February, 1983:

Michael stared at Evan sitting carelessly on the front porch, contently clutching his new Foxy plush in his hands, the Fredbear plush left on the wood planks beside him. He frowned, resenting the item in the boy's hands- another new, shiny gift from their father for him to add to his growing collections of toys and presents.

His anger furthered not only at this thought, but also that he was stuck here having to watch the little brat.

"Jeeeez, Mike... you're winding up tighter than a top, there," Allison crooned with a biting smile. He scowled at her, arms crossed tightly.

"You'd be too if your brat for a brother got that kind of treatment," he muttered, looking back out to the deck where Evan was happily kicking his feet, playing with Foxy. His eyes narrowed at him.

His father essentially outright said the truth when he gave him that gift. Foxy, his favorite. For Evan. His favorite.

"Oh, so that's why you've been all fussy today," laughed Brad, the blonde boy sitting comfortably in one of the living room armchairs. He chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. "Daddy issues, such a drag, right?"

Michael looked over at the boy, whose gaze seemed to be scrutinizing him as he waited for a response. He always felt like he was being watched by these kids, his new "friends," like they were grading his performance before really allowing him into their gang. He shrugged dispassionately.

Brad's eyes flittered to his hands as he picked at his nails.

This was the kid Michael was most desperate to impress. Brad was nothing but popular, an opinionated seventeen-year-old who could catch any girl and steer any conversation how he pleased. He got away with anything and everything, and as Michael beheld him, it wasn't difficult to see why- the boy was conventionally attractive, well-dressed in his usual leather jacket and jeans, carefree, and wild. He was the very definition of freedom.

Which was what Michael so desperately wanted.

He watched as Brad combed a hand through his honey-colored hair, rolling the toothpick between his teeth.

"Well, you know what you ought to do, right?" He questioned carelessly.

Michael's brow furrowed in confusion as Keith and Allison cackled quietly from his couch.

"'Course he don't, B," Keith laughed, rolling his eyes as he slung his arm around the girl beside him. "Kid's been on Santa's nice list as long as he can remember, he doesn't have the brain, let alone the spine to figure that out."

Michael felt his face flush in furious embarrassment and opened his mouth to throw some biting retort back at him when, to his surprise, Brad raised a hand for Keith to quiet.

"Aw, well that's alright. We can't all come perfect," he reassured in an even tone as his cold blue eyes met his. "And anyway, I say the unpolished ones always hold the best potential, don't you?"

He felt that feeling again, like he was about to be judged for his answer.

He frowned. "I guess," he settled.

"See?" Brad said, gesturing to him as his eyes turned to his companions. "All the boy needs is a little encouragement! And we're nothing but supportive, ain't that right?"

"Right," Allison snickered, flipping her blonde hair back over her shoulder. She toyed with the Chica mask she'd received from their trip to Freddy's earlier that day. "So, go on, Mikey- teach the imp a lesson," she urged, tossing him his Foxy mask.

Michael caught it, looking down at the shell in his hands, dead sockets seeming to stare at him. He felt confused and a little sick.

His gaze turned up to Brad's, who was staring at him, smile gone, and eyes judgmental.

"Just take it, Michael. Take what's yours." He said softly, fingering a Freddy mask in his hands.

Michael stole a glance back outside at Evan, and deep down, he knew he didn't hate his brother, he just hated the preferential treatment he received. Seeing him out there, so carefree and happy, he knew the boy hadn't done anything wrong. But as he looked back at Brad, the image of everything he ever wanted... popularity... attention... freedom... it crushed those sentiments in an instant.

He frowned, clutching the string of the Foxy mask in his hand as he stood and took hold of the door-handle, throwing it open. As he stepped outside, he caught a sly smile on Bradley's face as his companions stood, each sliding on their own masks as they followed him outside.

Michael walked up behind Evan, fists clenched. The boy looked up at him, expression bright, if not a little confused.

"Hi, Mikey..." he greeted, glancing at his friends whose faces were covered by their masks, confusion only growing.

Michael reached a hand down, wrenching the Foxy plush from the boy's hands, and his little blue eyes widened in surprise and increasing nervousness.

"What's this?" He demanded, even though he already knew.

Evan wringed his small hands together, sensing something was wrong. "It's a toy," he answered. "Daddy gave it to me..."

"Oh, is that right..." Michael murmured. His stomach felt heavy and ill, and he knew what he was about to do was wrong, but he pushed it back as anger overtook every sense and thought.

With hands on either end of the plush, he wrenched one down and ripped Foxy's head clean off, fluff spilling to the porch as Evan gasped.

"Michael!" He screamed, jumping to his feet. The boy hurled the head as far as he could, and it bounced on the road, quickly overtaken by two cars driving down the street. Evan began to cry as Michael dropped the rest of the plush to the deck carelessly while his friends behind him jeered and laughed.

"Sorry... did you say something?" He asked in a cruelly sweet voice as his brother sobbed and snatched Foxy's remains and the Fredbear plush and ran inside, one arm covering his tear-covered face.

While he'd first felt a savage satisfaction, he now felt even sicker than before. Unlike his friends, he wasn't laughing.

But he didn't have a moment to go back inside and apologize, to say he was sorry and didn't mean it as Brad set a hand on his shoulder and thumped him on the back.

"What'd I say, huh!" He laughed. "He's got a spine in him after all!"

"Y-Yeah..." Michael mumbled, forcing a weak smile as he withheld the urge to throw up.

Allison took the Foxy mask from his limp hands and slipped it over his face, ruffling his hair. "Who's the favorite, now?" She cackled.

He touched its snout and spoke quietly.

"I am."