his voice smooth and even. The best part of a hunt was the buildup, the chasing.

"You may not remember your Uncle William but I remember you, sweet Charlotte…"

But his slow, stalking advance toward the box was halted once more.

And this time, what stood in his way was worse than the Marionette, original or Nightmare. Worse than Mike and his band of misfits. Worse than his self-righteous son and his reject Bonnie model.

Springtrap stared up with raw, unfiltered and honest horror at the giggling, silly smile of Shadow Freddy.

'I told you.' Springbonnie whispered, traitorously calm in their mind.

'And, to be fair? I never said which night guard.'

The clock clanged a second time.

The Puppet also cursed a second time.

'Michael, wake up.' It hissed, tone and hand urging in its jostles. 'Wake up!'

It actually trilled in relief when Mike's countenance scrunched and he uttered a groan. Weak, but it was something. Soon enough Mike was staring at him tiredly once more.

"M-Mari…? Nhh," Mike asked, sounding like his mouth was full of cotton. "When did you get here…?"

The Puppet's woeful chime rattled through whatever was in place of its heart.

'I've been here the whole time, night guard.' It explained miserably. 'You just had to know where to look.'

Not a complete lie. Perhaps a small fib. Those were alright, weren't they? Sometimes.

"…but you died…" Mike mumbled, sounding half confused and half convinced.

'I did.' The Puppet hummed. 'Since when has Death stopped anything at Freddy's?'

Mike's eyes, tired as they were, were wet.

"You didn't come back though," He whispered, throat clicking when he swallowed back tears that tried to come. Tears he'd held off for too long. "Fer nine years. 'Cause of me. Then…then you did come back…it was all wrong, right? T-that was my fault too."

'No. All that wasn't your fault entirely.' The Marionette defended quietly. 'You were trying to help me the first time, remember? The second time…you were only grieving. You were scared. You didn't know about Henry's plan to use me. You need to stop blaming yourself.'

The Marionette hesitated, slender hand in the air before it indulged itself and ran the back of it down Mike's grey cheek, the man's eyes closing lazily at the soft touch. Both of them drank in the comfort of the little gesture.

Something warm began to fill in the cracks, soothing a years old injury. The Marionette's strings fluttered, glinting in the dim light.

'Sometimes…sometimes the best way to keep something is to let it go, Michael.' The Marionette tried, realizing the weight of its own words with singular clarity. It deflated back into the pillows and headboard and uttered an upset chime.

Mike, for some reason known only to him, forced out a snicker.

"…missed yer riddles." The man admitted when the Puppet cocked its head in confusion. "An'I'm tired, Mari. I just need some more…sleep….awright?"

The Marionette paused for a whole new reason, now. Because that was an interesting point, wasn't it?

Its long fingers tapped its arm thoughtfully. Mike would stay, if it stopped trying to keep the exhausted soul awake. He could likely catch the man's ghost before it left. And put it…where? Regardless, it would have Mike back. No one could deny him that. The Puppet wouldn't be alone in the dark anymore.

Forever, to be precise.

Forever was such an awfully long time.

Before the Puppet realized it, Mike had drifted back into sleep. His breaths were softer than before.

'…it seems Henry wasn't the only one who got what he wanted, but perhaps not what he needed.' The Marionette whispered, even though he knew Mike wouldn't be roused by a simple sound such as its mild voice.

'…what am I going to do, Goldy?'

Fredbear had no answer. Marion didn't blame him.

If he took his own advice, Mike would be sent out into what would surely be his Death. But he'd be Free. He'd have a chance, and isn't that what everyone wants, at the end of the day? To own their actions and results from the choices they make?

If he did not…he could keep his night guard.

Out in the hall, the clock struck for the third time.

END ACT III.

"Hickory dickory dock,
the snake went up the clock.
The clock struck one,
the snake went down…
hickory…dickory…dock"

Things have been better, sure. But oof it felt good to write Mike and Mari a more proper reunion, where they both knew the other was there. Well—okay Mike's end is up for debate but he kind of counts ; Every kudo and comment is cherished and makes me freak out and wanna write more and more! ^^ Thank you for reading! 3