"Fire?" Henry questioned. Michael nodded.

The man sighed barely, leaning back in his chair, his blue eyes searching the papers before him blankly. "You're sure? You're absolutely sure?" he breathed, looking back at him.

"Yes," Michael answered.

"How do you know this?" Laura asked, peering around to look at them. Michael leaned against the table, suddenly feeling the weight of his fatigue as sunlight beamed through the kitchen window. "I went and asked my dad's first victims- minus Charlie, of course," he replied.

"You what?" Laura and Henry asked together.

He ran a hand through his hair, finally processing all of the night's events- it had been a lot.

He wasn't sure he'd have the energy to explain, but the looks on their faces told him he had to.

"I went back to that pizzeria they went missing from. I figured if there was any way to contact them, it'd be at the place their lives ended, right? And if Charlie had answers for this kind of thing, why wouldn't they?" He speculated with a shrug. "And I was right. They came."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "As in, their ghosts? Did you summon them?"

Michael suddenly felt rather awkward. "I- yeah. Guess our plan for me playing dress-up will work, 'cause they sure thought I was dad," he muttered with disdain. "It got a little scary for a second, but they cooled off when they figured out I wasn't him."

"And... they told you that we can free those ghosts... with fire?" Laura questioned apprehensively. "But how?"

"It destroys their hosts or something," the boy continued thoughtfully. "They have nowhere else to go."

"But of course... of course-" Henry suddenly breathed, snapping his fingers as if a lightbulb lit in his head. "Michael said William was terrified when Fazbear Frights began to burn- he must have known."

The boy's eyes widened with that realization. "Which means-"

"They really do know to stay away from it," Laura murmured, "we'll have to be careful."

Henry suddenly jumped from his chair with energy Michael hadn't seen in him for weeks, seizing a notepad from the table as he began scribbling on it vigorously, muttering to himself under his breath. He and Laura glanced at each other, confused as the man began to pace behind them, tapping his chin rhythmically with his pencil in thought.

"Uh- Henry-?" the boy began before Henry interrupted him.

"I need make one more call and then I'll go get some supplies," the man cut over, tucking the notepad into his coat pocket. "Can you finish filling out that paperwork? It shouldn't take too long. We'll regroup in a few hours."

Michael sighed warily as he leaned on the table, feeling more tired than ever while Laura nodded beside him. "Of course," she answered with an amiable smile. "It'll be no..."

The boy glanced over at her, waiting for her to go on only to realize her eyes were fixed on him, and she suddenly stood, making her way toward him.

"Uh-" he started, confused and apprehensive before she seized him by the arm and began tugging him away to the stairs.

"Hey-"

"Why is it," she interrupted. "That every time you come back from something I find you bleeding?"

Michael suddenly remembered the wound in his shoulder (which began to hurt again upon its recollection) and winced, craning his head over his shoulder at Henry as they began to make their way to the second floor. The man had merely a small smile on his face that said 'she has a point,' and before he knew it, the downstairs was out of sight and he was in his bedroom.

"Sit," Laura ordered, pointing at his bed as she began rummaging through a box of medical supplies they'd left on his dresser.

He huffed out a sigh, and with some reluctance, collapsed onto the quilt. He wanted nothing more to tip over and go to sleep, but knew he didn't yet have the opportunity to do so as she sat next to him, hands full of first-aid material.

Laura grimaced as she pulled back his jacket to better reveal his blood-stained shoulder. "Jeez..." she muttered before tugging at his sleeve. "Could you take this off?"

Michael acquiesced, carefully peeling back the fabric clinging to his wound with a hiss before pulling his shirt over his head. She squinted at it curiously, gently using a towel to wipe away the excess blood drying around it. "What happened?" she questioned, beginning to dab his shoulder with disinfectant. "It looks like a puncture wound or something."

"Probably because it is," the boy answered, gritting his teeth, feeling much more awake with his arm stinging badly for the second time that morning.

He relaxed some as Laura began carefully winding bandages around his shoulder.

"Does it not hurt or anything?" She asked. "You weren't acting like it was when you came in."

"I guess you could say I was thinking about other things," he replied, feeling soreness setting in. "Like, you know, an excuse to torch stuff."

She snorted and gave a small laugh as she shook her head and tied his wrappings. He could hardly feel her hands working, so enthralled with how lovely he thought her laugh sounded; like music he wanted to bottle up to listen to over and over.

Only her emerald eyes looking at his pulled him away from such a thought.

"Better?" She asked quietly.

"Loads," he answered in an equal tone. "Thank you."

She nodded, looking as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she stood and walked to his dresser, retrieving a new shirt to hand to him.

"Sorry about the other one," she offered, taking the bloodied article from his bed, eyeing its hole before throwing it in the garbage bin near the door. Michael shrugged, carefully pulling on the fresh one. "It lived a good life," he joked. "Not that a five-dollar Journey shirt is much of a loss anyway."

Laura smiled, sitting beside him again as she began organizing the remaining wrappings into a first-aid kit.

"Still," she murmured lightheartedly before her smile fell somewhat as she looked at his arm. Michael opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong before she spoke again.

"Why is it always you?" She whispered.

He blinked, unsure if he'd heard her properly before her hand rested gently on the bandages she'd applied hours ago, thumb grazing the fabric.

"It isn't fair that you have to do all of this..." she murmured almost inaudibly. "How many more times am I going to have to treat your injuries before this is over?"

He rested his free hand on hers. "Laura..." he started, trying to reassure her before her dark eyes turned to his.

"You're one person. Why is it you that has to suffer so much loss? Why is it you that has to fix something that isn't your fault?" She implored quietly, searching for an answer in his gaze.

"It's just how it is." He answered.

"It shouldn't be."

Her eyes fell down to their hands, hers now turned up and clasping his, fingers entwined. She sighed. "I would take some of it if I could."

"I wouldn't let you even if you could," he replied, still gazing at her. The longer they sat in silence, the more a daunting thought that had plagued his mind for days arose, demanding resolution. He knew now was the time a decision had to be made, and certain of which was to be chosen, he sighed, accepting what he knew was coming.

"You don't have to stay. I don't want you to be hurt by this too," he murmured softly. "In fact, it's probably best if you don't."

At that, her head snapped back up, her eyes wide and searching his expression for an explanation.

"I don't really have a good feeling about what's coming," he elaborated quietly. "I'm not sure if this plan of Henry's will work, or if I'll make it out alive either way. It feels like a miracle that I've survived this long, but I'm not going to keep counting on luck."

"Michael..." Laura whispered.

He avoided her gaze, knowing he couldn't take the look in her eyes that would be waiting for him. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you, but I can't let myself drag you down with me," he murmured. "Not anymore."

He began to relinquish his hand from hers, but she only gripped his tighter.

"What if I want to stay?" She demanded quietly.

"Laura-"

"I've made this choice over and over. I've already weighed my options and decided," she countered firmly. He was surprised to feel a slight tremor in her hand, finally looking at her. His eyes widened with shock, seeing her usually dry eyes glazed and desperate.

"I don't want to leave you. Please don't make me." She whispered.

Michael was at a loss for words, mouth parted but absent of sound. "I..." he began.

"I don't want to leave you," she repeated. "I've never wanted to leave you. Please don't tell me you want me to go."

He swallowed, only then realizing how much closer their proximity was, noses only inches apart. "I... I want you to stay, but..." he trailed, his remaining words left unspoken, yet perfectly understood.

"It's my choice." She whispered. "I'm choosing to be here for you."

He just gazed at her, taking in her words and the desperation in them, his hand holding hers again as he felt her press closer and finally understood what she really meant.

"Let me in," she pleaded. "Let me help you..."

"Please let me stay."

Michael's eyes took in the dark streaks in hers, seeing them more clearly than he ever had, smelling peppermint on her breath, feeling her hand tenderly holding his. At his silence, Laura opened her mouth to speak again, but never had the chance as Michael's lips met hers.

His eyes closed, and he felt her relax closer to him as they kissed. Her nose gently brushed his cheek, her hand entwining with his, and for the first time in months, Michael felt peaceful.

He lingered with her for a moment longer before finally pulling back, nose brushing with hers as he gazed at her. He took in every contour and detail of her expression, all telling him she felt the same.

With full honesty and respect, his eyes met hers.

"I trust you," he breathed.

At last, a small smile broke at the corners of her mouth, shoulders relaxing as relief washed over her. "Good," she murmured softly, cheeks tinted pink.

As Michael fought the urge to kiss her again, he jumped at the sound of someone just outside his doorway.

"Alright you two, I'm off to-" Henry started, breaching the boy's bedroom, stopping himself with wide eyes as he realized what he'd stepped into, regardless of Laura and Michael's sad attempts to scoot away from each other. The man cleared his throat, and with what the boy swore was a hint of a smile, he turned back to the hallway, waving his hand behind him. "As you were!" he called back, descending the stairs.

Michael felt his cheeks flushing with what he only assumed was a pigment close to that of a stop-sign as the girl beside him giggled, covering her mouth with embarrassment.

"I guess that could have been more discrete," she laughed.

"Sorry," Michael said seriously. She only smiled.

"That's okay. So long as you don't change your mind about this later," she spoke, looking up at him with a kind of happiness he wasn't sure he'd seen in her before. With that, he returned the smile, feeling for the first time since he could remember, a real sense of hope.

"I don't think you'll have to worry," he admitted.

"You should have lied more carefully, Elizabeth."

She fumed, feeling anger creeping like poison throughout her limp frame. "I tried." She seethed.

"Not hard enough, apparently," her father commented nonchalantly. "Nonetheless, I'm left, once again, without what I've asked for. I think it's best we travel separately for the time being."

Elizabeth huffed, feeling Baby's half-assembled joints creaking below her. "It isn't my fault they exiled me. Ballora's become more paranoid than ever. She thinks I mean to control them-"

"Not another snide word out of you about Ballora," Springtrap interrupted with a snap.

Baby scowled, holding back the rude words on her tongue. "You seem different from when you first visited me in the workshop." She settled.

"The same could be said of you. Have you seen Michael lately?" her father rebuked casually. "And besides, wasn't your little trap meant for me?"

"Do you blame me for being resentful?" she shot back. "With what you left me in?"

At that, a small smile broke on Springtrap's face. "No, I suppose I don't. I would have done the same." With that, some of Elizabeth's anger subsided.

"I don't want to leave you," she admitted.

"That isn't an option. We'll be safer apart. I've no doubt Henry's looking for us now."

She scowled. "Then when?" she demanded. "When will I be allowed to stay with you?"

Springtrap filed some fraying metal between his fingers, rendering it to dust. "When they are all reunited," he answered. "Every last one. We'll have our family back, Elizabeth. I promise you that." His dark eyes turned to her. "But only when they are brought together. Do this for me and we can all be together again. We'll never have to be separated."

She felt determination stirring within her, entranced by such a prize. She knew he would deliver if only she could fulfill his task perfectly, just once...

"I will bring them," she swore in a whisper. "I promise."