For some reason, past-me was super insistent on one specific, very loose interpretation of this prompt. Can't say I disagree, though. I don't know EXACTLY why it got this long, but I've been meaning to write one of these 'fics myself for a loooooong while, so you don't catch me arguing.

(*cough* I wrote a not-insignificant part of this at a horrifically late hour either instead of sleeping or specifically because I couldn't sleep, but I figured that would lend to the style, so-)

(Title from the song Home by Cavetown)

The time was six in the morning, almost on the dot. He'd lost a few seconds leaning against the desk, trying to steady his breathing, before he remembered that he didn't have a second to spare.

Mike's feet felt like lead, even as he stumbled as fast as his addled body could towards the backroom. He threw open the door, so far that it tried to bounce back at him, but he pinned it open, the other hand swiping his hair from his face. Even then, he found it hard to see-it was dark, dust floating in the still air, and his glasses had salt stains on them. He wished it was just from sweat.

"W-Hey! Hello!" He wiped his glasses with his vest, and took another, better look around the room. The room was lined with shelves, all loaded with animatronic parts-some were suit and robotic pieces he could identify, some were electronic mysteries. His eyes fell to the endoskeleton sitting on the table in the middle of the room, the same endoskeleton that he could've sworn looked at him just a few hours ago. Maybe it was the reminder of the night before, or maybe the idea of a random piece of metal watching him was was just strange enough to shake Mike from his daze.

The voice. Darting around the office before realizing that all those sounds were coming from the phone. Not being able to stop himself from muttering a plea, right before hearing a soft 'oh no,' followed by what Mike could only think to describe as sounding like hell itself, like metal and pain and-

"...Phone Guy." The first time, it came out as a whisper-really, more of a gasp. Then, the full weight settled in his stomach, and it almost seemed to explode from his chest. "Phone Guy! Hey, are you-i-is anybody in here?!"

It's been a week.

There's no way anybody could survive that for even a day.

He's gone.

Mike thought he heard something.

His blood ran cold, and, slowly, he made his way further into the room. His hand rested against a shelf, giving himself just the tiniest bit of support, as he rounded a corner. He'd heard something. A strange noise-maybe a cough, or a wheeze, he couldn't quite tell, but unmistakably human. It was human, there was a person alive back here, there had to be-

He couldn't understand it at first. A crumpled yellow suit, stained with god-only-knew-what, staring back at him with blank, empty voids where its eyes should be. It was strange, strange in its own right, and then there was something about it that made him want to take off in the other direction, get away from it as fast as he could.

But there was something else. Something that told him, even begged him to investigate. Maybe it was just the strained breathing from within.

Slowly, Mike forced himself forward, his head swirling with disordered thoughts like a goddamn blender. He dropped to his knees, words caught in his chest. Unable to speak, he simply reached forward, fingers brushing against the head of the suit.

It was surprisingly easy to remove-no clicks or latches attaching it to the rest of the suit, and nothing burying itself into skin and flesh. He tossed it aside, taking a moment to look at the man inside. Even in the suit, Mike could tell he was skinny-basically skin and bones, at this point. There was a small scar on his forehead, but it looked old, not like something he'd acquired in the suit. Still, Mike pushed a bit of hair from the man's face, checking for any head injuries. Nothing. His eyes drifted to the floor, only now processing the lack of blood. "The fuck…?" He… looks fine, Mike thought. Sickly, but… not injured.

He heard a quiet, shaky breath, and he jolted back to the present. "H-hang on, alright? I'm gonna get you outta there." His eyes and hands ghosted over the suit, searching for a zipper or some buttons or… something. Something that meant he didn't have to just pull the man out and pray that he wouldn't get slashed to ribbons. "C'mon, please…" Eventually, he sighed, resting back on his heels, biting his lip. Fuck.

He was going to have to do this the hard way.

The opening in the top of the suit did at least look big enough for a human to pass through, and, somehow, this suit didn't seem to have the same deathtrap mechanisms Phone Guy had warned him about. Gritting his teeth, Mike slowly stuck one hand into the suit. His hand brushed skin-a thin arm, he realized, and he took a gentle hold, muttering either to himself or the man in the suit, he wasn't sure. "C'mon, lemme just… wiggle that out of there…" He heard a quiet sound-like a hiccup, or maybe a sob-and, instinctively, his eyes darted to the source. And maybe they shouldn't, because he wasn't ready to see those eyes.

They were, by far, the strangest eyes he'd ever seen. Not that the eyes themselves were that strange-sunken, yes, and such a dark brown that, especially in the low light, they almost looked black. But it was what was in those eyes that made him stop. The lids were heavy, but he could still see the lost, haunted look in those eyes. The man let out a shallow, shaky breath, and Mike was pretty sure he understood the term 'death rattle' for the first time. "H-hey, I know, but I gotta get you outta here, alright? Please, just… work with me. Can you move?"

He wasn't sure what the answer was, but through an unclear combination of his own efforts and those of the man in the suit, he was able to pull both arms out of those of the suit. With a bit of coaching, he convinced the man to pull his legs up and into the body of the suit. The whole time, he noticed the seeming lack of pain and injury, that most of the man's poor state seemed to simply be from being trapped without food or water for a week. (How long can a human live without water again? Surely he must be pushing it.) He wasn't sure how the poor bastard had gotten so lucky, but he wasn't about to question it.

"Alright, Phone Guy." Mike pushed himself to his feet, then reached down and grabbed the man by the shoulders. To his surprise (and relief), Phone Guy gingerly grabbed Mike's upper arms in response. Mike nodded silently. "I'm gonna need you to try to stand, got it? I've got you, I can hold you up some, but I'm gonna need help." Phone Guy's head drifted in a way that might've been a nod; Mike chose to believe it was. He pulled, and thankfully, he felt Phone Guy fight his way to his feet. The man leaned forward-really, fell forward was more like it-his head collapsing into Mike's shoulder. Mike gasped, then drew a shaky breath. "C'mon, just a bit more… Step one leg out, then the oth-"

All at once, he heard what he could only describe as a crunch from the suit. He stumbled backwards, spewing obscenities. When he looked back at the suit, he froze, taking in the sight of metal, metal that looked like it had exploded from inside the suit, metal that was so sharp and so pressurized that he could see where it pierced the suit in some places. He felt a quiver against his chest, and he remembered the man he'd just pulled out of that suit. He turned to Phone Guy-he was a few inches taller than Mike, but in his state, he was slumped to nearly eye level. His eyes were wide; he looked more awake than he had through this whole ordeal-hell, more awake than Mike had felt through this whole ordeal.

That could've been him, Mike thought, and it was clear Phone Guy was thinking the same thing.

It was like the sight caused a switch to flip in Mike's head, reminding his addled brain what he was dealing with. His hands shaky, he guided Phone Guy to the ground, resting him against the wall. "Just- hang in there, okay? I-I'm gonna call an ambulance!" He didn't say to wait for a reaction, turning and bolting for the office again.

He wasn't thinking, not anymore, just running on autopilot. His feet nearly slid out from under him when he came to a stop in the office, he hit the number buttons so hard he could've broken them, he could feel the hammering in his chest-

"911, what's your emergency?"

Mike gulped in a breath, fingers of one hand hammering into the desk while the other held the hand in a death grip. "I-I'm at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, we need an ambulance, now-"

"Okay, sir, can you give me the exact address?"

"I-" He fumbled on the desk, looking for a loose piece of mail-how he'd driven here five times and still didn't know the address was a mystery- "It's on Ashfield Street, west side of downtown, I don't remember the exact address." He didn't wait for the next question, continuing, "There's a guy, he was…" Struggling to not sound crazy, he said, "He was stuck in a spare costume backstage, nobody's heard from him for like a week, he's not badly hurt but he's really sick, I dunno how much longer he has-"

Mike froze, then grabbed a fistful of hair, gritting his teeth. Fuck, he was stupid. "-and he's still backstage, I fuckin' left him back there-!" He tossed the phone to the desk, no longer paying the operator any mind. You left him. You left him back there with those things, you pulled him out then abandoned him-

Mike wasn't familiar with the term 'anxiety attack,' and was mostly familiar with the words 'post-traumatic stress disorder' as something thrown about by his family while talking about a few relatives, with varying amount of sympathy or scorn depending on those involved. But he'd lived through his fair share of night terrors; knew the wretched feeling of wandering a house he was still learning after moving in, his mind in a haze. He also knew what it looked like when his uncle was in a mood, and his younger cousin Aiden would press up against him, too scared to ask Mike to hide him, even as it was clearly written on his face, because even though Aiden's dad never raised his hand (at least as far as Mike knew), he didn't need to. Even if he wasn't familiar with the words, he was familiar with the concept.

So when he returned to the backroom and saw Phone Guy curled up, back pressed against the leg of the table, focus seemingly locked on that yellow suit, shallow, gasping breaths slipping from his chest-

Mike knelt by his side, fighting to look calm, pretending he wasn't mentally tearing himself apart for this. "H-hey, hey, look at me." He gently laid a hand on Phone Guy's shoulder, and Phone Guy jolted, turning to face Mike, and fuck the look in his eyes hurt, nobody should feel that kind of terror, let alone him- "I'm so sorry for leaving you here, I-I had to call an ambulance and I panicked-I'm sorry." Mike shifted, wrapping one arm around Phone Guy's waist, pretending he couldn't feel ribs. "Let's get you outta here, okay?" Phone Guy didn't answer, instead turning back to the suit, and Mike continued, his voice softer, "Hey, listen, I'm not going to hurt you. I can be a dumbass sometimes, but I promise, I'm here to help you. I owe you one, alright?" Because maybe trust issues weren't a problem in this case, but given that nobody had come to look for him before Mike, he figured it was worth saying. "You're going to be okay. I won't let you die."

An indistinct noise escaped Phone Guy, and he grabbed Mike's shoulder, using what little strength he had to help Mike pull him to his feet. He was way too light, but that at least made it easy for Mike to all but carry him from the backroom.

"I dunno how far out the ambulance is, but it shouldn't be long." Mike looked up, nodding, and, faintly, Phone Guy nodded back. With Mike guiding him, his focus seemed to be on the frazzled human disaster whose shoulder he was slung over. As soon as they got to the dining room, Mike kicked a chair out and lowered Phone Guy into it. "Just a moment, lemme get you some water-" Mike froze as he turned away, eyes falling on the closed curtains of Pirate's Cove. He turned, catching a glimpse of the fear on Phone Guy's face, and said, "Actually, hang on-" Hurrying around, he grabbed the back of the chair and turned it, facing Phone Guy towards the window. Between it being November and the storm that had raged all night, the sun was nowhere near out yet, but it still had to be better than facing the same things that tried to kill him.

He didn't like the thought of leaving Phone Guy alone, especially not with those things (which were deactivated again, but the tiniest part of Mike's soul didn't trust that), but the man had been without food or water for far too long already. So he hurried towards the kitchen, ignoring the sick, guilty feeling in his gut. By the time he'd gotten there (it was oddly normal, considering all the nightmarish things he'd imagined to be behind the one camera he couldn't access), filled a glass with water from the drink fountain, and made his way back to the dining room, Phone Guy was already shaking again.

"Shit- hey, it's alright, I'm here." Mike dragged another chair around with his foot, dropping himself into it. "Listen, I ain't gonna ditch you with those things again, okay? I had to get you water, and hopefully the ambulance will be here before you need anything else." When offered, Phone Guy took the glass, but stared at it blankly for a moment. Right as Mike was starting to worry, Phone Guy took a sip, then lowered the glass with a sigh. Mike sat back, taking the moment to breathe himself. He let his eyes wander to the stage behind Phone Guy, staring down Freddy. Even with his sight off of the half-dead man in front of him, his thoughts didn't follow. He caught himself wondering-not for the first time since the start of his shift-what exactly he'd heard at the end of that call.

He was dragged from his thoughts when he felt something brush against his shoulder. He flinched, then immediately felt guilty when Phone Guy jerked his hand back. "H-hey, sorry, you just startled me. What's up?"

Phone Guy opened his mouth, but only a dry, wheeze-cough-something came out. He shook his head, then, once again, carefully grabbed a handful of Mike's vest, trying to lift it up and away. Trying to read his nametag. "You… you trying to figure out my name?"

Phone Guy nodded, and Mike sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, guess I didn't get the chance, huh? Um…" He cleared his throat, not sure why he was so nervous. Evidently, he had pushed the 'social skills' folder all the way to the back of his mind, and wasn't really prepared for any form of real conversation. Luckily, this probably didn't count as a real conversation, and Phone Guy may not even remember this by the time he'd recovered. "It's Mike." He took a deep breath, then said, "Shit, I should probably have your name or-or some kinda emergency contact. Do you think you have any I.D. on you?" His vest was missing, and by extension, so was his nametag. "Anybody I can get in touch with, just to let 'em know where you are?"

Phone Guy gasped at that statement, then started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. After a moment, he reached around the collar, pulling a thin, silver chain up, until Mike could see the ring hanging from it-a simple band of dark grey or black, with a small orange gem. Phone Guy visibly relaxed a little upon seeing it, which was a definite plus, even if Mike had to shake his head when Phone Guy looked up at him. "Sorry, I… I don't think that'll do me any good." It was too small to have a name engraved on the inside, at least at a size Mike could read. He could certainly guess what that ring meant, but he really didn't want to think about the implications of that answer. "I'll let you hold onto that, alright?"

With a slow nod, Phone Guy dropped the chain against his chest. Mike forced a smile, saying, "Hey, you're doing pretty good, at least. Help's gonna be here soon, just… hang tight, ya got it?" Again he got a nod in response. "Then hopefully, you can go home, get some rest… fuck, man, you've earned it." Mike ran a hand through his hair, muttering, "This is normally the point where I'm supposed to quip about owing you a beer, but I'm not really much for drinking…" Phone Guy snorted, and it was nice to see something resembling a smile on his face. Mike's own smile got a bit more convincing in response. "So, I dunno, maybe I owe ya lunch or something."

In Mike's mind at least, the danger was passing. Phone Guy was hanging in there, responding to Mike's dumb comments; the animatronics seemed to really be off for the morning; medical help was on the way. It was… it was going to be alright.

The next several minutes passed mostly in silence. Contrary to what he'd thought (and hoped), Mike had to run and refill the glass of water two more times. He supposed he was glad Phone Guy still had enough strength to try to rehydrate himself, and he was certainly glad to notice that Phone Guy looked less anxious about being left alone each time.

Mike was tapping his foot on the floor, distracted. He wouldn't say 'lost in thought,' because there wasn't a single clear thought in his head. It was a bit of everything-a few questions, a bit of fear, this weird heavy guilt. He really didn't like that one. "Sorry for the shitty job helpin' ya, y'know?"

Phone Guy looked up in surprise, and Mike considered going quiet, pretending he hadn't said anything. For some reason, he threw that idea aside. "I mean, if you're who I think you are, you saved my life, leaving those messages for me. Least I coulda done was not left you in the backroom." He scratched the back of his neck. "Not real great under stress."

He wasn't sure what he was expecting as a response, if anything. Still, he found himself startled when Phone Guy sat forward suddenly, placing one hand on Mike's forearm. Phone Guy took a few short breaths, then squeezed Mike's arm, shaking his head. The cloud of fear had left his eyes almost completely, replaced by something much brighter-a tired warmth that actually managed to calm Mike's nerves the tiniest bit. There was still life in there. Only then did it really hit him that he'd saved this man's life-not that Phone Guy had almost died or that he now stood a good chance of surviving, those were things he understood, but the fact that Mike had done this, he was the only who knew to look and he did, he'd forced his way through that night despite everything working against him, and nobody else would've heard that plea for help-maybe whoever the next guard was, but those extra few days would've certainly sealed the deal, and that's if management didn't find the calls and delete them by then.

And despite everything, one corner of his mouth curled up, and he muttered, "...Hey, don't worry 'bout me. Just... rambling, I guess."

Faintly, he heard sirens in the distance. He glanced over his shoulder, vaguely able to make out the lights of the emergency vehicle through the mist. "Oh, thank God." He felt the grip on his arm fall away, and he stood up, fumbling for the keys on his hip. "Hang in there, I just gotta unlock the door-"

He froze at a soft tugging sensation at the back of his vest. When he turned, he saw Phone Guy looking up at him. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, before he finally let go of Mike's uniform. "Th-thank you."

Logic dictated that there was really only one person this could be. Mike was fairly certain that nobody had worked the night shift between them, and as insane as it was to imagine that somebody could last the better part of a week shoved into one of those suits, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that it was any longer than that. Really, he'd known who this was the moment he found a living, breathing person back there. And it really shouldn't matter that much, because this was still a person, regardless of their identity.

Still, it was nice to hear that voice, to know for sure.

Mike smiled-a real, full smile this time, not like the ones he'd been faking all morning, not even like the ones that slipped out when it felt like he almost forgot what was happening. "No problem, Phone Guy."

...how do you people who write 'this character lives' AUs on a regular basis handle it? I've only written a few thousand words and I already feel a god complex coming on. /lh