INFORMATION
Story by: Pinkpony4
Posted on: AO3 and FanFiction
Language: English
Genre: Family, Hurt and Comfort
Chapter Word Count: 4'809
Published on FanFiction: 28th of June, 2022
Published on AO3: 28th of June, 2022
Re-written on the: 6th of November, 2022
Status: IN PROGRESS

Story Summary: Life wasn't fair and it never had been, especially for Michael. Nothing seemed to ever go right and that lesson was still being hammered down fifty years later. Even so, he'd make life fair for the little baby he had in his arms, even if it killed him.

Chapter 1: Icy Cages

If you saw him in any other environment other than a train you would have thought Michael to be up to something. Covered head to toe in clothing to a point where not a single piece of skin could be seen, he looked like someone that was about to rob a bank. But nobody was out there in the middle of the night during winter of all times, so he had nothing to worry about.

He was technically a criminal, but arson was hard to prove in buildings with poorly working equipment and cameras that no longer existed. While the fire at Fazbear's Fright was believed to be an accident, they hadn't ruled out foul play. But even if they didn't, they wouldn't be able to find him.

His employer hadn't bothered to see him in person, do a background check, or do anything at all. All the guy had read was his fake name and career background and he was hired.

It was for the best, though. A normal night guard wouldn't have been able to handle Him. But it didn't matternow because he had screwed everything up.

All of that time and effort – the gasoline he had doused that horror house in, the constant terror he went through during that week as he saw apparitions from his nightmares strike him and leave no mark – that monster he once called his father hunting him down for fun–

And it had all been for nothing.

He should have made sure the doors were blocked from the outside and that the vents were sealed. He should have thought of a better way to get rid of that monster. A stun gun seemed like a good idea, but he couldn't get one and he didn't think he could go toe-to-toe with Him.

He glared at the photo of some merchandise that had been salvaged from the wreckage. It seemed that the photographer had completely ignored the thing trapped under the rubble that was staring right through the camera and into Michael's soul. He hoped that he was stuck, but knowing Michael's luck, some idiot would have noticed and gotten death as a reward for its freedom.

Michael tore through the newspaper and threw it back into the bin he had retrieved it from.

He had better get a move on then – he was only a city away from Fazbear's Fright and he wouldn't put it past that thing to try and hunt him down. Hopefully, someone would spot it first and lodge a bullet through its skull before it got the chance.

Locking his car, he trudged down the street towards the public pool. He was in desperate need of a shower and the bathrooms there were never locked, even at night. He hoped he wouldn't run into anyone, but he had his crowbar on hand just in case. It wouldn't be the first time he had to knock someone out before they called the cops on him.

Fines or potential jail time was the last thing he needed right now.

If he didn't smell like death and smoke right now he would be curled up in his car to hide from the weather, but he refused to drive any further in that stench. Besides, his scent would definitely get him caught.

The snowfall was light, and the air was icy. Admittedly, he wasn't looking forward to a shower, but hopefully the hot water would work long enough for him to get the ash, smoke, and grime off of him.

He hopped over the fence that lined the pool and ducked into the men's bathroom, not too worried about cameras. They were never pointed at the bathrooms anyway, and as long as he hid his face, it would be impossible for anyone to identify him.

It was about as clean as you would expect a public bathroom to be, but he was long past complaining. He dropped his bag just outside of one of the shower cubicles and turned the water on. It was freezing but the heater kicked in fast enough to chase the cold away. As much as he wanted to stay in there for hours, he had to be quick.

He dropped his clothes on the floor and let them soak up the water. He didn't have much but what little he had was precious. All he had was a small bar of soap, some toothpaste and a toothbrush, and the bottles of water and canned food back in the car. There was only so much you could get when you were constantly skipping town and going under different names. Not having a solid resume at his age didn't help, either.

Of course, while he may not have lasted a week at most at the previous locations, he had other skills. Robotic engineering was one. Technician and electrician were two. The only problem with those was that you needed a degree for all three and he didn't even have one. Everything he knew had been forcefully handed down by his father and uncle.

He even knew an unfortunate amount about business and was good at pulling all-nighters, but one of those talents wasn't well sought after. When he was young, that sort of thing would be enough to land you somewhere. Probably not anywhere important, but if you could walk in and throw everything you knew down, you got in. From what he had observed of today's world, that wasn't the case anymore.

Job hunting was a nightmare.

The most he could land were small jobs or favours – things like fixing someone's car, changing a light bulb, or, of course, doing underpaid nightshifts. At least Fazbear's Fright had him on for a good month, so he got paid more than he was used to.

As long as he stuck to his budget, he'd be fine.

As soon as he turned the water off, he rushed to dry himself and grab a set of warm (but not fresh) clothes from his backpack as the steam disappeared. The ones he had left on the floor were already starting to freeze over, despite his efforts to squeeze the water out once he got his hands on them.

Grumbling about the time it would take to melt the iceblock of clothing in his hand, he started packing his things away. He dropped the iceblock inside a plastic bag and turned to leave when he heard it:

Crying.

And it wasn't just any kind of crying. No, this was one he was all too familiar with.

A baby was crying, and that was never a good sign.

Michael whirled around and tried to follow the sound, but the cries were difficult to locate. They seemed to bounce off of every surface, making his ears ring.

The most he could tell was that it wasn't inside the men's bathroom. He ran outside and dropped next to the drains that lined a shallow pool nearby, but the sound didn't get any louder. In fact, with his ear pressed to the ground, it was definitely coming from the bathrooms.

He ran back into the bathrooms and, after a split-second of hesitation, ducked into the women's room. It was definitely in here. The sheer volume of its shrieks nearly had him on his knees. Covering his ears at the piercing sound, he scanned the unfamiliar area.

Every toilet stall and shower cubical was empty, and there was nothing sitting on or under the wooden benches that lined the wall, which left the padlocked lockers as the only culprit.

The closer he got, the louder the cries became. One by one, he started to pry each door open with his crowbar. The first ten were empty. As the cries grew louder in growing distress, he calmed his racing heart in response. His terror would not help him save this baby. Placing his hand against the cold doors, he followed the vibrations to the last line of lockers. It was coming from the locker on the floor.

Bracing himself, he pried it open.

A baby boy (perhaps no older than two months) was writhing on the icy metal surface of the locker. Not a single thing was wrapped around the babe in an attempt to mediate the cold. There was no blanket, no towel, no onesie or romper… nothing.

Michael tugged his scarf and beanie off and immediately picked the baby up, carefully swaddling him in both. He undid the zip of his jumper and tucked him inside so he was close to his heart.

It had been so long since he had seen a baby, especially one this young. He was red all over and when Michael took his glove off, the baby was ice cold. He could only hope that his body heat would be enough to bring him back from the edge of hypothermia (if he didn't already have it) without killing him.

His cries were so achingly familiar.

He had been left to sit in the waiting room to listen to Mummy giving birth after Daddy had been called inside. Hours had passed so agonisingly slow and left Michael in a fit of worry.

They had rushed to the hospital at eight that morning and now it was dark outside and he wasn't sure if that was normal. Did giving birth always take this long? Was Mummy okay?

But all of a sudden, her cries stopped and all he could hear was his new baby brother crying inside. That had to mean everything was okay now, right?

The door in front of him suddenly opened, and a lady poked her head out from behind the door. "Are you Michael?" she asked. He nodded. "You can come in now," she said, stepping aside to hold the door open for him.

Mummy was sitting up in a big bed with a lump in her arms. Daddy turned to him, and without a word, lifted him up from under his armpits and onto the side of the bed so he could see what the new addition to their family looked like.

He was quite an ugly thing to Michael. He was an odd shade of pink and his face was screwed up and he was still making that awful noise and it was hurting his ears. There was some very fine, brown hair stuck to his head, but it looked more like weird, black veins. Despite that, he couldn't look away as his skin slowly paled to match theirs. His cries died down to whimpers as he slowly opened his eyes and looked around. They were a mixture of blue and grey, just like his and Daddy's.

"Isn't he beautiful? Here," Mummy whispered, handing his new brother over to Daddy, who took him carefully as though he would break like glass if he didn't handle him properly.

"What's his name?" Michael asked.

As he watched, colour slowly returned to the baby's skin. He was a little bit tanned, and the small wisps of fine hair that stuck to his head were brown, just like his own. As his cries died down to whimpers, he finally opened his eyes. Looking around, his gaze immediately locked onto Michael. They were brown, bordering on caramel in the dull light of the bathroom. What an odd colour.

"What's your name?" he asked, as though the baby could even answer. Said baby continued to stare.

Michael slipped his gloves back on and pondered on what to do.

If this baby was coherent enough to stare at him, that meant he had a chance to survive this brush with death. But if he had a chance to survive, that also meant that he had not been here for long. Even five minutes in here would have meant death for someone so small.

He should call the police or the hospital. Actually, scratch that – he didn't have the money to pay the fee for an ambulance. He could just drive him to the nearest hospital and drop him off there. Or, he could hand him over to the police and fabricate a short, innocent story about how he came across a baby in the middle of the night. Yeah… that wouldn't work.

He bit his lip and looked around, pulling the hood of his jumper up to hide his face before grabbing his crowbar. If he was still alive, that meant the culprit was still around; they would know that Michael was there. He couldn't have that – not after he had just fled from a crime scene. Michael couldn't let anyone know he was there.

"Aaaaah briiib uh."

Michael looked back down at the baby who was now staring at him expectantly. Was something wrong? Was he getting colder? Was he hungry? Tired?

"Aaaaah briiib gaaa!" the baby babbled again. He wriggled in his confines, grunting as he finally managed to free his tiny arm. With it free, he reached up towards Michael, opening and closing his just-as-tiny hand.

Maybe he just wanted to investigate who he was. After all, he was a stranger. He was honestly surprised he hadn't started crying yet. That's usually what babies did when they encountered anyone that wasn't their parents, right?

Taking the baby's hand carefully between his two calloused fingers, he shook it gently. "Hello there; my name's Michael," he said, feeling a little bit silly.

The baby reacted to him slowly, never taking his eyes off him. "Mmhh mmmmy…" he mumbled. He kicked his legs as he freed his other arm, wrapping his tiny fingers around Michael's pointer finger and rubbing the woolly texture curiously.

His heart suddenly stuttered and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't help but smile, subconsciously holding the baby closer. "Good job!" he praised. "Now, if only I knew what your name was… Can you give me a clue?"

The baby tilted his head to the side, processing the question. Michael knew that he had no idea what he was saying, but he smiled anyway when he started to 'talk'. "Geh! Geeee, ohleee aye. Brrrghe!" he babbled, letting go of his finger just so he could wave his arms around to emphasise his point. In his attempt to talk, the baby had started to drool.

That wasn't very helpful, but Michael played along. "That's a long name. Can I just call you Geh Ge? Now that's a cute name," he said, wiping away the drool with his scarf.

A small smile slowly grew on the baby's face as he met his eyes again. Cooing, he raised his hand, balled it into a fist, and shoved it into his mouth, smile growing enough so that Michael could see that he had no teeth. His movements were a little stiff but with some work, he'd be waving his little limbs around freely.

But… that was the problem – his limbs were too small – smaller than they should be. While he didn't have much experience when it came to babies, he knew that this little guy shouldn't be so small, light, and bony. He should have the natural baby fat all of them were born with! The only reason he would look like this would be because… because no one had bothered feeding him.

The idea made his blood boil.

Not willing to break eye contact, Michael sat himself down and placed 'Geh Ge' on his lap. Pulling off his jumper, he wrapped him up in the thick cotton and tucked him in until he was firmly swaddled. While the baby didn't seem to mind his limbs being out in the cold, Michael knew it wasn't good for him.

It was freezing for Michael, but that was okay, because the baby seemed quite content with his new 'blanket'. He moved Geh Ge a little closer to his heart as they watched each other, trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

Or in the baby's case, wondering who this new stranger was. "Mmmmy."

Michael smiled and tickled the baby's cheek. "You've got a while to go before you can say my name," he chuckled. "A good couple of months, actually. But I know how to fix that. A couple of books and lots of talking, and you'll be able to say it in no time!"

His laughter was cut short as his own words suddenly sunk in. What was he thinking? He couldn't keep him! He wasn't equipped with the knowledge (or the funds) to raise a child and… and now he was really getting ahead of himself. No! No babies. Lord knows he wasn't stable enough for children, and he was too old.

"You're never too old to be a parent!" his grandmother had argued when he expressed his disgust at the idea of being a dad. "You'll change your mind eventually; mark my words."

He shook his head. Police or the hospital. Maybe both. Regardless, he needed to contact someone. After that, he could hunt down the monster that did this. Even though the baby had been left in a locker, the person that left him there didn't have to be his parents. What if he had been stolen by someone that simply wanted to inflict pain on that family? Calling the police was the sensible answer; he had seen what a missing child could do to a family. The torturous question of what had happened would haunt them forever if they never got an answer.

Taking his old, busted phone out of his pocket, he was about to call the closest station when he realised something.

He didn't know where the closest station was in this city, nor did he know the number. That, and as far as Utah was concerned, Michael Afton was missing. He had bolted from Hurricane without a word in the middle of the night – he had to after Ennard's failed attempt to disembowel him. His neighbours (bless them) had worried themselves sick when he didn't turn up after a week. After all, a week without Michael walking down the street was alien to them.

(It was nice to know that some people still cared despite what he had done.)

Besides, it wouldn't matter how innocently he presented himself to the police. There would be questions. They would ask for his information, and then they would ask him why he had disappeared. If he lied, he would just be throwing himself into hot water.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he started to hear something. Looking down, he was alarmed to see the baby whimpering, eyes bright with tears as his bottom lip quivered. Michael nearly dropped his phone in his haste to wrap his arms back around the baby, rocking him gently to try and calm him down.

"Shhh, shh, it's okay, it's okay," he whispered. He leaned down and checked the baby over. He couldn't smell anything, and taking his glove off again told him that his temperature was stable. Either it was exhaustion or hunger, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was both.

Undoing the jumper, he looked him over once more, stomach twisting. He could see his ribcage, and his hips were slightly jutted. God, that wasn't good at all.

The baby, however, didn't seem bothered by this. Instead, he had relaxed in his arms in response to his gentle rocking. Settled down, he reached out, making grabbing motions with his hands. Unsure about what he wanted, Michael wrapped him up again and held him up so that they were face to face.

The baby went cross-eyed, mouth slightly parted as he stared into his eyes. Raising one little hand, he reached out and grabbed Michael's crooked nose.

A smile slowly grew on his face. He was completely enamoured by this little boy. How could anyone abandon something so cute?

Stupid question; he knew who would.

He didn't know how long he sat there – all he knew was that he couldn't feel his legs anymore. Checking his battered watch, he was alarmed at the time.

1:32am

"Shhhi- damn," he muttered, tucking the baby under his arm and standing up so he could get some feeling back in his legs. Regardless, he needed to get back to the car, otherwise the baby was going to freeze, even with him holding him.

Pulling away so suddenly wasn't going down well with the baby, however. As soon as he was pulled away from his nose, he was immediately rewarded with whimpers that were quickly building up to full-on crying.

Wincing, Michael lifted him back up so he could grab his nose again. As soon as he had his nose, the threat of the baby's tears went away as quickly as they had appeared. Michael sighed, staring at him.

Oh, he was doomed –the bub had Michael wrapped around his tiny fingers.

No; he couldn't do this. This baby couldn't be with him – it wasn't safe. He had a mission, and death was bound to be the final outcome. Whether he went down with the ship or not was still up in the air, but he couldn't knowingly bring someone so innocent into danger. Death hung around his family, desperate to take what it had long been denied. Only five out of thirteen had been freed from their mechanical tombs, and he wouldn't stop until all of them were gone, including his father.

Ennard, his father, the missing Fredbear suit, and Charlie still roamed somewhere. He would have to travel all over to find them, and who knows how long that would take. He couldn't take care of a baby along the way.

The baby had finished playing with his nose and had now settled on tugging on his overgrown fringe. Michael gently brushed his hand away when he attempted to stick it in his mouth. The baby glared at him and let out another irritated whine in response. Sighing, he hugged him, moving the baby's head until it was resting on his shoulder.

The baby gurgled lowly, raising a hand to stick it in his mouth as he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

Michael gritted his teeth and glared up at the filthy ceiling as his mind flooded with every excuse he could conjure up. He couldn't keep him. He needed to go to the police and find whoever had left him behind.

When it came down to protecting children… he wasn't afraid to break some bones.

"Meeh baa kai…" the baby mumbled, moving his hand to grab his collar. He hummed in response, rubbing circles on the baby's back, earning him a squeaky yawn.

"You're tired, aren't you?" he whispered. The baby didn't answer. Instead, his breathing slowed and he went limp in his arms, drool running down his cheek and soaking into his shirt.

…

He huffed, picking his phone back up so he could shove it into his bag.

It was useless. The longer he stood there and listened to his peaceful breathing, the harder it was getting to convince himself that this was a bad idea. He just… he couldn't take him, but… but he had a feeling he would be in tears if he gave him away. How could he have already grown so attached to someone he had only known for an hour at least?

Leaning against the lockers, he let himself fall deep into his thoughts. The culprit would probably be long gone by now – he'd missed his chance. Chewing his bottom lip, he glared at the floor. There were so many things to think of. The baby was weak and there was no guarantee he would make it through the night. He had nothing to give him: no food, no diapers, no toys, no clothes except for his own, no baby formula, no bottle, and no cleaning supplies suited to take care of a baby's far-too-sensitive skin. But…

He did have all of that. Well, not all of it, but he knew where to find some of the equipment needed to take care of a baby.

It was all the way back in Utah, only a little bit out of Hurricane. He had had three homes in his life: their old family home in the mountains, the one they had gotten near Fredbear's Family Diner once it was up and running, and the third one he had lived in after his father had disappeared, which was also a little way out of Hurricane as well.

Everything he would need would be in their old family home if his father hadn't trashed the place after he had ran away. He had to hope that it would still be standing.

From what he had read in the newspapers during his travels, their home by Fredbear's was a real estate agent's worst nightmare. It had been bought and sold over and over again because anyone that had dared to step foot inside could swear it was haunted. Being right next to the abandoned Fredbear's probably didn't help, and Michael had seen enough to know that their fears weren't unreasonable.

He was in Preston, Idaho, at the moment. The drive down to Hurricane would take around a day and a half at least, depending on how many times he decided to stop. Not only that, but he'd have to account for where he would stop.

He'd been trying to avoid public places as much as possible, but now that he had a baby, he would have to expose himself. Gas stations were the only places he showed his face since the workers would have definitely seen people weirder than him. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be carrying around baby bottles or diapers.

He straightened up and threw his bag over his shoulder as he picked up his crowbar. Every part of him argued that this was a terrible idea, but he simply couldn't bring himself to listen to his perfectly reasonable arguments. Was this that 'paternal instinct' that experienced parents always talked about?

He needed to make a decision, regardless of what it was. He wasn't going to make any progress if he just stood there like an idiot. After making sure he had everything, he darted out of the bathroom, making a beeline for the fence he had climbed over. It was a little difficult with his hands full, but he managed.

He ran around the block to where the old, purple Thunderbird sat, freezing in his tracks just short of it.

There were two sets of footprints. One set was the large imprints left behind by the old work boots he was wearing, while the other set was significantly smaller, with a flower print embedded into the snow.

He looked around suspiciously, gripping his crowbar a little tighter. It could very well have just been a passerby, but he knew better than to question his instincts. Sure, the years had made him a bit paranoid, but that was better than letting his guard down!

He decided to follow the footprints.

At first, he came up with nothing and was about to turn around, when he heard a noise. He whirled around, raising his crowbar in alarm. It had to be human.

He scanned the darkness, the streetlamp above him flickering. He held the baby closer to him, scowling when he heard nothing but the faint rumble of a car in the distance. Maybe he was just getting ahead of himself; there was no point in chasing someone that was long gone by now.

Holding the baby close, he hunched over to hide him from the chilly wind. Running back to the car, he unlocked it and pushed the keys into the ignition. He put his bag and crowbar in the backseat before gently letting go of the baby and sitting him on his lap. After buckling his seatbelt, he started the car, driving away.

In the end, he never would have thought that the fourteenth of December would become his favourite day of the year, nor did he think he could ever be anything more than a failure.

"I love you, Daddy!" his little boy proclaimed for the fifth time in two hours, jumping onto the couch just so he could wrap his short arms around his neck. "You're the best Daddy in the world!"

He smiled, brushing a hand through his boy's brown hair. It didn't matter how much of a living Hell his life had been up to that very moment – if he knew what would have come out of it, he would never go back or change a thing. Not if it meant he'd never get to meet his little ball of sunshine again.

He wouldn't trade him for anything in the world, even if he had to go through Hell to have him back in his arms again, he would do it over and over, no matter how many times it took.

TO BE CONTINUED…