Charlie fiddled with the white sheets covering her as she relaxed against the pillows on her hospital bed. She was about half seated, being too dizzy to properly sit up. With a sigh, she brushed her hand across her head. How did I let it happen again? she thought. I should have seen it coming. Why am I so...so... She shut her eyes against the memory, both of last night and the night Sammy died. She remembered it now, the entire thing. Parts of it blurred when she thought back, merely from the passage of time and the fact she had lost consciousness fairly early, but it pained her greatly. Even worse right now, though, was the worry over whatever had happened after she fainted just last night. She hadn't seen anyone yet, not even Michael whom she knew was also in the hospital. She didn't know any details, only assumed that he was attacked too. And that worried and frightened her.

I wonder what happened to William, she said to herself, the thought replacing any fear and worry with pure anger. I hope Michael beat him up or something.

A knock came at the door, drawing her attention. "Come in," she said.

A nurse stepped inside. "Do you feel up to having visitors, Miss Emily?"

"Yes please," she said, then inwardly cringed at how desperate she'd accidentally sounded.

"In that case, you have a visitor." The nurse ducked out, nodding to someone Charlie couldn't see. Immediately, Michael rushed into the room and all the way to the side of her bed. She smiled as he put a hand against her cheek and leaned close, pure worry written across his face.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "How are you feeling? You're not in too much pain, right?"

She gave a small chuckle. "I'm fine, Mike. I have a slight headache, but my wound is being taken care of. I survived your idiot father once; I can do it again."

He smiled back, but she noticed it just barely reached his lips and then faltered. "Good. I was worried I'd lost you." He brushed his thumb against her cheek. "Glad you're alright, cheerios. More-or-less, anyway."

"Hmm." She took his hand, taking notice it was his left one. Her eyes trailed to his right which rested on the railing of her bed. To her alarm, it was bandaged. "Did something hurt your hand?"

"Yes." His voice tightened. "My father, to be exact."

Charlie bit down on her lip, silencing angry words she wanted to say and merely asking, "What happened?"

"I came just in time to stop him from hitting you again," he said, looking elsewhere as he spoke. She recognized the rage on his face, the tightness in both his jaw and the rest of his body. "I tried to attack him; he stopped me, and uh...hurt me. We spoke a little, and then something eerie happened, and—ugh, it's hard to explain, but the point is in the end, he got away. I just...I can't believe..." He clasped her hand and pressed it against his lips, his eye shutting tightly. She frowned and watched as he drew it away, but he did not release her hand. She didn't pull away, listening concernedly to him. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to come along, shouldn't have even gone in the first place. I found out something, but I-I...I don't know if it was worth it, if there was some other way to discover it. I almost lost you; I don't know what I would have done if you died."

He shook his head. "I failed, Charlie. I had one job, just...just stop that terrible man. I failed and dragged you down with me. I'm sorry." He pulled away from her, trying to remove his hand from hers. She tightened her grip and kept him from doing so. Glancing away, he bowed his head. "It was Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental all over again. We both got injured, and one of us nearly died. I literally had to carry you out of there, and we barely made it, just like last time. And what did it accomplish? Only getting a few answers. My father got away; the literal thing we wanted to do wasn't accomplished. He's right. This is my fault. I failed, I'm a failure. This was a mistake; I'm a—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Charlie cut in, firm yet gentle. "Stop saying all that nonsense this instance." Michael didn't respond, his gaze shifting back to her. She clasped his hand with both of hers. "Sweetie, none of this is your fault. What are you even saying?"

"Well, I—" He faltered and fell silent.

"Michael," she said, "don't think that, not even for a moment. Yes, maybe all this work hasn't amounted to much, but at least we tried. You're trying to make a difference. We'll catch William eventually, somehow."

Jerking away from the bed, he managed to rip his hand from her grasp and turn away. "That's just the thing," he said, anger tinging his voice. "Why does trying matter if we don't succeed? What was our goal to begin with even? I don't know what's going to happen, I'm not sure what we're gonna do. We just keep discovering more and more awful things, and he just keeps getting away with everything! I can't stop him, I...I'm failing, just when I thought I had found something worth living for, worth...worth fighting for, I fail at it!"

"Worth living for?" said Charlie, sitting up straighter in alarm. "Michael, please don't tell me you—"

"I didn't mean it like that, I—" he shook his head and started to pace back and forth, his body shaking with his frantic, quickened breaths— "I just don't know what to do anymore! I-I don't! I have no idea!"

"Stop," she said, reaching out to him. He halted and glanced towards her, a pure haunted expression upon his face, dangerously close to how she'd seen him on a day neither of them liked to think of. Evan's last birthday. She lowered her hand, and doing her best to send him a smile, scooted aside to make room and patted the bed beside her. "Come here."

He hesitated, wrapping his arms around his torso and staring at her. With a small nod, he went over and carefully crawled onto the small bed. Immediately, Charlie hugged him. She accidentally did it a bit too quickly, the sudden action causing her head to throb. She couldn't have cared less; she merely wrapped her arms around him tighter and buried her face in his neck.

"You're overwhelmed," she whispered as he hugged her back. "You're not thinking straight, dear, I think you need to take a minute and breathe."

"Yeah," he whispered back, his voice quavering, "you're, um...you're right."

She relaxed, her eyes shutting. Half of her had expected him to freak out even further, but the fact he seemed to be giving into her comfort and calming relieved her greatly. She hated seeing him lose it like this. Being on the more overwhelmed side herself, she wasn't sure if she could take it.

"You didn't fail," she said. "At least, not really. Who cares if William got away? We'll get him later, and as long as we both survived, everything will be alright."

"I guess," he said. Not entirely satisfied with that response, she moved away from him and examined his expression. He looked back at her. "Just feels wrong, having done so much to catch him, only for that to happen. He nearly killed you, right under my nose! And he could have killed me too, if it weren't for the interference." He shook his head. "And...and then on the way to the hospital, I crashed the car. Failed again. You would have died if our friends hadn't been there."

"What?" She blinked.

Michael sighed heavily. "I'll tell you the entire story later, I just—I...I think after all that, I was hoping to at least stop my father, somehow, or do more than just watch as he ran away. But I didn't, I couldn't. After that terrible night we barely survived, after almost losing you and being reminded repeatedly of...of things I hate to remember, it felt like I hadn't accomplished anything. Again...like always. Failing." He took her hand and brushed his thumb over it, giving a bitter laugh. "Story of my life, hm? Nothing but a series of mistakes and—"

"Mike, please stop," she whispered. "You're not a failure or a mistake. I hate it when you talk about yourself like that, I love you."

He paused, staring down at their folded hands. "Sorry."

"I think we both just need a break," she said, "and maybe—" she thought it over for a moment— "to talk it out. We didn't give ourselves much time to relax, in between the rental service and our new job. Over a month, sure, but most of that time we were recovering and figuring things out. So, even if after this we go back to trying to...to just sort out this mess, let's relax. Just for a moment. Let's comfort each other, talk, and take a break."

A slight smile crossed Michael's lips. "That sounds nice, I guess."

"Now I'm going to lie down, because my head's killing me," she said, adjusting her pillows. Michael stiffened to get up, but she stopped him, resting a hand on his arm. Exchanging a glance, the two then both lied down on the bed, as well as they could, considering it was meant for one. They rested against the pillows, Michael putting his arm around Charlie while she snuggled closer to him and rested her head on his chest. "I'm not hurting your shoulder, right?" she asked as he finished adjusting his position.

"No," he replied.

"Good." She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Finally, some comfort. She smiled faintly at the feeling of Michael's breath, which his chest slowly rose and fell with. She was relieved they didn't sound panicked and rushed anymore, and the motion let her relax even more. "So," she said, speaking softly, "unless it starts to make you freak out again, tell me exactly why you're so upset."

"I practically already did," he replied. "My father got away, and all that stress and strife was for almost nothing. I guess I...I don't know, I was just so desperate to stop him. We never had a good relationship, anyway, but the thought of everything he's done, some of which we probably don't even know—it just disgusts me. I'd do anything to see him get what he deserves, but..." He paused. "I guess, in a way, doing all this just helps me feel like I'm actually doing something. I've felt useless and...and terrible ever since that day where Evan—well, you know. In a way, it feels like I'm somehow atoning for that, doing something to stop tragedy, make the man who was responsible for so many deaths and...and what started breaking our family get what he deserves."

Charlie nodded, listening to him silently. "My life felt like it didn't have a purpose for so long," he said. "I felt useless, just some terrible disappointment and monster who had lost everything. I couldn't even keep a proper job, and I felt trapped in my own head. Guess my sanity wears thin from time-to-time." He gave a halfhearted laugh, then cleared his throat. "Nothing felt like it would ever ease my guilt, and I just, I...I felt hopeless." His voice took on a fond tone. "But then I met you again."

She smiled faintly as he went on, "And not only did I receive an opportunity where I could at least discover the reasons behind one tragedy in my life, Elizabeth's death, but you made me feel different. You helped me, you really you did. My amazing best friend, probably the only person to ever get through all the stupid walls I build up to close off people." He shook his head and sighed. "Despite all the bad stuff that happened at the rental service, it felt like my life was turning around. So why do I still feel terrible? I guess I...I don't feel like I deserve a happy life, completely free of a-any trouble. Like I want to make myself miserable for what I did or fix it somehow, I don't know. So the fact that when I finally found a way where I could feel something, like I was making up for what did in the past but then blew it, just really stings. And of course, it just had to happen after all those terrible reminders of what happened between Evan and I." He gave a soft and bitter chuckle. "I blabbered way more than I meant to, but you get the picture."

"Aw, Mikey." She wrapped one of her arms around his torso and snuggled closer. "Life is always hard, but you shouldn't feel like you need to make it miserable for yourself, just because you messed up in the past."

"Mikey?" he said. "Seriously?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Don't ignore my advice, you doofus. You deserve an amazing life. You're my adorable Eggs Benedict, the sarcastic, caring, and sleep-deprived technician with a strange love for gum and soap operas." She moved away from him a little, propping herself up on her elbow so she could gaze at his face, smiling. "But not just that, the man who's so lost in his guilt, he hasn't realized how much better of a person he is now." She scooted up a bit, resting her hand on his chest and leaning closer. She pressed her forehead against his and shut her eyes. "I don't know what's going to happen next—what you figured out back there, what we'll do about William, but whatever does happen, I just want you to know you are an amazing person who's truly getting past the terrible things he's done and changing for the better. Nothing will change that; you aren't a mistake, disappointment, failure, or whatever you keep thinking about yourself. I love you, Michael." She swallowed, tearing up, partly to her surprise. "So much."

A short silence fell as she waited for him to reply. She felt him shift, then his hand gently cupping her cheek. As his forehead separated from hers a little, Michael kissed her, his lips gently meeting hers before separating quickly. She opened her eyes and beamed down at him. He smiled back, shaking his head and caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Oh, cheerios. How do you always manage to comfort him me so well?"

"Because I know you, dummy." She booped him on the nose. "Your dumb self-loathsome thoughts won't work around me."

"Guess not." He chuckled. "Really, thank you, Charlie. Sometimes I feel badly you have to comfort me so much." He rolled his eye. "Guess I'm just really messed up, huh?"

"No, of course not," she said, "and I don't care. I just hate seeing you upset."

"Hmm." He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I hate to see you upset, as well. Anything bothering you? Comfort and opening up goes both ways, y'know. Don't back out of telling me if anything's on your mind. I did it, so you should to. Fair is fair." He sent her a teasing smile.

Charlie giggled and shook her head. "Just the usual stuff. Sort of, anyway." She sighed, shifting back into her original position, her head once again resting on Michael's chest. "Can't believe William did that to me again. Feels like I should have been able to stop him."

"You're not the only one who feels that way," Michael muttered.

"Mm." She shifted her eyes downward. "I remember it all, you know. The night where he attacked Sammy and me. I...sort of remembered most of it already, but now, I think I've remembered as much of it as I ever will. I-I hate it, I just—" She broke off and shut her eyes against tears that threatened to fall. She relaxed when Michael rubbed her arm, from where his arm was wrapped around her. "I didn't completely see William sta—" she choked on the word— "stab Sammy, but it was still horrible. I felt trapped, alone...helpless. I thought for sure I was going to die. And that night, when he hit me over the head and I fainted, it just felt like a repeat of what happened. I can't believe it."

"I still can't believe he did that." Michael's voice grew tight, trembling with contained rage. "And more than once, too. I...I should have stopped him, I should've been able to punch him right in the face, and...a-and—"

"Shush," she said, briefly lifting her head and sending him a stern look. "You couldn't do anything, so don't agonize over it. anger solves nothing."

He rolled his eyes but nodded.

Satisfied, she laid her head back down. "I'm alright, really. It's just hard, knowing something like that actually happened. It feels unreal, but—" she sighed— "knowing that we tried and that there's a chance William will one day pay for what he did, well, for now, with you, my friends, and my dad, I think it's enough. I'm truly alright, and I hope you feel that way too." She shut her eyes, relaxing farther into Michael's embrace. "Now my head's really hurting and I'm exhausted. How about we stop talking and just cuddle for a bit? Afterwards, maybe you can tell me exactly what happened after I was knocked out."

He paused to consider the suggestion only a moment, before putting his other arm around her. "Fine with me." She relaxed, the last of her fear and sorrow fading as she lay there, snuggled up to her best friend and love of her life. There was certainly still a lot to do and figure out, but like this, she gave herself time to relax and properly forget all her troubles. No words were spoken, and all thoughts of the horror of the night she now remembered but dreaded to think of faded.

Charlie wasn't sure how long they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms comfortably and snuggled beneath the few white blankets. Eventually, she figured they should stop, for a nurse would likely come check up on her soon. She started to sit up, but glancing at Michael, she realized he had fallen asleep.

"Seriously, eggs?" She shook her head at him. "Stop exhausting yourself, you fall asleep way too easily." She pecked him on the cheek, then settled back down. It wasn't long before she too drifted off to a well-deserved sleep.

...

Henry drummed his fingers on his desk, gazing at an old photograph—one of Sammy and Charlie, just two kids playing happily at a park. His fingers stopped and clenched into a tight fist. William did it again, he thought. He hurt her. AGAIN. How much longer is this going to go on? It can't! With a shout of frustration, he shot to his feet and knocked off most the objects on his desk with a single sweep of his arm. He immediately regretted it, cringing at the booming sound of clattering objects. This feeling soon faded as he got down and lifted another picture from the floor, the glass covering it now shattered. Another older photo—him and William on the opening day of Fredbear's Family Diner, posed between Fredbear and Spring Bonnie and smiling brightly. He'd almost forgotten that he still had the photo out, it had been too hidden by all his other trinkets for him to take notice.

"Oh, William...old friend," Henry muttered under his breath. "You've made a terrible mistake." He straightened, tossing the picture across the room carelessly. As he set to work cleaning up everything else, he silently pondered the situation. There had to be some way to stop William, a way to catch him. This was the final straw. Henry had thought William couldn't do anything to make him despise him even more, but the fact he was still after Charlie and had attempted to kill her yet again certainly did the trick.

Once he replaced the photograph of Charlie and Sammy, he brushed his fingers over it, then sank onto his chair. With a deep sigh, he ran his hands down his face, his fiery rage fading back to familiar regret and grief. "Why do you keep getting away? Now I barely have control of the company, feels like I can't do anything. There has to be something I can to—" He broke off, his eyes trailing across the room and towards the nearby door, which stood open, though he didn't remember leaving it like that.

He sat in his office, a miniature room attached to his living and dining room. From where he was, he could plainly see the living room, cloaked in darkness since he'd made sure to turn off the light before shutting himself in. He would have thought nothing of it—the random open door, the eerie darkness—except, on the back of his couch, he spotted something peculiar, frightening even. A tiny, slumped shape, and two miniature, white lights fixed directly on him. In fact, they barely looked like lights at all, didn't give off enough of an actual glow for that. More like...eyes.

Shuddering, Henry got up from his desk and cautiously entered the room. He flicked on the light and stopped walking altogether, recognizing the object that had given him such a chilling sensation. A Fredbear plush sat on the back of his couch, worn and dirtied. It felt as if the plush stared straight into his soul, its white, pinprick eyes boring into his brown eyes.

"What the..." He went over and hesitantly lifted it. Isn't this Evan's old plush? he thought, turning the toy over in his hands. "How could it possibly end up here?" he whispered to himself. He flipped it back over and stared down at its stitched face. He had to admit, there had always been something quite eerie about this plushie, though somehow Evan had never seemed to notice. With a shake of his head, Henry set it back and turned away. "Michael must have taken it and left it here, or...or something."

He hesitated, sending a glance over his shoulder. Immediately, he startled and fell back a step, upon seeing the plush was gone. Silently telling himself to remain calm, he searched around for it. He thought perhaps it had fallen off the couch, but no matter where he looked it in that vicinity, it was nowhere to be seen.

Henry stopped beside his telephone, leaning against its table and scratching his head. "I must really be losing it, if..." His words faded and eyes widened, for a memory came back to him. "Fredbear vanishing and reappearing in random places," he said, recalling when he was more involved in the new pizzeria. "That reminds me..." Back at the pizzeria, the Fredbear suit had never been reliable, somehow disappearing from the backroom and appearing in random places. How had he forgotten?

He thought about it, puzzling over that and all the things he'd recently learned. He had heard what happened to Michael and Charlie that night. Not all the details, but Michael had called him and given him the basic events, including his theory about the animatronics being possessed. "I'm so stupid," Henry whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How did I not see it before? I'm such an idiot. We have to do something about this." Except the pizzeria was officially closing now. He had also just received news that there was no hope it could reopen, not after the Spring Bonnie incident, Jeremy getting bitten, and then a disclosed incident involving a nightguard, which Henry assumed was them trying to cover up Michael and Charlie's work at the pizzeria. The animatronics would be stored away, possibly even finally disassembled for good, and he didn't have much control of that. He couldn't stop it.

Unless...

Setting his jaw, Henry lifted the phone and dialed a familiar number. As soon as someone picked up, he said, "Hello? Scott? I need a favor. Try to keep the animatronics in the pizzeria as long as possible." He glanced at the place where the Fredbear plush once sat. "There's something I need to do."

Author's Note: That name sounds vaguely famil- eh, I'm sure it's nothing. (No, it really is just a reference lol.)

This chapter was pretty chill, mostly character interactions, specifically between Michael and Charlie. They deserved some proper comfort and rest, though I'd be lying if I said it'll last a long time. None of the characters seem to get a break for long, haha.