Sorry, the quality isn't as good; I wrote it on mobile. But it's a little more than 1000 words. Just like I promised 3 Enjoy the chapter!

~xXLoveThatAccentXx

Fritz didn't actually seem to need any help. Mike, in a robotic trance, told him the basics - keep the robots out, wear a mask, wind the music box... or don't, since the Puppet was gone - but Fritz seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He did really well for a first timer.

Mike helped Fritz keep the robots out of the room, and they both managed to get through the night; a surprise on Mike's accord, but an accomplishment for Fritz.

"Whoo!" Fritz sighed loudly when the clock chimed six. "That was scary!" He said this, but he didn't sound one bit scared. "You guys do this every night? You must have a lot of dedication."

Mike gave him a weird look. "You're taking this well."

"Sorry. My emotions are screwed." Fritz frowed. "Nothing killed me. Therefore I'm not concerned. Anyway, are you coming tomorrow too, or am I on my own that time?"

Mike tried to take it in. He himself was still trying to recover from the apprehension. Fritz was one weird guy.

"Um. No, I'm going to be working tomorrow. But, uh, I can give you my number. You can call me if you have any questions. The employees here can't really tell you much about this job."

Fritz nodded, and Mike quickly added his phone number into Fritz's cracked flip-phone. The faster he could leave, the better. Not because of Fritz, but because he wanted to see Chica. She always knew what to say whenever his depression kicked in. Although slightly dulled from the preoccupation of keeping away homicidal robots, he still felt horribly empty from the news he'd received earlier that night. He wanted Chica right now. He needed Chica.

Fritz called a member of his gang to come pick him up, but Mike didn't hang around long enough to see them come. He halfheartedly returned Fritz's wave goodbye as he pulled out of the parking lot in his pickup. His mind was elsewhere, similar to how he felt in the library that one day.

The road stretched out endlessly in front of him, the occasional road sign glowing in the headlights as he passed it.

Jeremy is dead. What was Mike going to do now? Complain to Chica about it, then try to move on again? The worst part, though, was that it was so close to the loss of Amy. The hurt was slowly, surely, growing.

He felt a painful tightness in his throat. He had to take his mind off of this - especially while driving. He quickly smacked the CD player on. He didn't remember what he had in, but it had to be better than the complete and dangerous silence.

After a few seconds of silence, a tinny melody on an electric guitar announced the beginning of the recognisable Get Scared song "Mess". Mike knew this song inside out; every word, every note, every pause. He'd listened to it a lot with Amy. The time before he actually could relate to the story it told.

'Talk to me now while I'm sober... the way that you look I know it's almost over...'

He tried to concentrate on the words rather than the meaning, but it was so hard. Especially since he could almost hear Amy's loud, laughing voice among the vocals, singing along in that terrible but endearing tone of hers.

'How will I stop? When will I start learning? Will I come clean to say that I'm wrong? I'm the best kind of mess.'

This wasn't helping. Mike turned off the radio. Why did he even own a Get Scared CD? Their songs always made him sad.

He considered putting in another one, but a sudden memory of Jeremy and his band t-shirts and his iPod and earphones made him stop. No more music.

He was nearing Freddy's. Almost there, but not quite. He needed to talk to Chica.

...What if Chica didn't want to talk to him, though? ...Did Chica find him annoying and difficult like Amy did? What if they were all just acting, so he could feel better?

...What if Jeremy had been, too?

Mike felt something in the back of his mind relax. Not out of relief, but of acceptance. How could anyone really care about him? Fate made it known to him every time; everyone he ever grew close to left. Gone. Maybe he was meant to be alone... Maybe he wasn't meant to be at all.

In an out-of-mind decision, Mike let go of the steering wheel. He had to do it now, before he chickened out. Before he got into his right mind. Before sense kicked in.

Wasn't this what everyone wanted?

Without direction, the pickup began to escape the boundaries of the road. A bridge was nearing; one of those small concrete ones that connected one bank of a river to the other. He'd probably end up in there. That was fine. As long as it did the job.

The truck pitched violently forward as it fell off the raised blacktop and began it's off-road journey toward the river. Fourty feet from it.

Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet.

Mike closed his eyes.

CRASH!

Mike's eyes flew open again when a sudden roll of summer heat hit him. He was outside. He was on the side of the road, watching his pickup sink into the river.

Am I dead?

His question was answered when a hand suddenly smacked his shoulder.

"Are you stupid?!" The voice was male; deeper pitched, kind of like Scott's. Mike thought it was Scott, at first, before it dawned on him that Scott didn't have messy yellow hair or a top hat.

"What were you trying to do?!" Golden Freddy shouted again, gripping Mike's shoulders harshly in fury. He sounded extremely pissed off, which scared Mike a little. It occurred to him that Golden Freddy must have teleported him away from the danger. Why would he do that? Golden Freddy didn't answer that question, but rather shouted at Mike again; "What could have possibly enticed you to drive off into the freaking river?!"

Mike lowered his head.

Golden Freddy closed his eyes. He took a shuddering breath. He didn't let it out.

"You scared me." He hissed. "Don't ever do that again. You hear me?"

"Why do you care?" Mike shook the animatronic's hands off his shoulders and glared at him. "You never cared before."

Golden Freddy was quiet for a long moment. He gave Mike a terrifying stare.

"My sister, my brothers." He murmured hoarsly. "They've lost so much. Don't you dare add to that list. Don't you dare."

"...what do you mean?"

But Golden Freddy didn't say anything else. He grabbed Mike's arm roughly, and the world disappeared.

When it came back, they stood outside the pizzeria.

Golden Freddy none-too-gently grabbed Mike's keys from his jacket pocket, and unlocked the restaurant, nodding for Mike to go in.

"I won't tell them if you promise never to do that again." Golden Freddy told him in a warning tone. Mike nodded meekly. "Good. They're waiting for you backstage. My sister will be happy to see you."

Mike nodded again, beginning to walk away, not wanting to stick around the angry robot. But he was stopped by one last comment.

"I'm sorry about Jeremy. Really. But he wouldn't have wanted you to do that. I promise."

Mike turned sharply to look at Golden Freddy.

But he was gone.

Of course.

When Mike entered the stage area, Chica came to greet him, just as Golden Freddy told him. Without really thinking about it, Mike rushed into her arms. Chica was a little surprised and confused but all Mike wanted her to do was hold him. Please.

"M-Mike? What's wrong?"

He said nothing. He suddenly didn't want to. All he wanted was this small moment of comfort from the last person he truly loved.

I was listening to Mess just yesterday. It's perfect for Mike! I'll try to update within next week, but I'm going to be pretty busy with school so expect a slower schedule :/

~xXLoveThatAccentXx