Interesting fact. I had originally had no intentions of writing a sequel, or continuation of Nightmares, but found that literally every time I went to write something, it would always come out as a story about the brother and his guilt. This chapter mainly deals with a delightful theory of mine, wherein the gameplay of FNaF4 is actually the brother dealing with insanity after breaking his younger brother. Somewhat inspired by the NWTB songs Nightmare and Home.

Home

Looking down upon his sleeping brother, the boy felt sudden pain. This was all his fault. All his fault. Why had he done it? Why had he played that awful trick? Why? Why? Why?

In some way, he'd hated his brother. Hated the way he cried and cowered in that restaurant. Why had his brother been so afraid of that place? It made no sense! Nothing in that place could hurt him! Or so one would think. But recently, it had been proven otherwise. Because he had hated the way his brother cowered and feared, he had deemed it necessary to prove otherwise.

But then it had happened.

His trick had proven otherwise.

Distinctly in his memory was the vivid detail of him lifting his brother into the air. His brother crying. Him sliding his brother into the animatronic. His voice echoing in his head: "I think he wanted to give Fredbear a kiss." Constantly, he would hear his own voice, looped over and over in that ruthless taunt of his. I think he wants to give Fredbear a kiss.

Then, the bear bit.

And everything went quiet. Silent. To him, the world was mute, and he was deaf. His brother was limp in Fredbear's mouth.

No one said anything.

His memories were blurred and faded. The moments that followed. THe ambulance. The hospital. The long night in that hospital where he relived those last moments over and over.

His parents had said nothing and that was worse. He would've taken any punishment, happily. It would've distracted him, and he would've loved that distraction.

Welcomed it.

But there had been nothing. Only the sad, drawn and distant look in their eyes as they looked upon the broken form of their youngest son. The look they gave their oldest was woese.

It was a look of nothingness. A torn, anguished look of nothingness.

The look he gave himself was of hatred. The look he gave his brother was tortured forgiveness, a look of apologetic hope.

"Can you hear me?" he said, the room echoing with the whine of several life support systems. The two brothers were alone, one of them asleep, the other painfully awake. "I don't know if you can hear me."

He looked at the golden plush bear in his sleeping brother's arms. The bera left him with a feeling of combined sadness, hatred, and fear. That bear had been his brother's only friend and, in one cruel moment, he had broken him. The bear was a figure that represented to him now more things than he could even begin to comprehend.

The monitors started to slow.

"I'm sorry," he said, tears streaming down his face.

The monitors reached a lone, flat, toneless moan.

Home, from that day, grew to haunt him.

Suddenly, he was no longer alone on those nights. After his brother died, he had felt haunted. Things in his house, in the halls, in the rooms. Haunting, laughing, taunting him.

He clutched tightly to his chest the bear which had belonged to his now deceased brother. In one hand, the Fredbear doll, in the other, a flashlight.

Stipping, stapping, stepping, running.

This was his first night after his brother had died. This was a night where he perceived himself to be dreaming. Where he perceived himself to be lost in a nightmare.

But he lived through it.

He had stayed awake, clutching the flashlight and the Fredbear until he could see sunlight and feel the weight of his nightmare leave him and he was able to sleep.

But that was only the first night. During the second night, the nightmares had started teasing him. He would hear them laugh, creep towards the door, run away.

Then another night. And another. And the brother feared they were breaking his mind. He knew the nightmares weren't real. Knew they couldn't be real. Knew he would soon be going crazy, that one night he would mess up and they would come in and his nightmares would consume hi,. Leave his empty and mangled. And broken.

He knew he couldn't tell anyone. No one would believe that he was being haunted by figments of his imagination. A psychologist would tell him that he was hallucinating his repressed guilt at losing his younger brother.

And oh how he desperately wished that were true! But he knew somehow that it was not. Somehow, defying all known laws of physics, reality, and sanity, his nightmares were real. Creatures that were twisted nightmare aberrations of the Freddy Fazbear Friends walked his halls late at night, stalking and playing with him.

In his mind, he knew they had to be real. Because he feared the Nightmare Friends. He had not feared the Fazbear Friends, only his brother had. But he feared these abominations. Which could only mean that they were real.

That was the rationalization he relied on, anyway.

The next night, he tried to sleep through those noises, those sounds. Had tried, but jerked awake with nightmarish visions of descending madness. Of his ascending further away from reality. Of him transcending the world itself. And it forced him awake.

"They're playing with me," he told Fredbear, "They know what I did any they're playing with me."

And for the first time in his life, Fredbear answered.

"They love to play," said Fredbear, "They love to watch you play. Play nicely, play fairly, don't break the rules."

"What happens if I break the rules?" the brother asked.

"Then you lose," Fredbear laughed, a cheerful laugh that he suddenly recognized as his brother's. It was a wonderful sound, one that made people smile. If only people had heard him laughing. Instead, he only cried. Maybe things would have been different. "You lose, and game over."

Only when the night ended and he was able to sleep did he realize that he had been talking to a doll.

Another night. And another.

The eighth night, he felt something crack in his mind. A new Nightmare appeared, this one a pitch-nightmare black. A twisted version of Fredbear. A grizzly black abomination.

Freddy's new Nightmare. Laughing. Appearing with impossible speed. At the door. On the bed. In the closet.

He felt darkness, only darkness, for the Nightmare. Running across the room, he pushed the door open. Flashed the light, listened, closed the door, checked the bed. The other door. Listen. Flash. Close door.

Bed closet door bed door closet. Can't lock the door, against the rules. Must play fair. Can't ost. Gotta play nicely.

No no no no no. On the bed. Nightmare. In the closet. Nightmare. At the doors. Nightmare. Moving with incredible speed. Nightmare.

No no no. Open door. No. Check bed. No. Listen. No. No one nothing no one nothing only a nightmare only a nightmare only a nightmare.

He messed up. He didn't listen at the door and the Nightmare came in. No no no please Fredbear help me no no it's only a nightmare I'll wake up I'll wake up i'llwakeupi'llwakeup no no please.

The brother cried. Tears streaked down his face. Poured down in a great deluge. Fredbear looked at him and smiled the warm smile h had given the younger brother only a handful of weeks before.

Nightmare had gotten him. In his hand, the brother held something too small for Fredbear to see. But Fredbear knew. Fredbear always knew.

In the brother's hand, a small piece of metal, an inch long. The trapezoidal blade of a box cutter, with one sharpened edge. He held it to his forearm, considered it, then moved it to his inner wrist.

The Puppet was born that day.

The End.