"Hey kids! Fazbear and Friends will be right back after these messages!"

Evan Afton sat on the floor just before the tv, a Freadbear plush wrapped between his arms. Michael lay on the couch, extraneously disinterested in the program they were watching. In his personal opinion, he was far too old to be watching a kiddie show such as this.

"Evan, give me the remote already, I want to watch something actually interesting."

The younger brother looked back, "No, you already had your time with the tv."

Michael sighed, "Yeah, but it's not like there was anything interesting on to watch. Let me surf around and find something, we're on commercials anyway."

"How do I know you won't just keep the remote for yourself?"

Michael shrugged, slinking down from his spot on the couch, "Now why would I go doing something like that?"

"Because you've done it three times before."

"And yet you keep falling for it."

Evan pouted, turning back to the tv, "We're gonna be back from commercials soon anyway. Why can't you just wait til' I'm done?"

Michael stood up, "Guess you're right," he was about to lazily stride off when he suddenly bent down, aiming to snatch the remote out of Evan's hand. The boy narrowly kept it out of his brother's grasp, but in doing so left the bear unprotected. Michael snatched the golden plush, holding it far higher than Evan could reach.

"Give it back, give it back!"

"Oh, I dunno," Michael said, tossing it from hand to hand, "since I'm so bored, I might just flush it down the toilet."

"No!"

"A bit of tv might change my mind."

Evan looked as if his eyes were on the verge of watering. He held the remote out, to which Michael snatched, tossing the bear back. Evan caught it like one would a baby, as his brother flopped back onto the couch and began channel surfing.

"You care way too much about those plushies, you know," Michael said, "one day, someone worse than me is going to bully you with it."

"I can't help it," Evan sat back down, the bear once again trapped between his arms, "they're my friends."

/

"Evan, if that's really you in there, I'm sorry," Michael felt strange, as if the world around him had dropped away and the atmosphere itself had been sucked out of the room, "If I could go back and change things I would. I've been haunted by what happened every day."

How sad.

Was that sarcasm? Michael was too terrified to ponder it further. The two white dots of Evan's eyes pierced through him like needles, cutting through the shadows. Despite its inability to move, there was still something horrific about being so close to the animatronic. Perhaps it was just his own history with it, but there was definitely something ethereal about it. It was indefinable, invisible to the naked eye, but Michael could feel it in the same way one could sense a breath on the back of the neck.

I'm certain it's been hard for you. Poor poor Michael, having to live with the guilt of what you've done. Meanwhile, I have to live with the consequences of your actions.

"Evan please…"

Silence. I am more than what I was, and less than what I could have been. I am no longer your brother, and have no desire to be.

For the first time in perhaps too long, Michael could feel himself growing viscerally emotional. Sadness, anger, regret; everything which had been built up over the past few years was beginning to flow out of him.

"I'm going to make this right," Michael cried, "you need to give me that chance, I'm begging you, just give me that chance to make things better!"

There is no way to make things right. This is how things are, and this is how things shall be. You cannot do anything for me or the others, except die.

"MICHAEL LOOK OUT!"

The cry from Henry up above snapped Michael out of whatever trance he was in, pulling him back into the reality of the dingey old warehouse. It was clear that the old man had been trying to get his attention for some time. Before Michael could even process what was happening- STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP- it was Foxy! The metal of his feet clanged against the cold cement floor as he charged forward. In a rush of adrenaline Michael ran to the ladder, climbing up it just in time as the fox's loose jaw snapped shut on the spot where his legs were. Foxy attempted to climb the ladder, but upon gabbing a hold of it, it snapped, leaving the animatronic to stare up at them.

Both Michael and Henry looked down at the lost soul, it's mechanical eyes wholly dead, and totally unreadable. Eventually, it slunk away into the shadows. Michael glanced over towards Golden Freddy, still slumped in the same position, having not moved in the entire confrontation. He wanted to call back to it, to end their conversation on a different note, but he felt too shut off. It was as if Evan's spirit had closed itself off, no longer wishing to speak with him.

"What happened?" Henry asked.

"It was Evan," Michael explained, half dazed, "we were talking, and I must have been pulled in deeper than I realized."

"Talking?! You mean you were actually able to communicate with the soul inside that animatronic?"

"Well… yeah."

"Fascinating, if not terrifying."

"Why terrifying?"

Henry stroked his beard, "We are dealing with forces beyond either of us. Though I do not know much about the afterlife, I know that the dead don't often choose to communicate directly with the living."

The two men paused, taking a moment to let the weight of what had just happened sink in. It certainly made the mourning process a lot more complicated if nothing else. Michael so wished that he could take a breath, that he could feel his own heart beating with adrenaline, anything to help him calm down. Sadly, there was little solace to be found in his macabre form. It was something Michael was used to at this point, but that didn't make it any easier.

Henry, with the slow care of a loving parent, raised one hand to Michael's face, brushing away some of the tears which had rolled down his emaciated cheek.

"I'm sorry you've had to go through all this," Henry said.

Michael placed his own had to the other side of his face, removing it and looking down at the water in the palm of his hand. So, that was one thing he had left. After everything that had been taken from him, he could still cry. He hadn't even realized he had begun doing it.

"Out of everything I could have left in this garbage body… I'm stuck with a sign of weakness."

Henry placed his hand on Michael's shoulder, the two resuming eye contact once more.

"Not a sign of weakness, no. A sign that you're still very much human, and that even more so, that you are still you," he gave a weary smile. Michael was unsure as to what to say, but before he could so much as stutter, another animatronic came crashing forward.

The ladder shook. Startled, the two glanced over the side, frightened as to who it could be this time. It was Chica who was trying to climb it, a horrid wheezing emanating from her gaping maw. Michael shuddered. He had almost forgotten how far removed the newer models were when compared to the older animatronics.

"I think it would be best if we waited this out in the car."

Henry nodded, and the two rushed off to the front door. Michael was worried one of the animatronics would ambush them when coming down the ladder, but fortunately the maze of crates made it difficult for anyone to travel great distances via the warehouse's floor. Henry quickly locked the door behind them. There was scarcely enough time to catch one's breath before a hard pounding was to be heard against the door. Both Michael and Henry staggered back from the sheer shock of the sound, looking to see if it would be blown off its henges from the force. After a moment, the pounding stopped, and the sound of what could only be metallic footsteps could be heard fading away. They both, without another moment's hesitation, walked to the car as briskly as possible, slamming the doors behind them upon sitting down.

Henry breathed a sigh of relief, sinking down into his seat, "I think I'm a bit too old for this sort of thing."

"If you think this is nerve wracking, then try being locked in the building with them for hours on end," Michael nudged him on the shoulder.

"For both our sakes I think it would be best if we… er, well, if we both kept our distance from the machines from now on."

"Don't need to tell me twice, but hey, at least now we know they weren't stolen or destroyed."

"Indeed, which means your father is yet to come."

"Oh… joy." It was only then that the realization truly struck Michael that he had no real idea as to how he would react when faced with his father. Of course, he had some theories as to how it might go, and he certainly knew how he wanted it to go, but this confrontation with Evan had thrown everything into question. For the first time in quite a while, Michael had found himself becoming truly emotional. Not just the quiet fear which usually enveloped him in what had been his job, but true visceral, primal emotion. The type one only usually feels as a child, or sees in the movies. At least, that was how Michael perceived it.

The knowledge that that thing was truly his brother was just more than he was prepared to handle. If he had been the same old Evan, then that would have been one thing, after all, he had known that the boy would feel hurt or even angry with him, but this was something far and away beyond Michael's expectations. Who was to say his father wouldn't be the same? Michael had been preparing himself all these years to face down the man he remembered as a boy, running through imaginary scenarios of what to do and say in his head for years. It had been so long though, and if both he and Evan had changed in that time, then it was likely to reason that William would as well. What if he was less than Michael remembered him as? What if, now that he himself was grown up, all he came to face with was a frail old man, well past his prime? Michael had been shocked to see how much Henry had aged, so it stood to reason that his father had probably put on a few years too.

Then again, there was the other possibility. Age might have been an inevitability, but the way it changes a person varies. For all he knew, William had gotten worse. The man he remembered from childhood might have been a saint compared to what he was now, not having to worry about kids, a man who had already lost everything to his own machines.

Michael was unsure as to which he wanted to face the least. In some ways, he almost hoped the man would be nothing but a mindless monster. It would make things easier, not having to worry about any pretense of morality. If William truly was just some frail old man now, it would be difficult to do something like kill him without feeling bad about it. No! What was he saying? This was William Afton he was thinking of! No matter who he turned out to be in the present, it didn't erase the crimes he committed, nor the abuse he inflicted! At least… that's what Michael thought.

"Are you alright?"

Michael turned to face Henry, who was looking over at him concerned.

"I'm… I'm fine Uncle Henry," Michael glanced forward, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, "I guess I just… I don't know, sometimes I feel like I'm nothing but a slave to my past."

The old man nodded, slowly, "I think we both are, in some ways. I mean, it's difficult to say I'm the type to look forward when I'm holding onto the ghost of my little girl."

The response was much blunter than Michael expected. He almost felt bad after hearing it. Here he was, sulking about being ruled by his own past, while Henry stared his own down every single day in his own home.

"I guess that makes us two of a kind," Michael said, "do you think we'll ever be able to move forward?"

"As with everything, I believe that comes down to our own choices. There's no reason we need to stay here, we have chosen to do so of our own fruition. There's nothing stopping us from leaving all of this behind. You can turn on the engine and drive away right now if you like."

"You're not suggesting we quit, are you?"

"I most certainly am not, but I am suggesting that we have the choice to move forward should we desire to."

"You know it's not that simple," Michael rebutted, "we can't just leave all of this behind us. My father, the souls, we have a certain responsibility here."

"And the ones who decided we have that responsibility are you and I, no one else."

"Uncle Henry, what are you suggesting here? You're not seriously saying that we should just pack it up and move on?"

"Of course not," the old man stroked his beard contemplatively, "but it is true none the less. You and I are far too invested to let any of this go. We could, but we won't, and that is a mighty interesting predicament to be in."

Michael could not imagine himself walking away at this point. Was what Henry talking about really true? It had been years, and his father hadn't come after him at all. On the contrary, Michael was the one in pursuit. He took his shriveled, purple hand off the steering wheel, staring at it in the dim light of the parking lot which was shining through the car windows. The tears which once rested in his palm were gone, it was now merely the shriveled purple appendage he was used to. Involving himself with his father had made him this way, and the more time he spent dedicated to the cause, there was no telling how else it would affect him. Both physically, as well as mentally, he had been radically altered, virtually unrecognizable from his past self. Would it really be worth it to go further? To lose even more than he already had?

"Listen," Henry continued, "I didn't mean to get so into it. It was just something I thought was worth pointing out."

"I take it your mind is made up then?" Michael already knew what the old man would say, but for some strange reason, he felt the need to ask anyway.

"You know I'm dedicated to this. I'm almost as wrapped up in everything that happened as your father. Besides, if nothing else… I need to get revenge on the man who killed my daughter."

They spent the next few hours in silence, ears peeled for any sound that might have been an intruder. At a certain point, Henry's head began to nod off. He fought it for a little while, but by 2 am, he had dozed off. Michael contemplated whether or not to wake the man, but decided against it. By six am, nothing had happened.

Michael checked his watch, "Well, this was a waste of a night."

"Wh-what was that?" Henry asked drowsily, just beginning to wake up.

"We staked this place out all night, and my father, or whoever we were waiting for, was a no show," he turned the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life.

"Well, it was a long shot," Henry said, dejectedly.

Michael drove them out of the small parking area slowly. They waved to the guard on their way out. For some reason, he didn't ask for the keys back. At first, Michael wondered if it was because he had forgotten, but then he realized that asking your boss for the spare keys back was probably something intimidating for, what he presumed to be, a newbie.

The orange-gold of the sunrise was just beginning to perk up over the horizon of the trees which lined the high way, the other cars on the road few and far between. After the long night at the warehouse, there was something Michael found to be relaxing about driving. At this hour, he was usually driving home after a night of work, only just having survived the animatronics. It was a sign of relief, that the danger was over, at least for the time being. That wasn't the case anymore though. It was still the time he normally drove home after work, but any threat of death was gone, and in some way, that confused things. He never would have admitted it, but there was almost a melancholy to leaving the Glamrock animatronics and heading back to his ratty apartment. His near-death experience had reminded him of those old nights at Freddy's, the ones where he had to constantly be vigilant. In a twisted kind of way, it was almost like reuniting with old friends. Very murderous friends.

Then there was the matter of Evan. Michael could scarcely believe that he had actually spoken with his brother. After all these years, a part of him just wanted to write it off as a hallucination. It was perfectly understandable that Evan was angry with him, but Michael was beginning to wonder if he could really let him go with their relationship like this. The right thing to do was to free the souls, but if he were to do that the way things were, well, it was doubtful as to whether he would ever feel closure. There were so many people out in the world who would give anything to patch things up with a dead relative, and here Michael had that opportunity. He would be a fool to waste it.

He shook his head. He would need to just take everything one step at a time.