Author's Notes: I've written a great deal of this fic on advance, which is awesome but also means I'm kinda worried about not keeping up with myself, yanno? In any case, chapter 5 will be posed January 29th. What happens after that might fall into "there be dragons" territory.


Tell me a story," says Witch's Child

About the beast so fierce and wild

About a monster, crawly-creepy

Something nice, to make me sleepy" -Bedtime Story


ACT I
Chapter 4. If You Go Out in the Woods Today…

"Ya under sold him, you know."

'Oh, did I?' The voice sounded like it knew exactly what it had done, which was never good.

"Ya never said the original four…were like that with him. Hardly seems fair, son. That old bastard won't go up against all of them, he's a coward, remember? He ain't even shown up yet! How's Mike gunna get all his tasks done with ole Faz shadowing him? Helpy should be enough."

'I used to be his shadow, I'll remind you. Watch your words carefully, dear creator.'

"No offense meant, Puppet, it's just..."

'Yes?'

"He's relying on them too much. He's the night guard, not one of them."

Silence stretched between them, growing increasingly unhappy.

'Jealousy is ugly, you know.'

"I think your judgment is clouded, friend. That's all I'm saying."

'Fine. I will think of something. If you want him to earn his title again, for a fifth and final time, he will do it. I know he can. He always could.'

"Fer all our sakes, I hope yer right, Puppet."

There was a very tired, and very old sigh, the noise as soft as a mouse's cough.

"…so do I."


Foxy the pirate watched the little watch on their night guard's wrist, its glowing letters green and bright. He'd fallen asleep earlier as night slunk over the building, muzzle resting on Mike's chest as it rose and fell while the man napped, one leg dangling off the stage and his hand having slipped off Foxy's head a while ago. But he was awake now, and Mike wasn't.

Foxy scanned the room, not really expecting to find anything. Even Shadow Freddy had vanished on them fully. Foxy wondered where the odd bear went to when he wasn't skulking around them. Shadow Bonnie had gone on for good, that much Foxy knew. And Jeremy Fitzgerald had been using Shadow Bonnie as a mask, so that naturally made the old captain wonder who Shadow Freddy was hiding so well.

Behind them and off near the end of the stage, Lefty the bear stood. He had moved, only once and nothing spectacular. His paw holding the mike had slipped and lowered a few inches. That was it.

Nothing more. Nothing else. Mike hadn't even been the one to see it, though he noticed it later when Bonnie pointed it out. It was nothing Strange and Unusual, and not exactly the sign old Lefty was haunted, and so no one had given it much more thought, not even the tired and distracted Mike.

Still, Mike had waited on the stage, but midnight had come and gone.

'Lad's sharp, always has been. But tha' devil's smarter.'

Foxy had joined his night guard, feigning a low battery that no one, not even Faz, questioned. But when night passed in comfortable silence—as silent as it could be with Bonnie playing that Aerosmith junk while he wandered and helped Captain or Chef—Mike had eventually fallen asleep.

And that was good.

3:00am, said the small time piece.

'The witching hour,' whispered the rest of the world.

Foxy rose, and slunk off the stage as slowly as his old joints could muster and still be silent about it. Mike was a heavy sleeper when Gold was recharging their battery, which was always in their favor. Across the huge room, he spied the rabbit's long ears twitching toward him in interest as Foxy slipped down to cross in front of the long empty tables.

Bonnie eyed him, glanced at Faz who nodded, and turned dismissively away. But those big bunny ears remained pricked toward him, and Foxy knew that even as he turned his back on the room and his friends and headed for Mike's brand new, very tiny office.

"Lad wasn't exaggerating; it be smaller than a cabin boy's quarters." Foxy drawled in honest surprise as he bent in the middle, staring under the small dark desk. "…we both might not fit in here…hmm. Best try somewhere else."

Then Foxy remembered the room near Parts and Services, a small enough mimic of a certain closet.

Perfect.

Venturing deeper into the grand restaurant, Foxy found the little storage closet he had seen Freddy rooting around in earlier and nudged open the door with his hook. Would have to do, with time running out on them. His hook caught the knob and tugged it closed softly.

"Come out, lad." Foxy called. He waited. Silence.

"Ah'know ya can hear yer ole Suit." Foxy stuck his nose into the little room a bit more and tilted it, then edged in fully, his tail switching absently.

"Come see me, boyo, ole Foxy misses ya somethin' fierce…" He purred warmly, keeping his tone encouraging.

He stayed in the pitch black darkness, feeling more at ease and knowing his boy would too.

There was a soft scraping sound to his left, and he hummed, ears lifting. His optics were dim but enough for him to make out shapes—especially when those shapes were moving on him. Unless the broom had magically come to life, there was a shadow detaching from another shadow. The shadow had eyes suddenly, and was staring at him.

A guttural thrum that almost sounded welcoming filled the tiny space.

"There's a good lad," Foxy crouched slowly, eyeing the nightmareish form of himself and giving a noise of approval. "Ya look good boyo, bigger than I last saw ya. Like being the leader of the Nightmares, eh?"

Nightmare Foxy, Alex Afton that is, grunted, then edged hopefully closer, his tail twitching as he crouched down to be lower than the other, living animatronic. Submissive, but hopeful. Nightmares were easy to read when you had good common sense, and Foxy liked to think he had a bit more than even Fazbear, for Foxy could understand that not everything went the way we always wanted, and no amount of stubbornness could turn back the terrible hands of time.

Nightmare Foxy was a ghost here, not entirely solid and not very strong physically, but he was in good shape and seemed alert and happy to see his old suit. 'In good shape' for a Nightmare meant he was pointer, meaner, and sharper. Nightmares were meant to be bad, after all.

Nightmare Foxy chuffed suddenly and ducked, shaking himself out nervously.

"Ain't here ta send ya off." Foxy assured, and Alex relaxed, his dangerous jaw working sedately as he nodded. Where would Alex Afton end up, anyway? He was, on paper, a murderer. A catalyst that had set off dozen other events…

'Souls stick around sometimes. Crying Child's proof enough of that.' Foxy frowned to himself, '…and yet he's been put ta bed. So why did the devil…? How?'

"Got some questions fer ya, me'bucko. Be a good matey, and tell Foxy all ye know, aye?"

Nightmare Foxy's optics flashed in inquisitive confusion, but he nodded dutifully.

"Alrighty. Let's start with the smaller problem: ye remember all the animatronics we were around ta see, do yas? That'd be us, the original four. Fredbear—" 'Whom ya used ta kill yer little brother—' but Foxy was good and didn't say that. "Springbonnie, er, Trap, that is."

Alex nodded, his big jaw creaking. He did. Good.

"Aye. The Toys? Them vacant lil lubbers?"

Nightmare Foxy hummed and then snorted. Oh, the weird Toy models, of course. Watching the world through Foxy's optics meant he had seen and met everyone Foxy had, even Mike, though the man never knew it until much later.

"Good, good." Foxy praised then sighed. "…we gotta new animatronic here, a little puppet model. Security Puppet. ….you remember that one?"

Nightmare Foxy considered his words, and then shook his head slowly, but seemed uncertain before he nodded. He…he did? He thought he did. He grumbled, sounding disappointed with himself, and leaned in close to Foxy, jaw lowering until a faint voice rasped out, paper thin and twice as chilling,

'Reeememberr…Unca'Heennnreee…?' Alex breathed with all his power. Talking was hard, and something he usually let Foxy handle. Now, though, he was himself and his spirit had taken on a monstrous form, perhaps as some final punishment. It was a form for scaring, not talking. He had lost that privilege when he made his choices years ago. He didn't know why he knew this or how, what he did know was speech was very hard, and Nightmares didn't speak well because they relied on monstrous sounds and sweeping threats with body language foremost.

"Aye, he's here too." Foxy said. "Called us here in fact, to check out the new ship. Ain't even had her maiden voyage yet, s'due fer sailing on Saturday me thinks."

Alex looked troubled at that, but nodded.

"Ole Henry built her did he? Well…we knew tha' already."

But Alex was shaking his large monstrous, foxy-shaped head.

"…no?"

'Goott….riiid ooof...herrr…' Alex's voice died like a soft wind, fading back into the ether.

Now it was Foxy's turn to look disturbed. "…yer sure, lad?"

The middle son of the Afton clan nodded solemnly. That much he could recall.

"When?" demanded Foxy, and Alex lapsed into thoughtful silence before saying,

'Ssssoometimee…befooreee…Us…'

Foxy didn't need an explanation for that riddle of a statement. 'Before Us' meant before their joining, before William's ill-fated, heartless revenge, before the Crying Child's last birthday party. Before Circus Baby was built. Before she gave ice cream to Henrietta Afton. Before Michael vanished on them, hurting the dead Alex deeply. Before the Puppet would have been haunted, and active and lurking around watching William Afton from the shadows.

"That makes her old, then. Could explain the rust." But…something wasn't adding up. And Alex wasn't there all the time before 'Them,' and when he was there permanently, it was the two of them, and so Foxy would have seen her too.

So why hadn't he?

For a fourth time he searched his memory files, but most of the years before Alex were rocky and uncertain, or couldn't even play. Would it be worth having Mike dig around his skull, and take a look? That had worked when Bon had wanted to help out young Fitzgerald.

"Getting you stuffed in me sure screwed up me processors, bucko." Foxy mumbled in frustration, scratching at the back of his head, and causing Nightmare Foxy to whimper softly.

"Ah'know lad, weren't no picnic fer you, neither…forgive ole Foxy." Now on to the biggest reason he had coaxed Nightmare Foxy from the Other side. "There's…something else. Something worse."

Nightmare Foxy eyed the new, strange storage closet and grunted.

'…Miiiike?' Alex wheezed in askance, and Foxy softened at the clear concern lacing the cursed teen's tone. Their night guard really was something else, because sooner or later everyone seemed to warm up to the lad.

"No, no Mikey be fine." But he may not be, if Foxy's worries were going to end up true. Damn Puppet. "The Marionette be skulking around again."

At the mere mention of his little brother's Animatronic, Nightmare Foxy whined and sunk lower to the floor. Foxy, for once, offered no comfort, because he very much felt the same.

"We ain't sure why, or how. And was hopin you might, lad."

Alex lapsed into thoughtful silence again, head cocking lazily.

'Unca'Heenrehheee…called him…maaaaybhhee?' Stranger things. And the Puppet was always thinking, and could go anywhere. Scott, better known as 'that guy on the phone' was right to be wary of it. Of course, Alex and Foxy weren't just Suits because of William alone.

Foxy's tattered triangle ears pricked up in interest. "Aye, could be. Hadn't thought of that. Though, come ta think of it, the fellow did say something about old ghosts…"

'Maaybhee…Mike…himself.'

At this, Foxy looked uneasy. He recalled the first few weeks of Mike's night guarding nights, and the closeness the young man developed with the terrible creature. Perhaps Foxy should have taken his own advice in hindsight—sooner or later, everyone warmed up to friendly Mike.

"Aye. Maybe the lad did call him back all by himself. But fer all our sakes, I hope not. A stringless Marionette, apparently, ain't a powerless one.

But it could be a vengeful one." Foxy considered Mike's almost fevered intent on catching Springtrap and Circus Baby, and making them pay for their sins. The same burning hunger that someone who loses everything starts to rely on in a desperate bid just to get by. To just survive the night.

Alex Afton grunted in uncomfortable agreement. He knew all about revenge, after all. Revenge could be a dangerous game with no prize whatsoever. Only consequences.

Alexander had seen the strings connecting his father to the Puppet all those years ago, when his dead little brother had been a powerful spirit running off fear and pain and terror and all he wanted was Daddy to make the Nightmares go away, to heal what had been hurt.

So the Puppet had chosen its very first Suit. A protector. A hero.

Only…William hadn't been that, had he? Some Nightmares just don't go away on their own. What the Puppet had found within William wasn't goodness and love and warmth, but bitter cold and desperate fierceness to make whoever he could pay.

Eventually over the years, Alex and Foxy had puzzled out that the Marionette's strange behavior and cruel nature was a left over trait inherited from William. The Puppet had severed its strings from the killer once it realized Springtrap was being used for suffering and torture, not for justice and protection. But the damage had been done. The puppet's developing personality had been colored—but like when ink is dropped into a cup of water. The darkness had bled terribly badly; leaving a Puppet who had no problem paving a road to Hell with his good intentions, especially if it mean protecting the pizzeria and the animatronics and the children William had trapped there.

Alex Afton, Nightmare Foxy, knew that the Puppet's first Suit had been his worst mistake of them all. Because William Afton had taken the Gift of Life from the Puppet, and instead of using it to prevent the history repeating itself, had instead twisted it into something so terrifying, the ripples of his actions were still felt in the world today.

Not for the first time, Alex wondered what became of his brother and his sister. But he could not ask very well, and some small part of him did not want to know.

"Well…thanks fer help, boyo. Now, ya go back ta yer closet, and sleep tight Alexander. Ole Foxy loves you."

Because dead teenager or not, some kids just need to hear that sometimes, especially from their favorites.

Nightmare Foxy seemed to smile, his mouth a wide gash of sharp teeth but his optics soft as he turned and slunk back into the shadows, becoming nothing more than a bump-in-the-night and a caution to all bullies about going too far with their victims.

Alex's story had, at the end of its run, been nothing more than a revenge story. Foxy wondered idly what Mike's tale was going to end up as.


The Past, 1985

"How come Freddy still isn't talking?" demanded the teenager.

"Haven't the foggiest, son. Not sure what poor Fred's problem is. His AI is working just fine. He's recording perfectly." Henry looked over from his work at his bench to where the teen was standing, headphones dangling from his neck and yellow cassette player in hand.

"He better figure it out fast. I think the kids are starting to notice." Michael suggested as he squinted and studied the sitting bear, who was staring back at him quietly from the work bench he had sat down on after closing.

"Maybe he's afraid to." Michael paused, realizing how he sounded and then 'pffted' dismissively. "What am I saying? He can't feel like that…can he?" The boy hedged in growing uncertainty at his unrelated Uncle.

"Sometimes it feels like these fellas can feel, they certainly understand enough." Uncle Henry said diplomatically, half to Michael, half to the circuit board that would one day help Chica ice cakes, and hopefully take a load off the busy and complaining cooks in the kitchen.

"And their AI's are developing by leaps and bounds every day. But, devolving personality matrix aside, there shouldn't be anything mechanical keeping Freddy from talkin', son."

"See?" The teen turned back to Freddy, who went from watching Henry to him again, blue glass eyes blinking slowly once.

"…" said Freddy.

"Don't you wanna make some noise, dude? Shake things up a little?" Nothing. Freddy only tilted his head down at the boy, and then his optics roamed to the right, tracking a movement he found more interest in.

"…" said Freddy, again.

Michael puffed a sigh of mild but fond frustration, then turned as flat footsteps lurched up to him.

"Hey Bonnie." The eldest of Afton siblings laughed as the purple bunny's ears pricked up in delight, his optics locked on the little music device in the teen's hand and he jabbed a purple finger at it.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it today, don't I always?" Michael smiled.

Bonnie was someone who could not talk yet even if he wanted, (and it seemed he did, very much, and would likely end up as chatty as lively and energetic Springbonnie) as Bonnie's speakers had blown from his first attempt and the new ones wouldn't come in for a month or two. Maybe that was for the better, because Dad had been pissed when Bonnie's first attempt at speaking had resulted in a blown stage speaker as well, and Fredbear and Springbonnie had frozen and malfunctioned briefly from the power surge Bonnie had accidentally caused. Everyone was alright now though, according to Uncle Henry.

"Don't go nowhere without that thing," Uncle Henry agreed in almost wicked delight. "Drives your father up a wall."

"Hey, it's this, or I lug his record player around." Michael grinned flippantly as he loaded a tape he'd set on the workbench by Freddy, and raised the headphones to Bonnie's ears, the bunny seeing him coming and lowering his head automatically. Michael turned the dial down by half, having been warned by Uncle Henry that Bonnie's ears were sensitive 'as the dickens.'

"You're gunna love this, it's brand new." Michael assured as he loaded Aerosmith's Done with Mirrors and pressed play on his cassette walkman.

Bonnie the bunny stood still, his paws at his side until he heard a guitar riff he apparently liked, and then they lifted, head bobbing as he began mimicking the air guitar he had seen Michael do when he was mopping the floors last night after closing. He didn't have many expectations at the diner, but cleaning was always the top of the list whether he liked it or not. Scott said he did a good job, but Dad said free labor was free labor and to get back to work, and keep the racket of his music down. Michael wore his headphones while he cleaned, so he knew his dad was just complaining to complain. He wasn't like mom was. Erh, had been.

"Hey, you're getting pretty good! Yanno, Bonnie oughta have a guitar, Uncle Henry. Doesn't Spring need a new one anyway?"

"A'yep, he does. Course we need the funds first…but then, little yella'fella could always play the piano…" Fredbear had originally played it, until one day they saw Springbonnie watching him and the next, he was taping keys slowly. William had encouraged it best he could and now, Springbonnie could play it just as well if not better than Fredbear, because Springbonnie was light enough to actually sit on the bench and not bend over it like poor Fredbear, who had to loom. Henry was glad he had slightly downsized Freddy Fazbear.

"So why can't Bonnie have his old guitar? I bet he'd love it. Like a hand-me-down," Michael rolled his eyes at Bonnie, telling him, "I gotta give enough of those to Alex anyway, but it's whatever. You were made after Springbonnie, so that kinda makes you his little brother, and little brothers get all the best stuff."

Bonnie only nodded, pink optics shutting once as he listened half to the music and half to the kid beside him.

"Fine, son, fine. Only he can't be playing that rock malarkey on stage for the kids. Gotta stick to the list of approved songs only." Henry warned over the top of his half moon lenses.

"Sounds easy enough." Michael shrugged and turned back to watch Bonnie's head and ears bop to the beat. "He didn't say anything about you playing whatever music you liked after hours, right?"

Bonnie eyed him then grinned with his big, acrylic teeth, seeming to understand Michael's hint.

Freddy watched the two interacting all the while, the purple bunny that his programming told him was someone very important to him. Someone to engage with on stage a lot to show children how special friendships were, and the human child who was not quite out of teenhood, not yet.

"…Son…" Rumbled a voice, and though it was pitched far deeper and flatter than Uncle Henry ever spoke, Michael turned to the old inventor on instinct and blinked. Only one person called him that without sounding disappointed, after all.

"…you say something, Uncle Henry?"

Uncle Henry smiled, and simply shook his head.

"Nope. But I think someone else did."


Michael Afton woke up abruptly from a dead sleep, which was a poor choice of words but an honest set of one.

He shivered, suddenly aware of the chill that always bothered him, and noting that it suddenly seemed to be getting worse.

'Wonder what month it is? Still October?' He had no way of knowing, and after several years he had gotten used to the anonymity of time. Occasionally though, like right now, he would wonder and wish he knew a solid answer. A date. Anything. The sun was great for daytime, and the moon was good for a new month or an old one, but that was about it. Scraptrap's internal battery had long since died, stuck forever on 1988, August 4th. Michael's Death day. Scratrap's Alive day.

He also wished he had more clothes to wear. But then he wouldn't fit as snugly into Scraptrap's hollow frame, and that was no good. He had only the clothes he was killed in, and the one thing he had gone back for from his bedroom, a dark and stormy night with lightning flashing as Frankenstein's monstrous son stole into his father's house, checked in on his baby sister and then made a short stop in his room.

Michael glanced down, staring tiredly at the cassette player purring in his hand and nothing more, because side 2 had stopped playing a while ago. Every inch of him wanted to flip to side 1 and go back to sleep for a bit longer, but he couldn't when he saw out the high window and spied the dark night sky behind the dusty pane of glass.

Night was here. What little rest he had gotten would have to do for now.

Beside him, Scraptrap made a purr of his own at his kid, the noise rasping and reverberating. He waited for Michael's strange violet eyes to settle on him, and he moved his hands, the same sign he always made when he saw Michael awake after his sleep.

"Mornin'," Michael returned the sentiment, his tired smile a little more honest before it faded.

'I think if I didn't have Scrap, I'd have gone crazy by now. Like Dad. Will we end up like him one day?'

Michael wondered this, even as he tried to comfort himself and knowing any comfort was impossible.

"I'm gunna go check out the joint across the way, man."

Scraptrap frowned with a rusty creak.

"Look, if the original four are here, that means Bonnie is here, and if Bonnie is here…" Michael pointed a purple-black finger meaningfully at Scraptrap's towering ears. They fell back in dislike as Scraptrap nodded, grumbling.

"Springtrap can't hear shit anymore, but I have no idea about Bon." Michael looked uneasy just thinking about it. "Uh, and worse, if Bonnie hears you, and mistakes you for Springtrap—or even if he doesn't—we both know who he'll call first."

'F-A-Z.' Scraptrap warned, as well as signing 'Night-man-danger.'

"Right—Freddy and that night guard. Actually, I'm more worried about Alex…if he's still in there, anyway." Alex was inside Foxy, as far as he knew. And Foxy had a lot of teeth, and accidents will happen when you got a lotta teeth. Michael had learned that the hard way.

'Bad,' Scraptrap gestured as he rose to follow the kid as far as he would dare, 'Idea!'

"Oh, keep your springlocks wound." Michael snorted. "I'll be fine; I'm not taking any risks we can't afford, awright? Open up."

Scraptrap scowled but finally obeyed, parting his chest a few inches so Michael would bury the cassette player safely in Scraptrap's form.

"Can't let anything happen to that," Michael shivered, "Not after last time."

Looking back, he should have known it was important when a year passed and the batteries hadn't needed changing. So he'd taken them out then, purple hands gripping the warm plastic tight as he realized it had changed, too. It felt…heavier. Somehow. Like it carried more than his favorite Aerosmith cassette, an artifact stuck in time alongside him and his bunny model. Michael didn't know the first thing about ghosts back when he started wondering about the significance of the cassette player, but now he felt confident enough to call himself an expert.

Zombified or not, he was haunted. A walking, talking, haunted corpse. Scraptrap was haunted. The cassette player was haunted—it kept them stable. Focused. Powerful. The Marionette had Arthur's flashlight, and he had this. Alex had Foxy's original head, oddly enough. He didn't know what Dad had, because Dad kept it hidden and secret—which was to his advantage, sadly.

'Maybe if I can find out what it is, and destroy it, he'll stop coming back once and for all.'

And until he put this whole messy situation to bed, and atoned for his father's sins, he thought perhaps they would always be haunted.

Michael left Scraptrap behind, and he was glad for it almost the instant he crossed the threshold out of the garage. The night was frosty, but also wet. For obvious reasons, wet and animatronics didn't mix, not even supernaturally haunted ones.

'Good for us, though. If we can't be out in this weather, Springtrap and Dad can't either, or Henrietta—Circus Baby, whatever.'

He was almost amazed at how well their luck was holding.

And it held even longer, as he slunk through the back door into the big restaurant.

'Big place. Those new animatronics will fight right in.'

But there was already noise going on, making the dead teenager freeze in his tracks. Least he didn't have to worry about Bonnie picking up a heartbeat he didn't recognize…uh, if he was still able to.

"Anybody seen Mike?" demanded a heavy southern accent, and for a second Michael was so shocked he thought he felt his heart pump a moment from the fear, because he knew that voice, deeper and calmer than even his Uncle's with a hint of static under it every so often.

'He knows!? How does he know!? We were so fucken careful—!'

"Naw, but last I knew he and Helpy were rewiring some'a the arcade games. The numb-nut technicians used the wrong grounder, and the games keep resetting!" responded a young male voice, the soft pulse under it betraying it. The voice did not belong to a kid that sounded like he was Michael's age, no matter how convincing and casual it was. Er—well, his age back in 88, anyway.

'Bonnie. He sounds just like he used to. Wait—he? Not me then.'

Night guard was named Mike. Good to know. And night guard Mike had some knowledge of electrical, if he was working on breakers and the tricky, sensitive arcade machines FazCo used to commission. Michael had no idea what or who Helpy was, though.

'Wonder if Foxy's Squid Toss is still around?'

Memories of playing that with his little sister stung his still heart, because she often demanded it but was so short he had to hold her up so she could aim the little stuffed squids through the hoop ring. The eldest Afton sibling dared to slink closer, crouching down against a far wall and right by Parts and Services. If he had to dash out of here, he wanted an eye on an Exit at all times.

"Hnn. Best check on him. Don't need him frying himself again." Freddy sounded displeased. Or maybe grumpy? Worried? Freddy was always disappointed in something or someone, it seemed.

'Or maybe it was just me.'

"Mike wants me to check the back alley, see if we got any…uh, visitors." Bonnie informed conversationally. His flat footsteps filled the hallway as he said this. Michael didn't need to hold his breath, but he did so anyway.

"Oh?" Freddy's interest was back on his best friend. "Take Foxy with you, Bon. Even if there ain't nuthin…"

"Yeah, I hear ya, Faz." Bonnie hummed agreeably. "Course, who'd be out in this weather?"

Thankfully, Bonnie and Freddy's voices were fading. Freddy leaving to check on an apparently accident prone Mike, and Bonnie changing directions to go fetch Alex. Er—Foxy.

'If Alex sees me, he'll understand. Him I can trust. But the rest of them…' Michael eyed a door and nudged it open, seeing it was only a big storage closet. He slunk in and crouched down, deciding to wait and listen for the time being. The place was more active at night than he expected, but it did tell him for sure who was here. Four animatronics that were Alive, and one night guard who was apparently more than just a screen watcher. And one Freddy apparently gave a damn about.

That was…different.

Michael Afton shivered, and this time the cold had nothing to do with it. A disappointed Freddy Fazbear was one thing. An angry, possessive one was just unholy retribution.


"Phew!" Mike hurried out of his office, leaving the door open and fanning his face with a flapping hand. "That room gets hot fast, not sure how I feel about that!"

"Can't imagine ole Goldy don't make it worse on ya too, eh lad?" Foxy remarked as he strolled down the hall toward the night guard.

"Sure does," Mike agreed with a tiny chuckle. "Forget coffee! I', gunna grab some water, don't wanna get any more lightheaded."

Despite his lackadaisical tone, Foxy frowned at the man's words and dogged the man to the kitchen.

"Maybe ya should take it easy, lad. Been burnin' the candle at both ends it feels like."

"Awh, you worry too much Captain," Mike said as he pushed through the double doors and wandered for the sink. "But I appreciate it…hey Helpy, how's it hanging?"

Helpy wandered around the man's long legs, tugging his jeans and pointing emphatically to the stove.

"Nope, sorry. Little baked bear cub is not on the menu at this establishment, buddy." Mike denied, chuckling when Helpy paused and then looked confused, as if wondering why the stove was off limits in the first place. Foxy leaned down and growled in warning, and the little Funtime Freddy model stopped wondering and wandered away quickly as if to prove his disinterest. See? He wasn't doing nuthin'! His cheerful glance seemed to say.

"I already told him no," Chica's voice trickled in from the walk in as she lurched out, brushing some ice from her shoulder. "He seems to already understand who the mush is out of all us, though, hmm sweetie?"

Mike grinned sheepishly at Chica's amused accusation, "Well in this case, I'm with you Chica. Hey, have you seen anything that looks like it would resemble something named Candy Cadet? An animatronic, I'm thinking? Since that sounds like a food-thing I wasn't sure if they shove it in here for refills or what…"

"Mmm, no, can't say I have. Oh! Ask Freddy, I think he's been in all the cleaning closets, and he told me one of them doubles as storage."

"Thanks!"

Bonnie intercepted them as Mike and Foxy headed for the storage closet near Parts and Service. Helpy toddled after Mike, clearly deciding whatever he was going to do was more interesting—or at least more safe—than chasing Foxy's tail with grabby paws or crawling into an oven.

"Hey Mike—" Bonnie greeted, "Before you ask, no, I haven't checked outside in the back alley. Going to now though, Fred wanted me to take Foxy."

"Good idea," Mike hummed, after a gulp of water. "Go on, Foxy, I'll be alright."

Foxy shot him a look, but finally nodded and wandered off after the limping purple bunny.

"Okay Helpy, just you and me now." Mike said.

The biggest storage room wasn't dusty, but it was very organized. Just a quick glance told Mike his best friend had been in here, sorting and checking and cataloging for the next (possibly the very first?) order of cleaning supplies. Mike chuckled as he eyed the tidy area, walking around one of the shelves that made up a half wall.

"Good old Freddy. Let's see…Candy Cadet…" Mike muttered to himself as he eyed the room. Helpy toddled off in a seemingly random direction deeper into the dark room, which wasn't unusual for him and so the night guard stayed focused, letting the little bear do his own thing. How much trouble could Helpy get into in here, anyway?

"Nope, nothing." Mike placed both hands on his hips and huffed in puzzled frustration. "Maybe the garage? The Rockstars are over there, after all. Let's go Helpy, c'mon."

Mike wandered back to the doorway and frowned, loitering as he waited. Weird, Helpy was easily distracted but he also tended to respond to Mike the quickest. It was the others he tended to blithely ignore—much to the irritation of Foxy and the amusement of Bonnie, who loved any chance to see Foxy irritated or to see Freddy lay down the law on some poor sap who earned a scolding.

"Helpy? What are you playing with back there?" Mike called into the darkness. A soft scuffling sound answered him, and he cocked his head thoughtfully.

"C'mon, little bear, let's go." A moment later the little plastic bear wandered back to him as if nothing was amiss, smiling widely as he clapped his small white and purple paws together. Mike looked down in amusement as Helpy grabbed his pant leg and tugged insistently, pointing to the little area made by a set of steel shelves and a wall to the right of the storage room. Mike glanced at it, but boxes and supplies kept him from seeing through the storage shelving.

"What, now you wanna get into cleaning supplies?" Mike laughed, bending down to scoop the squirmy little bear up. "I don't think so, but nice try. Let's leave the cleaning to Freddy."

Bonnie and Foxy were already where Mike was headed, but walking away from the back Exit toward Mike and looking bored.

"Nothing , huh?" He asked.

"I'm beginning to think Fred's right, Mike." Bonnie admitted. "And poor old Henry's lost his marbles. Two days and zilch? He made it sound like every animatronic from here to Timbuktu would be knocking down our back door to get in."

"Well, let's stay positive, guys." Mike said. Besides, they didn't need every animatronic, just two specifically. Maybe three.

'But I can't let the gang know that. Just so long as they keep an eye out, we'll be golden.'

"I am, I'm positive we ain't gunna find nothin'!" Bonnie declared, making Mike snicker.

He and Foxy wandered off, leaving Mike and Helpy to venture through the back alley—the very empty, abandoned looking back alley—and make their way into the long garage.

"Hmm," said Mike, flipping the switch and eyeing all the dark places an animatronic named Candy Cadet could hide.

"This might go faster if I knew how big the thing was…" Mike mused out loud as he wandered deeper, letting Helpy wander off yet again.

"Oh, hey, what're you?" Mike asked as he crouched down by a squat, brightly colored robot with two dangling arms and an alien ship head.

"Hmm...no plug, oh—coin slot, okay. You're different." Mike spotted the twin slots and perked up. He dug out a quarter and jabbed it through with the pad of his thumb, glancing up as Candy Cadet illuminated and rose to life.

"I am Candy Ca-det, come get your candy here." intoned Candy Cadet, with a voice so boring and detached it reminded Mike of oatmeal. "I have candy all day, every-day. Candy. Candy. Candy."

"Well, you can't be accused of information, can you?" Mike snarked conversationally as Candy Cadet's slot opened and two pieces fell out. Mike scooped them up and eyed them.

"Return to Candy Cadet again and ma-ybe I will tell you a sto-ry?" and then the animatronic went silent, and its flashing lights pulsed a only moment longer before turning off and slumping forward.

"Uh…okaaay." Mike dragged the word out, eyebrows so high they vanished under his bangs. "Well, didn't give me too much candy. But you also don't sound…very inviting for little kids." He made a mental checklist as he stood, swiping lazily at his pants.

"Bet I can push you out by myself, maybe getting you actually in the dining room will help?" Mike hummed, aware how crazy he probably sounded, talking to an animatronic that was most certainly not haunted, and perhaps not all there even to begin with.

Deciding to get the strange Candy Cadet out of the garage and go from there, Mike went about the laborious task of moving things out of his and Cadet's way, so the squat animatronic could be pushed without catching something.

He missed something, because of course he did, and a great clattering and clanging sounded that sent Mike bolting upright as he tried and failed to stop the descent of a stack of boxes that were mostly unlabeled except for one warning word of 'Heavy!'

And heavy they were.

They crashed along the ground and into the wall, knocking a shelf so badly some of the smaller boxes on the offended shelf bucked free and fell down out of sight, behind the towering steel frame of shelves that made up one of the 'walls' of the deep building.

The noise of startled snarling caught his attention and Mike froze, throat closing as every nerve light on fire.

'There's something over there. Something Active.'

"…Helpy?" Mike tried, aware of how unconfident and meek his voice sounded. "…please tell me that was you?"

Mike glanced to his right, staring at the door way where he could see Helpy playing with something he probably shouldn't, but Mike didn't care about that right now.

That noise wasn't Helpy.

Mike steeled himself and crept around the shelf, hand flying to a wrench he had in his pocket and wielding the little tool like it was a baseball bat, because some things never changed. He hesitated, then slipped fully around and his other hand moved, snatching his flashlight and shoving the button from off to on.

The shadow howled as the light hit it, reacting so angrily Mike thought it was a Foxy model, but no. those two towering ears belonged to only one model and Mike jolted, fire leaping through his frame.

"Afton!" He snarled, then jerked when he realized Springtrap didn't have his right ear, and this green and rotting animatronic most certainly did.

'If he's in even remotely working order, he would have heard me coming a mile away.'

Golden light glanced through the bunny's frame, illuminating the wall it was pressing against. This bonnie model was riddled with holes, but also seemed purposefully sectioned off with hinges and joints that were being held closed by…something? More springlocks and latches? Its fever-bright optics flashed angry yellow and it swiped a metal paw out, as if trying to knock the light off its form like a human swatted uselessly at a hornet. A sizzling sound was heard and Mike almost didn't understand what he was seeing until he recognized the eerie, spectral flickering light from the rabbit.

There were two reasons Foxy didn't like flashlights aimed on him. Both reasons involved Mike's flashlight specifically, the little plastic child's toy he had inherited from a crying child who had once used it to keep his nightmares at bay. The flashlight saw more than a human's eyes and would reveal what was there. And if something was there that was not supposed to be, it would try and force it away, back into the darkness where it had come from. Out of the light. Into…something Mike assumed was not good. Perhaps a place where consequences came calling.

Foxy's teenager of a ghost had left him when Mike took over the night guard position, and took up residence as Nightmare Foxy in the world of terrible dreams and warning ghost-stories. So now, when this flashlight hit their Foxy, his systems would freeze, and shirk and just be thrown out of whack in general. The flashlight would try to put Alex back where he had come from, forcing them to be Suits again. It was something neither of them wanted—whereas a normal flashlight just tended to blind Foxy's sensitive cameras in his eyes and really only serve to piss him off.

If the light hit Mike, it would switch him with Gold, and vice versa. This was jarring and disorientating, but nothing the two hadn't gotten used to over the years. It was a good ace-in-the-hole to have, as he had learned last month when Danny had saved him from the Funtimes and Afton.

But if the flashlight hit an empty, haunted Suit with no spirit to fill it…well, what would happen? Apparently whatever was happening right now. Mike's grip on the flashlight made his knuckles turn white as he realized what he was looking at.

'He's a Suit like—'

'Us.' Finished Gold.

"Get away from him!" a new voice knocked Mike from his thoughts and a frame hitting him knocked him off his feet, as whoever it was collided with him clumsily.

Mike yelped, stumbling sideways and watching the figure scramble to get his legs under him, the light of the Crying Child's flashlight making shadows leap and wobble and generally confusing every party in the little scuffle.

Mike fully expected to have to fight, but the figure that had crashed into him pushed off without a second glance at him.

"Open up! C'mon man, stay with me!" The new comer commanded, and without warning the bonnie model wrenched straight up, everything from his head to his legs parting open halfways, hollow and dark as his head lolled back and he went still and waiting.

And then the two were together, somehow, and the bonnie model was closing up, and Mike felt bile rise in his throat as he watched the two join together and the sounds of springlocks clicking free, one by one with meticulous certainty.

Springlocks clicked closed and the body was gone, mostly, and the bonnie model opened violet, sizzling bright and inhuman eyes, its optics no longer yellow. The optics and head rolled loosely down to Mike, and eyelids soon followed.

It—they?—glared down at Mike but made no more threatening moves, who only stared back in furious shock. Even Gold was surprised, though Mike felt it was for a very different reason.

The world held its breath, and so did Mike. He tensed further, shoulders up high as he started to move when the Bonnie model lurched closer to him, one paw crustily making a fist.

A startled chiming interrupted the moment, and both blinked. Something small and black and white popped into Mike's view—literally, which gave him an answer on whether or not little Security Puppet could teleport like Marion had been able to—and her entire frame quivered in fright as she pushed backwards, as if trying to shield Mike from the animatronic.

"SP! How did—" a glance at his wrist where the blue band sat confirmed his other suspicions. "…man, I gotta remember to take this thing off." Well…maybe this time he'd call it a win.

And then the floor quivered, and a shadow fell over the three—uh, four?—of them.

The combined bonnie model unexpectedly shirked, stumbling backwards and sinking low as Mike tore his gaze from the two and threw his head back all the way. He saw only brown fur and two black and white optics as he stared up at Freddy Fazbear looming above him, the bear upside down to Mike's view.

'Crap.' Was all Schmidt had time to think.

Freddy roared, a familiar bellow that Mike remembered from one of their earliest encounters during the first five nights; a resonating archaic sound that inspired terror even in him, and he knew he was safe. SP twitched and was gone in the time it took for Mike to blink, and then he lost sight of her. Still, she was smart to get the hell out of the way; Mike couldn't fault her for that.

Interestingly, the Bonnie model looked frantically around for something, then seemed to decide on going up and over the mess Mike had caused, trying to escape. A box was shoved out of the way by a hook. And then a long red muzzle full of teeth came closing down inches from the Springtrap-lookalike's face, and they wisely backed up, then tried a different route.

"Where ya going, little guy?" Bonnie the bunny demanded with a wicked cackle of glee, Cakey glaring from Chica's plate as she and Bonnie advanced on either side of Freddy in their usual placement on stage.

The night guard turned his attention back on the strangers, realizing they were just about the most pathetic excuses for Suits he had ever seen.

'It's the flashlight that was hurting the bonnie model. Like it had Nightmare. He…he didn't attack.'

And if they wanted to get technical, Mike was the one who had gone around dropping boxes of parts on poor animatronics minding their own goddamn business.

'Wouldn't he have attacked me earlier when I was playing around with Candy Cadet?' Bonnie models weren't known for their patience. Sure, maybe it could be argued Afton was sneaky, but if he was truly patient and clever he wouldn't be the restaurant's worst kept secret, would he?

Mike blinked, realizing two things in that moment and accepting he had only a second or two to change the course of this little scene, and the fate of a Suit and their human who was more scared than violent.

And so Mike Schmidt moved, making a choice in a moment.

He was up and whirling around, arms stuck out and fingers splayed wide as Freddy charged forward—

"Stop!" Mike shouted, and Freddy halted like a switch had been hit, though he bared his acrylic teeth at Mike, as if to ward him away.

The world held its breath.

Mike listened. In his bone, Gold did too.

'The bonnie model is silent. No inner workings.'

But it was most definitely moving earlier, before he'd watched the two combine like that. Ice replaced the now dying fire in Mike's bones. Gold settled with a proprietary hum of wonder and curiosity. He saw no need to switch with his human Suit, not yet. This was getting interesting, and anyway Freddy was here.

"H-How'd you find me?" Mike gasped through his pounding heart at his family, wanting a moment to compose himself.

Freddy spared him a look then jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

Security Puppet, her little blue optics locked on the blue band on his wrist, chimed softly as she peeked timidly out from behind a box she'd hid behind as she watched the scary looking standoff that she clearly wanted no part in. Helpy was peeking out too.

'Oh. Did she go and get Freddy despite being afraid of him? She's learning.'

'Young Michael.' Rumbled Goldy suddenly, and it took Mike a second to realize his ghost wasn't addressing him.

So the night guard turned slowly in place, the original four at his back as he stared over at the spare Springbonnie suit that, until now, he had only heard and read about but never met.

The animatronic stared back, optics wide and stubbornly alive. Aside from the ears, the variations between this bonnie and Springtrap were getting easier and easier to catalogue, like some grotesque, surreal spot-the-difference game. Not-Springtrap's metal, crusty fingers wriggled in apprehension as he eyed Mike right back, seeming to be waiting on making his move. Good. That was good. The Funtimes hunted him like animals possessed, often falling victim to programming without even questioning their motives, only trying to intently follow through with a command to trap and detain or kill coded into them.

But not this bunnybot. Not these two.

'The notes I found in Afton's office down in Pizza World…'

Wondering if he was doing the right thing, and wishing the Puppet were here, Mike took a breath, and exhaled, slowly, waiting. Freddy snarled from over his shoulder, and when the Springbonnie model flinched like he was struck, Mike made up his mind.

"Michael Afton…right?" Mike said.

The animatronic's optics flickered to his eyes, and nodded slowly.

Behind him, Freddy growled louder, and maybe Mike was imaging things, but it sounded desperate and afraid more than anything else. Weird. Freddy wasn't afraid of anything.

Mike sighed, realizing this moment couldn't last forever. Balloons had to pop or deflate eventually.

"Okay, look, just…just everyone take it easy! Foxy—I see you. Knock it off." Mike warned, holding a finger up at the moody fox, who grumbled but slunk back into place, his slow advance on the eldest Afton sibling halted.

Freddy himself was still a coiled spring ready to strike, and Mike knew that wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all poor Michael, if the big bear snapped.

"Freddy." Mike focused solely on his best friend, his own wide eyes bleeding trust and fear and honesty, begging him to respond and understand what Mike was trying to do, not a word beside the bear's name uttered between them.

"Please." The night guard stressed, and miraculously, Fazbear stepped back, and his black and white optics clicked back to glass, but his lids remained lowered and impassive as he stared down the animatronic behind Mike's shoulder.

Mike could breathe again, and he hoped the Suit behind him could relax a little more too.

"Okay. I…Michael?"

The Springbonnie model eyed him in much the same way Security Puppet had eyed Freddy and Bonnie yesterday. Like he was someone to be feared. Mike couldn't tell if that was because he was Golden Freddy's suit, or because he had just gotten the original four to obey a night guard in under a few minutes.

"Uh…can you speak?" Mike demanded.

"Sure. Fer now." Came a cryptic, staticy answer.

"Oh, alright." He was too tired for this. "Well, then, what the hell are you doing here?"

The original four snorted in amusement when Afton's eldest stared.

"Swear jar." Freddy grunted automatically, and Mike, without looking, dug a dollar from his pocket and slapped it into the big waiting paw behind him with a clap.

The poor Springbonnie model looked even more confused and lost.

"Well?" Mike demanded. "…ugh, look, let's not talk here. If you promise not to attack me or the others, you can come inside the restaurant with us."

"…what if I don't promise?" snarked the animatronic without missing a beat, and making Mike's eyes flit to the purple bunny on Freddy's right. Hm.

"Then I head inside, and you stay out here by yourself and keep rotting. But your shoulder and hip need a lot of work, and I can do that, if you don't make me regret it."

"Son!" Freddy snapped, cutting Mike off and looking shocked and insulted at him. Mike waved a noncommittal 'everything's fine and under control' motion with his scarred hand, and hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

"Why should I tell you anything?" the Not-Springbonnie demanded, and for the first time Mike noted how muffled the young voice was. But it was certainly the voice he had heard earlier when he aimed the flashlight on the poor bonnie model.

"Because right now I'm the only thing keeping you from being the unfortunate victim of a bear attack," Mike volleyed back, voice curt but not yelling. "So either you trust me like I'm trusting you, or we're gunna have a problem."

And though those eerie purple optics were tight with anxiety, the Springbonnie model nodded slowly, and shuffled after Mike.

"This is gunna be good," Bonnie muttered to Chica, who clicked her beak in agreement, and Cakey's wide eyes narrowed in agreement.


Nice going, Mike. Both of you. (The whole 'two Mikes' will be remedied in this chapter or next, don't worry. I won't let this story get confusing on yall.)