Dear Brother Part Two: They

by Control Room

It gets a little messier to deal with.

4. Yonder

It's best to read this before going to sleep. it is very tiring.

Even though their swim had been cut off short, they decided to hang out at the reserve for a little while longer. Jeremy just laughed and waved away his friends' concern, saying nonchalantly that he was fine, and that absolutely nothing was wrong at all. Although most of the security guards knew he was lying, but also knew that he just… wanted some time and space. Mike duly noted that they all had different coping methods,each one reflecting something of their personalities. It was a quiet observation, but the more he thought about it, the odder and more reasonable it seemed. Fritz noticed his introspection and playfully togged his cap, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Hey, what was that for?" Mike asked, readjusting his hat, but he was smiling as he rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone like messing with my hat?"

"Cause it's, like…" Dementia made a hand motion, attempting to signify what she meant. "Fun? It's like, right there, and kinda very tempting, ya get me?"

"Agreed," Scott hummed, chuckling slightly internally, Vincent staring at him openly with a dumb smile. Scott subtly put his hand on his, unnoticed by all but Jeremy. "It's just something that comes rather as a reflex than a choice."

Whether he noticed it or not, his hand tightened on Vin's, and the purple man blushed as he thought about it. He decided to ask Scott out, but before he could even get his mouth open, Fritz's cell phone rang.

"It's William," he said, without much thought. He was handing it over to Vincent when Scott snatched it. Fritz looked dumbfounded. "Phone, what, why?"

"No," Scott snarled into the phone as soon as he answered the call. "That's final. Do you understand, Mr. Afton? Good, I'm glad we're at a credible median here. I refuse to let you near them. This whole affair is between you and I, and if you dare, all bets are off."

He hung up, positively fuming. His companions looked at him, concerned and wondering. They rarely saw Scott angry, and even less often seen him act upon his anger. He was more systematic, more calculative, and by far more patient than most of the world. So if he was mad at William, he either had a good reason or long fuse (probably both). He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back.

"I probably shouldn't take the shift tonight," he thought aloud, yet there was a hint of laughter in the tone, as though he knew he shouldn't ever take the shift, yet inexplicably did so nearly every night, thrusting care to the wind, and hoping God will do him no injustice. "Mike, Dementia, and 5.0.5., you three are on the shift, Fritz, you will go with Blake as a bit of a collateral. I have business to attend to tonight. Vincent, make sure you are with Jeremy and Eggs at all times. Blake, Flug and Fritz, same goes for you. Understand?"

A chorus of "yep"s and "sure"s followed suit, only afterwards realizing. Scott critically scanned each of them, and nodded.

"Quick question," Flug butted into the silence. "What's going on, and since when are you in charge of this?"

"Since Mike's frontal lobe was torn," he replied, a tight and cautious smile flashing briefly. "As for 'what's going on', bad things. I hope that I'll be able to say the rest, but for now, it's best if the five of us don't go missing. Then people wouldn't be framed."

"Hey, hey, are you accusing my dad of the murder of the five kids?" Vincent asked incredulously, eyes wide. "I know I didn't do it, but…."

"Not a word more on the subject, Purple," Scott ordered. His mouth snapped shut. Scott sighed, tiredness prevalent on his features. "I know, Vin, as well as you. Hopefully I can wrap this up quickly and safely. However, it's not the best time for you all to be around me. Go."

The last word was not an order, but a plea. Jeremy narrowed his eyes, but nodded anyways, as though he understood the entirety of the situation but not the reasons behind it.

"C'mon guys," he sighed, giving up his thoughts to a futile battle, his question marks flickering in debate. "If Phone says it's not safe, then it's not. Better safe than sorry."

"This feels like a story that the plot just gets more complicated with every turn," Fritz said, giving you a look. You smile knowingly.

"Who are you… what the heck looking at Fritz?" Mike asked, looking in the same direction, confused at seeing nothing. "There's literally nothing there, what the heck are you looking at?"

You giggle.

"Let's go," Flug muttered,rolling his eyes and heading in the direction of the car. "I can run some tests on him at the lab to see if he's going crazy."

"Ha, that's a nice one," Fritz chuckled, then realized it was not a joke. He broke off in a run after the doctor. "Wait a second ya mad b******…."

"Wait," Dementia said, finally processing the fact that Phone volunteered her to do the dreaded night shift. "So I'm gonna be trapped in a room with him," she gestured at the whole of Mike, "for about six hours, while six and a half foot tall animatronics try to murder us. Is that about right?"

"Yep," Mike replied, then processed the situation himself.

"Wait, Scott, you can't do this to me," he and Dementia said practically in unison. Then they looked at each other as the Phone Guy looked on smugly.

"I hope you see my point of view clearly, as I'm sure you do," he concluded. "Now, be off. Go and mentally prepare yourselves. You're both probably going to need it."

"If anything happens to either of them, I'll have your head on a spit," Black Hat threatened him vaguely yet menacingly. Scott looked non repulsed, in fact, he seemed to have found it rather amusing. "I don't see what you find funny at all, Mr. Cawthon."

"You're just not the first person to tell me that," he replied with a dark chuckle, then glanced behind Blake. "And you most definitely won't be the last. The first time… let's just say someone else is also aiming for my skull. If you understand that the longer you stay around me the more danger you're in, you'd better be off."

"What do yo-" Blake began angrily, but was cut off by the sudden, terrifying, dreading, and damning feeling of eyes on the back of his head, and he swiveled around, seeing nothing. A bout of nervousness swarmed into his stomach and chest in a rapid flurry. He shrugged, trying to ignore the feeling, and clapped Mike on the shoulder. "Nevermind. Let's go."

Mike scanned Scott's face carefully and expertly, trying to get any information from him, but all he could see was the passive mask he wore. At long last, he harrumphed, took Dementia gentlemanly by the hand, and went off with her and his brother, 5.0.5. scampering after them. Jeremy, Eggs, and Vincent looked at Scott with disbelief.

"You can't be serious," Jeremy stated firmly, but the question marks wavering above his eyes showed his doubt. "C-can you?"

"I am completely serious," Scott replied warily, giving the smallest man a hug. He glanced at the other two security guards. "I'm trusting you guys to take care of each other. Check on Mike and Fritz often." He swallowed roughly, paling slightly. "You… you guys should go."

"B-But," Eggs stuttered uncharacteristically. "Why? This is complete bs, don't get me wrong, Phone. I can tell when something is wrong, mate, and something is definitely wrong here."

"Guys, it's hopeless," Vincent sighed, trying to avoid looking Scott in the eye. "We… dammit, I hate to admit it, but he's right. We should go."

"Fine," Eggs snapped, blinking back tears of anger. "Fine. If you get hurt, Scott, I… I don't know what I'll do. Something not pretty, that's for sure."

"I'll be alright," he replied with a wave of his right hand, to distract them from his left, crossed behind his back. "I promise."

The car honked. Eggs stormed to it, Jeremy slowly following. He glanced back at Scott, keeping his feelings of dread at bay. Vincent looked at his crush in the eye, and was surprised to see the barely disguised fear. Vincent left, but felt worried. Scott was never scared.

Scott, one hand in his pocket, waved at the retreating car. As soon as it was out of sight, his hand dropped to his side lamely. He focused on his breathing even as he heard soft footsteps coming up from behind him. The click of the gun made him falter in his façade of cool and collected.

"Heh, you always were a wimp," William chuckled, pressing the revolver to the base of Scott's head. "Sending your friends away so they won't see you die."

"I… I have a deal for you," Scott admitted, swallowing back bile. "If you'll listen."

"You rejected my offer," he snarled back, jamming the gun roughly against his neck, trying to elicit a sound of pain from the taller man, growling and hitting him again when he failed. "What's your deal, Scotty boy? It better be a good one."

"I'll tell you where Sammy is," he forced, detesting the words coming from his own mouth. "If you promise not to hurt my family, or him."

"I knew it," William hissed, adjusting his grim grip on the weapon, pushing it harder against Scott's neck. "I knew it. You knew where that little s*** was the whole time, didn't you? Answer me."

"Yes," he sighed quietly, barely breathing the affirming word. He had a sudden vision of a tombstone, marked with his own name. "I know where he is. I always have. I even talk to him regularly. He's a good kid."

"Why doesn't Henry have your head on a spit yet?" 'Dave' demanded with rage. "You lose his only son for fifteen years, only for it to turn out you knew where he was the whole time?!"

"Because Henry knows as well."

"W-What?!" Afton stiffened. "That makes no sense!"

"He's right, Dave," Henry announced, stepping out of his car. He glanced at Scott's shocked expression and shrugged. "Michael told me where you were. Hey, are you aware he's cheating on your sister with that new punk like pink haired girl?"

"Mike and Scout have an open relationship, at least while Scout is still in school in Alaska," Scott replied, albeit a little uncomfortable, especially about the topic and situation in general. "Thanks for coming… I guess? How did you know to come, anyways? Mike might've told you where I was, but how did you know to come?"

"Had a feeling," he shrugged, then flashed a grin and a wink. He pulled from the passenger seat a fold out chair and plopped down in it. He cracked open a beer and chugged half of it. He motioned for the other two to join him. "Sit, c'mon."

"Alright," William begrudgingly said, lowering the gun. Scott deflated with relief. Dave sat in the passenger seat, so Scott sat on the ground. Henry tossed Will a beer, and offered one to Scott, who refused. William took a swig. "Whaddya want, Henry? You're my best friend, so ya better be smart with your words. I don't want there to be a double homicide on my case."

"Dot dot dot," Scott said, but not literally. More like comic book speech. Henry gave him a knowing look. He cleared his throat. "Sammy is in a place Henry and I know of, but in a place that you are not aware that he is in."

"Exactly," Henry grinned. William scowled. Scott did nothing. "And, by the by, along a similar line, a certain thing that you and I are aware of, but an item that Scott doesn't know about, is with me."

"You wouldn't dare," William roared, leaping to his feet with narrowed eyes. Henry took a slow, humorous sip from his can of beer, looking over at him from the metallic brim. Dave blinked, then sat back down. "W-would you?"

"I'm going to, actually, and right now," he answered cheerily. William glared through his soul. "Yes. I will do it. Right this very minute."

He turned to face Scott. A devilish grin hid behind his orange beard. Scott was nervous all of a sudden, though used to his boss's usual joyous mood, this new snicker from the Great Demon's doorstep itself was a little more than lightly disconcerting. He swallowed roughly.

"You will not and c-cannot give a third t-to… to HIM!" William sputtered in an incredulous rage. Henry merely tilted his head as a joke. "I-I'm serious here, Flittar!"

"And I'm also very serious in this sincere situation as well, Afton," he replied calmly, then took a paper out of his briefcase. Dave stared at it in wonder and anger. "I had hidden it inside one of the left arm hatches of the Golden Freddy suit. It, uh, might have a little bit of blood on it from Scott."

"I… I'm not sure I follow what you're getting at, sir," Scott mumbled. Henry rolled his eyes and passed him the slip of paper. Scott ignored Dave's angry glare as he read the document, eye widening when he reached the ending. "You can't be serious."

"I am."

"But… this makes no sense!" Scott protested weakly, trying to make Henry take back the confounding paper. William looked at it as though his gaze alone could destroy it. "My mother said that she lost her deed, along with her Spring Chika suit!"

"She did not," William said dully, as though he had just realized with a jolt this was a fight that he couldn't win. "She gave it to Henry for safe keeping. To keep it away from me."

"And you should read things more carefully," Henry chuckled. "That's not your mom the deed is referring to. S. Cawthon isn't Samantha. It's Scott, as it talks about the pizza recipe. You made it, not your mom."

"I… I did," Scott acknowledged, still confused slightly, then realization dawned on him. "So… does that mean… I own a third of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria?! What the heck?! Why didn't my mom tell me?! Why didn't you tell me?! What the s***?!"

"I didn't tell you because your dad asked me not to," Henry replied quietly. There was none of the usual mirth in his voice, in fact, he seemed upset. "I spoke to your mother after… he passed. She told me it would be better to wait for a bit, when you were ready. Due to recent events, I thought now was the perfect time. Turns out, I was right."

"Ya d*mn right you were," William said grouchily, nursing his beer before he took a swing from it. "I didn't want Scott to know 'cause, well, he's just a kid. He shouldn't be involved."

"You know as well as I that he is a fully capable adult, just as you and me," Henry cut in sternly. "He's been with Fazbear's since we opened. He saved Baby from, well, Baby, at the sister location. He puts up with Vincent, Mike, and Eggs everyday. He handles orders, animatronics, customers, keeps Fritz from killing himself with his gadgets, protects Jeremy, and knows how to get around. He is capable of simply running the Pizzeria. He's worked on minimum wage for far too long, and it's time to give him the right check. I know you've been holding back on him. I've seen the records. You're blackmailing him, and now I'm blackmailing you."

"You sonofab*tch!" Dave roared, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, eyebrows forming a sharp 'v'. "We're a team! Not you make your decisions and I go with them!"

"Nor can you attempt to murder my son without asking," Henry retorted, still as calm as a lake in spring time. "We're a team, right? You can't just make a vile decision and act upon it, especially when you know it would harm me most of all. The only thing that I was glad about that day was how I left Scott at the register. He saw what you did, and rescued Sammy from the springlock suit. He brought Sammy, dying, to me. He gave me an offer that would give the three of us, him, Sammy, and I, total anonymity. I eagerly accepted, and so, you still think that Sammy managed to escape alone and ran away. But no. I know exactly where he is, as does Scott. I only feel pain for Charlie, who does not know that her own twin is alive and well."

"WHERE IS HE, THEN?!" William screamed, the main vein in his neck throbbing and horrific. He pressed the gun against Scott's temple again, gripping his red hair to keep him from moving. "TELL ME, NOW, OR I SHOOT HIM!"

"I'm right here," a young man's voice, forced to be straight, said. Scott stared at Henry in terror and awe. "Now let Uncle Scott go."

"S-Scott?" a female voice, trembling, whispered. "Scott, what's going on? Didn't you call me?"

"What? No!" Scott grit his teeth, maintaining eye contact with his twin sister. "Scout, take Sammy and go."

"They're not going anywhere," Henry stated powerfully, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. He looked similar to his father, but slightly lankier and with a clean shaven face. "I called them."

"But it was Scott's voice I heard," Scout retorted, hands on her hips, eyes searching. Her working eye at least. Her right eye was covered by a white glaze, blind from birth. "Explain that, Mr. Flittar."

"Easy," he chuckled, pulling out of his bag a recorder. He pressed a button.

"Hello, hello?" it crackled in Scott's voice. "Hi Scout."

He grinned.

"Those… those are tapes off of my phone," Scott jumbled, staring at the recording device. "How did you get them?"

"Eggs handed them in," he grinned again, "I paid him quite a bit for them."

"So," William swallowed, trying to avoid yelling. "Scout was protecting Sammy. But who's protecting you, Scott?"

The blood drained from his dark face. Dave grinned viciously.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he breathed, feeling his heart beat three times too fast. "I don't need to be protected."

"Mhmm," Afton rolled his eyes. "That's what you think. If I were you, I'd take better care of where I put my recordings. I'd definitely not leave them in the phone, where the next person on the shift would hear it. You sing well, by the way."

"Michael…" Scott felt sick to his stomach, "oh f*** no."

His phone rang.

"Yeah, so this operates the light, and underneath that, is the door switch," Mike instructed, feeling both a little dumb and a little prideful. "When the animatronics come too close that you can't see them off camera, you check the light to see if they're in your blind spot. Bonnie the b*tch is usually first to go, then Chika, then Freddy. Foxy is the tricky one."

"Alright," Dementia nodded, taking in every detail of the small office. "I bet this place is terrifying at night."

"Yup," he replied, popping the 'p'. "Nightmarical."

5.0.5. let out a little whine. Dementia patted him. He smiled a little. After a bit of silence, the main power went out. Mike assured Dementia that that was completely normal, and she and nothing to be worried about. They worked in silence. Hours ticked by, the painful death literally around the corner every moment. Leaping to slam the opposite door shut, peaking out the room to yank back and seal the door breathlessly as Foxy hammered on it. A phone call from Blake, just to check on them. Bonnie stared at them through the camera.

"Hey, Mike?" Dementia hesitantly said quietly, trying not to startle him. He nodded to signify he was listening. "Do you, uh, have a significant other? I know it's a weird question, but you seem like the type of guy most girls would fawn and swoon over."

"I have a girlfriend." Informative.

"Oh." Disappointed.

"We have an open relationship." An attempt at closeness.

"Really?" Cautiously relieved,hiddenly joyous.

"Yes." Half a truth.

"Do you like me?" A start.

"…. Yes, I do. Do you, uh, like me?" A minute step forward, then a slide.

"You're attractive. I think I like you." Rebalancement. Putting a shaking hand on a steady bar.

"Do you… want to kiss?" A jump.

"Yes." Caught.

Their eyes met. Their hands touched, and held onto one another. A very slow movement forward. Another, then a slight pull back. Determination. Steady and slow,ghosting each other's gentle movement. A meeting in the middle as they kissed.

It was short and careful, and ended almost as soon as it had begun. 5.0.5. looked on with an odd happiness. His flower seemed to grow a little.

"That was great," Dementia giggled, blushing. Mike thought he loved that blush. It brought out her eyes and hair. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah," he replied with a smile. "I loved it. I love you."

"I love you, too," she admitted, twirling a lock of her hair. "Do you wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Of course," Mike answered, lighting up with happiness. "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Duh," she laughed again. Mike laughed too.

The phone rang.

"Your lab is awesome!" Fritz marveled, swinging his feet as he looked about like a child in a candy store. "All I've got at home is my old computer and a couple of spare parts I 'borrowed' from the pizzeria."

"I'm glad you like it," Dr. Flug answered emotionlessly on the surface, but brimmed with pride under his mask. "Took years to perfect. I really enjoy working for Black Hat. I have pretty much total freedom, except for the fact that I have to fill an invention quota of three inventions or upgrades a month."

"My boss, Henry, is pretty chill, too," Fritz shrugged, stuffing down his jealousy. "I don't like William though."

"How does that work?" Flug asked, tossing him a monkey wrench. "Are they both your boss?"

"Yeah," he replied, tightening a loose bolt on the bottom of a nuclear reactor. "They built Fazbear's together. Scott had been there as well, right from the start, fifteen years ago."

"How old was he when he started working there?" Blake asked from his perch on the window sill. "Relatively."

"A little before he turned fifteen," Fritz answered, glancing up before returning his attention to the machine he and Flug were working on. "There's a rumor that he made the pizza recipe itself."

"How old is he now," Dr. Slys questioned to himself, adjusting a wire and sealing a panel. "Thirty?"

"He's twenty nine," Fritz informed him. "He was born December twenty first XXXX, at eleven fifty eight pm. His twin was born January first, at twelve o' three. Five minutes apart, yet a whole year between them."

"That's hilarious," Blake grinned, then waved away Cam-bot, who was offering him a drink. "No, thank you."

Fritz's phone rang.

"Hey, Fritz," Jeremy said into the phone, twisting the cord nervously. "You having fun?"

"Yup," his voice cackled through the speaker.

"Good ta hear, mate," Eggs nodded. "Jerm's been worried sick."

"Have not!" he squeaked, and Vincent gave him a look. "Okay, maybe a little."

"We tried calling Cawthon earlier," Vincent added. "He didn't pick up."

"Weird," they heard Flug say. "He seems like the kind of person that doesn't let his phone ring twice."

"He is," Fritz said, sounding a little worried himself now. "Did anyone check on Mike, Dementia, and 5.0.5.?"

"Yeah," Blake affirmed. "I called them a while ago."

"Good," Eggs sighed, rubbing his temple, then his stomach with a grimace. "Fookin' h*ll, this period is awful. I'm going ta lie down."

"Stay in the living room," Vincent instructed. "Lay on the couch, I'll get your pillow and blanket."

"Thanks, mate," Eggs groaned, and curled up on the couch. "I want murder."

"Dementia also has really bad periods," Flug informed Eggs. "Sometimes she used to faint from the pain."

"Not helpful, doc," he replied through gritted teeth, gratefully accepting the chocolate Jeremy handed him. "I feel like I'm going to faint myself."

"I said used to," Flug reminded Eggs. "I made her a chocolate that virtually removes all pain."

"Here," Blake said through a dimensional rift, passing the bar to Jeremy, who gave it to Eggs. He nibbled on it as Vincent gave him his pillow and blanket. "Hope it makes you feel better."

"Thank you," Edward said quietly.

"No problem," both Vincent and Blake replied.

"I'm happy to see that we're already almost a family," Jeremy smiled, but it faded slowly. "Um, Blake?"

"Yes?"

"I am certain that you know we're very poor," he began hesitantly. Both rooms quieted. "And Scott told me we won't be able to pay for our next month's rent and still afford food. So, uh, do you think we can move in with you guys?"

Silence.

"Black Hat?" Flug asked softly. "Are you alright? Are you… crying? Jefe, are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he cried softly. "I just feel terrible. Here I am, living in a mansion, with limos and yachts, and I live comfortably, while the brother, my only brother, whose life I ruined, lives in an apartment he can barely afford, even with his friends help, and can't even buy food. I feel like such a jerk!"

"It's not your fault," Vincent muttered looking at his shoes. "If it's anyone's fault, it's my dad's. He shouldn't have made those robots so deadly and dangerous. He should've listened to Henry and Scott."

"Maybe," Blake continued sadly. "But I should have reached out rather than avoided the situation."

"Does that mean you'll let us in?" Eggs asked hopefully. Black Hat laughed tearfully. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Definitely," Fritz chuckled. "Flug looks terrified."

"Obviously," the doctor hysterically shouted. "Blake is crying, and we're having six people moving in. Give me two weeks to get everything arranged, alright?!"

"Fine, fine," Vincent huffed, but looked relieved. "At least we'll be able to sleep somewhere in a month, instead of the street."

"Thank you so much, Blake," Fritz said with a small smile. "You don't know how much we needed this."

"It's nothing," he replied with a sniffle, rubbing his eyes. "I just hope it'll make things a little bit better between me and Mike."

"We all do," Jeremy whispered, tightening his grip on a cup. "We all do."

The phone rang.

"This makes no sense," Mike breathed, in shock. He and Dementia were staring at the phone which had played a message mere moments before. "How could Will've blackmailed Scott?"

"No clue," she replied with narrowed eyes. "But this explains why Scott snatched the phone from Fritz earlier."

"That it does," he said. "We have to tell the others."

"We do, but when can we get out of here?" Dementia questioned thoughtfully. "Without dying, that is."

"Hang on," he thought aloud, looking quizzically at 5.0.5.. "How much do you think he looks like an animatronic?"

"He looks a little like Freddy, I guess," she answered, slightly confused. "What are you thinking, Mike?"

"I have an idea," he hesitantly said quietly. "But we're gonna have to act fast."

A few minutes later, after Mike explained his plan, they put it in action. Dementia peaked out of the right door, flinching a little when she saw Chica, with a slack jaw staring at her.

"Hey," she said strongly, despite feeling foolish for talking to the robot. "Are you a duck or a chicken?"

No reply. Dementia didn't expect one.

"'Cause you're actually really freakish," she continued, smirking as she ignored her dread. "I never noticed how creepy you were before."

Chika's eyes narrowed almost humanly, seemingly in anger. Dementia took a anxious step back, halfway into the office.

"Do I have to provoke her again?" Dementia asked Mike quietly, barely breathing. "I really don't want to."

"I don't think so," he whispered back, checking the camera. "Nope. Hopefully this'll work… I've never tried before, but Scott told me it does."

"How long has Scott worked here?" she muttered, clutching the tape Mike had given to her from the phone tightly to her chest. "Just for reassurance."

"About fifteen years," he mumbled, glancing at the left hall. He snapped back into the room and pulled Dementia to the floor. She looked surprised. Mike furrowed his eyebrows, because she wasn't unaware that this was part of the plan. So what surprised her? "What?"

"Fifteen f***ing years," she whispered hoarsely, "this is hell, how did he do it?"

"I dunno," he replied, then heard the rush of Foxy's sprint. "But we're about to find out!"

Foxy ran into the open office, just as Chika came in as well, and his momentum carried him over the two people crouched on the floor, unwinding to crash into Chika.

"Go go go!" Mike exclaimed as the robots clashed. He shoved 5.0.5. in front of them, and Bonnie stepped aside to let them pass, clearly fooled by the large blue bear. They dashed to the exit, hearts pounding as Mike fumbled with the lock. As soon as he managed to click the door open, they burst out, panting. Mike, hands above his knees, head lowered as he huffed breathlessly, pulled up slowly. Dementia was staring back into the pizza place, looking directly at Freddy, who still stood on the stage. Mike cleared his throat. "Call Blake, and I'll call Vincent. We have to let them know."

Dementia nodded vigorously, clutching 5.0.5.'s furry paw. She pushed a button on her watch as Mike dialed on his flip phone Vincent's number. They rang at the same time. They picked up at the same time.

"Hello?" Vincent and Blake said together on different lines. "Vincent / Blake is that you?"

"Technically yes, technically no," Dementia giggled. "It's me, Mike, and 5.0.5.. Can you send Cam-bot to pick us up? It might be safer to spend tonight at the mansion."

"Agreed," Mike said, nodding once. "Can't leave anyone alone, it's not safe."

"Okay," Blake replied, then said something away from the phone. "I sent Cam-bot to pick you three up. Tell me more when you're here, at home. Stay safe, you guys. Love you."

'We'll try,' 5.0.5. thought to himself hopefully. "Arroo."

"You said it, buddy," Vincent sighed. Blake had hung up. "Hey, Mike? If you see Scott, bring him home. I'm worried about him."

"We all are," Mike muttered, but felt his throat tighten. "L-Listen, about that… he is in danger."

Silence.

"V-Vin? You still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah… I'm still here. Huh. Danger, you say?"

Mike swallowed roughly. He didn't want to tell Vincent the bad news, but if he didn't, who would? Dementia was frightened,and she was only putting on a brave face to keep 5.0.5. from freaking the f*** out. Hell, he was terrified himself. The terrible information that had been learned was a game changer, and introduced William as far more dangerous than Mike ever would have suspected him to be. Sure, he never really trusted the man, but he never crossed his mind to be a murderer, let alone a murderer of his business partner's son. It was scary, for lack of a better word. Almost horrifying, but with an 'I should've known better' attitude. He couldn't tell Vincent, yet he had to. There was no other way to be safe. They were family. And Mike Schmidt does and will do anything for his family.

"Mikey?"

He suddenly couldn't talk. Vincent sounded so worried, and Mike couldn't do it. He just couldn't bring himself to formulate the words that caught in his mouth. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't….

"William was the murderer," Dementia butted in quickly, knowing that if she didn't act quickly, Mike might have a panic attack. Vincent was quiet. She thought she could hear Jeremy say, 'Do you believe them? C-cause I… I do.' Something felt lodged in her throat. "There's too much proof. Please, please, Vincent, listen to us. Scott's been blackmailed to keep you all safe, and he's definitely reaching a breaking point. He's losing his mind, and all he does is take care of you guys, aside from eat and sleep occasionally. He hasn't been taking his meds because he doesn't pay for his insurance, 'cause he pays for Eggs'. His depression and anxiety is catching up to him, mentally and physically. William's blackmail is just taking a toll on him, but it's large. Please, Vincent, believe us. Please, do it for Scott."

"Dammit… sh*t," Vincent hissed, as though in pain. "Sh*t sh*t sh*t. I knew it. Dammit. I should have paid more attention. Ugh, I'm a f*ckin' idiot. I know where Scott is. Guys, get over here with Cam-bot. Hurry."

"Look!" Dementia called, pointing down the street. Not a moment later, Cam-bot pulled rushed into the vehicle, and Dementia sat shot gun. "Go to Mike's apartment, pronto. Expand car to hold five and 5.0.5., got it?"

The car embiggened as they rounded the corner in a drift, Mike suddenly finding himself an entire row away from Dementia. They screeched to a halt right before the three nightshift guards, Vincent holding slid in, outstretching his arms to take in the sleeping Edward, who was (un) surprisingly light. Mike jolted back when Vincent closed the door, not getting in the car.

"Go," he commanded, but not without emotion. "Go. Get to Blake, I'm going to help Scott."

"We can't just… just leave you here!" Jeremy protested, upset. He pulled Eggs closer to his chest, like he was his lifeline. "Y-Y-You're family… family. You, you know th-that, r-r-right?"

"I do," Vincent admitted with a sad grin. "But Scott's family, too. And I'm not putting my family in danger while I save more family. C'mon, guys. I'll be back before lunch, I promise."

"Do you swear?" Mike asked, mad but understanding. "If you don't, get in the freaking car."

"I swear," he replied without hesitation, holding both hands up. "And I swear that I'll have Scott with me, or so help me God, I will kill someone."

"There's the Vincent we know and love to hate," Eggs mumbled blearily before falling back into a restless sleep.

"Okay," Jeremy sighed sadly. "Please stay safe. Come home, Vin. Please come home."

He nodded and stood beneath a halo of a streetlamp, looking after the car as it moved from his sight. He turned away and ran. He ran, depending only on muscle memory and the thrum of his heart. He ran up the street, and sharply turned onto Henry's pathway, and hastily knocked on the door. Charlie opened it and silently ushered him in after glancing about nervously. She pulled him into the living room, where there was a soft chatter. Two men and one woman looked up at the newcomer.

"Ah, Vincent," Henry grinned. "So nice of you to join us. You remember Sammy, do you? You were around thirteen or fourteen when you saw him last."

"Hello, future - brother - in - law," Scout said, almost emotionlessly. Her head was lowered again, and she gripped her cup of streaming tea tightly. "If you're looking for Scott, get in line."

"I don't understand," Vincent muttered, pulling his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. "Where is Scott? This makes no sense. He is rational and…."

"I know Uncle Scott," Charlie said quietly, "and you're right, this isn't like him."

"I agree, Char," Sammy nodded, seeming a little upset himself. "Uncle Scott thinks before he does. It's not like him to just tackle William into the lake."

"Oh yeah, I forgot to mention," Henry said brightly in reply to Vincent's horrified expression. "Scott shoved Dave into the lake, and they both vanished. We looked everywhere, but we couldn't find them."

Vincent was silent again, thinking. He looked up with terror in his eyes, which sharply morphed into determination and anger. He nodded jerkily at all of the people in the room before abruptly turning and dashing out of the house. He quickly hot wired a nearby motorcycle and wheelied onto the road, tires squealing as he zoomed away. He only had one thing in mind, or rather, more precisely, one person. Scott. His flaming red hair. Sparkling golden brown critical eye. Snap corral quick sharp wit. Strong, muscled, toned body. Amazing dark build and complexion, scarred with pale streaks, that reminded Vincent of gold ore in beryl. Beautiful, sweet, kind, personality. Amazing voice. Scott Cawthon. His Scott.

The break he yanked the bike into was awfully sloppy, but he couldn't care less. He jumped off the motorbike. He ran into the hallway of his old high school. He dashed down the path, but paused a moment by his locker. It was unused, as he changed the combination and never told anyone what he put it at. He slowed down as he crept down the hall. He looked for a sign he was right about this, and hoped desperately he was. He passed the bathroom and the janitor's closet, but froze when he heard a very defined "SH*T!"

"Scott?!" he exclaimed, whipping around to pick the lock of the closet. "Scott, are you ok? Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I'm fine," he replied, though muffled by the wooden door that swung open as Vincent picked the lock. Scott flew out, breathing heavily. He tripped over his own feet, yet continued to scramble away from the closet, feeling like the ninth grader he once was, who had been called 'faggot' and 'freak'. But he suddenly stopped, and moved over to the purple guy. He gripped his arm. "Vincent. Are you alright, Vin? I hope you weren't worried about me, I can handle myself. I was so worried that you would get hurt, please tell me you weren't worried, I'm so sorry, oh, please tell me you're ok, Vinny, are you ok? I'm so sorry, I should've explained myself, but I couldn't, you need to be safe, I don't matter, are you ok?" He brushed up the hair from the speechless Vincent's watering eyes. "Oh no, please don't cry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-"

"Stop talking," Vincent instructed, pressing two fingers against Scott's soft, sweet, beautiful lips to quiet him. "I'm ok. But if anything had happened to you, I wouldn't've been." He moved his hand to the back of Scott's intelligent, witty, incredible head. "You need to understand that I love you in far more ways than one. I'm ok if you don't recuperate my romantic feelings toward you, but if you don't love me as family, then…" his hand brushed across Scott's handsome, smooth, provocative hair, and his heart pounded. He ignored it, "I don't know what I'll do."

"You are family, and I do love you," Scott replied, looking down at Vincent in a non condescending manner. "I really do, a lot."

Tears pricked Vincent's eyes. He swiftly wrapped his arms around Scott, who let out a surprised squeak. He basically flung himself onto Scott's toned, strong, comforting chest, tightening his embrace as he began to weep. He wasn't crying out of sadness, but from the intimacy of the situation. He cried harder when he felt Scott cautiously put his own muscular, defined, kind arms around the slightly smaller man. Vincent couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss Scott, he wanted Scott so badly, but he wasn't going to force him into a relationship. Scott rocked with him, soothing him with his just presence. Vincent just wanted to be with him. Just the two of them, maybe also the other guards. Maybe Black Hat inc., too. The family, no, his family. That would be good. It would be absolutely perfect. Vincent felt himself drift off even as he clung to Scott. He forced himself to wake up, trying to keep the veil of sleep away. He looked up at Scott's firm, wise, perfect face, then cuddled back into his chest. Breathing in… and out… in… and out…. The steady rise and fall of Scott's chest. Calm and steady. Up… and down… up… and down…. Gentle. Smooth. Timeless. Seconds pass, one at a time, yet still it was timeless. One… two… one… two… one… two…. His eyes fluttered, falling lower every time. Open… lowered… open… lowered… open… lowered…. A yawn of exhaustion, the stress of the day finally falling upon him. He felt himself being carried out of the school, set down in a car. The ride was gentle. The door opened, and he was aware of Scott slide in beside him. He pulled him over his chest, tightening his arms gently. Vincent snuggled over him, not caring that they were still in the car that Scott, brilliant, beautiful, Scott, probably stole. Vincent gazed up at him. His face was illuminated by the stars, the dark skin taking on a pale, glowing look. His eyes were closed, breathing even. Vincent's breath caught in his throat. Scott's mouth was barely open, lips parted ever so slightly, tempting, ooh, so tempting… the primal urge to kiss, to bite, to take, it was there, and it was invading his senses, roughly and swiftly. Vincent swallowed the lump in his lungs and exhaled slowly. He was stronger than this. He could beat his desires. He sighed. He pulled himself up to press his lips to Scott's forehead. He lowered himself back onto Scott's chest, listening to his breathing and heartbeat as he faded to sleep under the stars that slowly, yet swiftly passed overhead in the firmament. Just in… and out… just in… and out… just in… and out….