Author Note: Hey, reader! This is my own personal au. Some quick info on it: Michael and Charlie are both around 18-19 at the start to the story, there are hints of the Silver Eyes but this is mostly based on the actual FNAF games, Charlie is sort of my own version of her (a combination of Silver Eyes Charlie and game Charlie, I guess you could say), and the rest of it you'll find out as you read.

Thank you for clicking on this story! This was one of the first fics I ever posted, and I super appreciate all the love it received over on AO3. I hope you guys here enjoy it just as much!

Friendships don't often last forever. Especially ones made early in life, during childhood or even high school. Such companionship is often lost. In most cases, circumstances get between the two, whether it's a sudden move, a change of schools, a loss of contact, an argument, or simply the passage of time, friendships end. And for Michael, he learned this the hard way. One incident, one slip up, and he not only lost part of his sanity and his very own brother, but all his friends. Practically his life. He knew he'd spend the rest of his days guilty, and probably alone.

However, even if many friendships end, there are those few gems, those friends you meet and never quite lose. They are always there, your closest companion. Though Michael didn't know it, he had one of those friends. They would lose contact once, but after that, when they met again, they would gain a closeness that perhaps not even the most difficult of circumstances could break.

Not even death itself...

It all started the day the Afton kids met the Emily family for the first time. They'd recently moved to America, where William had started a business with his best friend, Henry. It was a diner—a family diner, to be precise, with animatronic entertainment, suited for kids of all ages. The odd children of the Afton family became acquainted with the sweet children of Henry Emily during a busy night at the diner, when they were all taken there for a fun time. Many other visitors roamed the building, and numerous activities were set up that afternoon, including many performances from the two animatronics, Fredbear and Spring Bonnie.

Michael stood off to the side and watched the other children play. He was in a sour mood, due to the sudden move he'd recently experienced, and the fact that, well, he was in a rather sullen stage of his life. He surveyed the diner with a critical eye, sending dirty looks to any kids that dared near him. Occasionally, he glanced over at his parents who chatted with Henry and a few other adults, discussing what he assumed to be boring grown-up things.

"Ugh, I already hate this place," he said. "It's boring."

"Hey!" A sudden hand tugged on the sleeve of his jacket.

Michael startled away from the wall he leaned against, whirling around to the person who had caught his attention. A young brunette girl stood behind him, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a light-colored shirt and a jean skirt. She looked around Michael's age (nine, at the time), with fair skin and deep brown eyes.

"You're one of Mr. Afton's kids, right?" she said.

"Yeah," said he, his voice (which had a heavy British accent layered to it) taking on a suspicious tone. "Who's asking?"

"Oh, I'm Charlotte." She held out her hand. "But you can call me Charlie! Everyone does."

He nodded, crossing his arms and ignoring her hand.

She lowered it, saying, "My dad's your dad's friend. They're opening this place together. You know that, right?"

"Mhm," he said. "It's kind of lame here, if I'm being honest."

"Hm. I don't think it is." She shrugged. "Maybe you're just not in a good enough mood to enjoy it."

"I'm in a perfect mood." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

Charlie giggled. "That doesn't sound like a perfect mood to me."

Michael uncrossed his arms to facepalm. "Yeah, I guess not. I just don't like it here. I miss home."

"Oh, right, my dad said you weren't from America," she said. "You're from British, right?"

He blinked, staring at her. "Do you mean Britain?"

"Oh!" She smacked a hand over her mouth. "Yes, that's what I meant. Ahh! I'm so stupid!"

He paused, silently processing her words. Though he didn't want it to, he felt a bubble of laughter welling up inside him. He tried to keep it back, but within mere seconds, he found himself bursting into a laughing fit.

Charlie's face fell. She glanced away, glaring slightly. "I meant to say Britain, you don't have to laugh at me."

"W...what?" Michael said between laughs. "No way, I'm not laughing at you! I-I'm just laughing because I thought it was sort of funny. It wasn't that stupid."

She relaxed. "Really?"

"Yup, it actually kinda cheered me up a bit." He shrugged, then forced his amused expression back to a neutral one. "But as far as anyone else is concerned, I'm still not having a good time."

"Oh, yeah, sure." She grinned. "So what was your name again?"

He sent her a slight smile and held out his hand. "Michael, but you can call me Mike, if you like."

She laughed, taking his hand and shaking it. "That rhymed. Mike, if you like."

"Oh, yeah." He drew his hand away. "I guess it did."

"Come on!" She grabbed his hand again. "I've been making bracelets at my table. You've gotta come see, I could make you one."

"Gross, I don't wear bracelets," he said with a grimace.

"Well you do now!" With a laugh, she pulled him towards her and her family's table. He darted along behind her, unable to keep back a laugh of his own, despite not being quite so pleased about the whole bracelet situation. The rest of the time at the diner he spent goofing around with Charlie. He gained a new friend that day and discovered that perhaps life wouldn't be so bad in his new home...or so he thought, anyway.

The snapping of springlocks, the crunching of bone.

Blood...

Screaming...

Michael stared in horror, all words and thoughts lost to him as he gazed at the gruesome spectacle before him. A murder, a murder caused by his own hands.

His cries of anguish soon joined the shrieking of the other children.

Why did it have to happen? Even after all these years, it still haunted him, as it probably always would.

Michael snapped out of his reverie, shuddering violently. He hastily cleaned up after his breakfast, already quite shaken. He had to keep ahold of himself, though. He had to do well at work; he couldn't lose another job. Otherwise, he'd have to move out of his house, and perhaps go groveling back to his father, the very man he had finally escaped only a few months ago. That was something Michael never wanted to do.

After preparing for work, he exited the small house he was currently renting, and headed for his car.

"Morning, Mike!" one of his neighbors called to him.

He briefly waved in their direction, then climbed into his vehicle and backed out of the driveway. As he drove to work, he savored the rock music blasting from his radio and sighed deeply. It had been a while since he'd had an actual good day. Most times, it was music, tv shows, and gum that got him through the day. Even sleep wasn't much of a relief, due to his constant nightmares.

After pulling into the parking lot of his job, he got out and headed for the entrance. He worked at a fairly ordinary department store. He didn't necessarily enjoy the job, nor was it anything special, but its pay was good enough—he was able to pay his rent, buy decent enough food. Right now, that was all he needed.

"Oh...hey, Mike," one of his coworkers said as Michael breezed down an aisle. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"I'm late," he replied, hastening behind the counter.

"Ah, well, um—" the coworker came up beside him, fidgeting with his name tag— "to be honest, I didn't know you would even be here."

Michael sent him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"Oh!" The man stiffened. "I'm sorry! She hasn't done it yet!"

"Done what?" Michael's deep voice took on an edge.

"Well, um, I-I don't know." The employee put his hands up in a shrug, laughing nervously. "Nothing. Nothing at all!"

"Crap." Michael ran a hand down his face. "I'm getting fired again, aren't I?"

"Ah, um...yes," the employee said. "I overheard our boss talking about it. I thought you had already been fired." She cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Meh." Michael tore off his name tag and slammed it down on the counter. "Doesn't matter. I knew this was coming."

As he said this, none-other-than his boss entered the room. "Mike, can I speak with you?"

"No need." Michael moved out from behind the counter, sending her an unamused look. "I'll show myself out."

The boss sighed deeply. "Jerry blabbed, didn't he?"

"Sorry," the employee said.

"Well at least we can avoid an awkward conversation." Michael spun on his heel and headed away. "The conversation I've had probably a billion times already." He pushed through the exit, then treaded over to his car. After entering, he put his hand on the ignition, but did not turn the keys. With a groan, he slammed his head on the steering wheel once, then twice. On the third time, his car horn blasted. Crying out, he pressed against the back of his chair, thus stopping the noise.

"Welp," he said through gritted teeth. "At least I went out with a bang...or a beep, in this case." With an exaggerated sigh, he turned the key and eased the car out of the parking lot. Back to his place he drove, the sight of his house a rather depressing one. "Looks like I have to get a new job already," he muttered to himself, entering and flopping onto his sofa.

As he pulled out a list of job openings, he clicked on the TV and flipped to his current favorite show. A vampire soap opera, by the name of The Immortal and the Restless. When he was bored a few months back, he had watched the show on a whim, and accidentally became invested in it. Now he couldn't stop watching it. Guess he never could stay away from those soap operas, there was something about them that drew him in.

Flipping through the book, he split his attention between it and the television program. However, Michael was never the best at multitasking, and he found himself staring at the TV, the book of lists open in his lap and practically untouched. A sudden ringing brought him back to reality. Turning off the television, he rose and went to his phone.

"Hello?" he said as he answered.

"Hello, Michael." A voice came over the line, a deep and familiar one. "Long time no see, hmm?"

Michael tensed, a familiar pressure and anger already weighing on his body. "What do you want?"

"That's not a very polite way to speak to your father," said the caller.

"Just answer the question," Michael said, his voice tight.

"I was only calling to tell you about the new pizzeria," William replied, crackling over the phone. "It's a quite different location, not the one you are used to. The animatronics are brand new and improved. Interesting, isn't it?"

"No."

"I find it touching you're interested in my work."

"I'm not."

"That was sarcasm, dear Michael."

Michael rolled his eyes, pressing his forehead against the wall. "You still haven't really answered my question. Why exactly have you called me?"

"Not even going to humor me, hm?" William said, then he gave a long sigh. "Alright then. You see, Henry and I were just talking about you. He hasn't seen you in ages, and I thought it might be nice if you came by and said hello."

Michael sneered. "I'm surprised you even thought I might come. We've barely spoken to each other since I moved out."

"I admit, I was giving you the cold shoulder, but shouldn't a father and son spend a little quality time together?" said William, his smooth voice taking on a rather sinister tone...one Michael was incredibly familiar with.

"I don't know what you're up to," he said, grasp on the receiver tightening, "but I'm not going."

"Obviously, you're not busy."

"Oh yeah? And what would make you say that?"

"Well, you aren't at work. I'm assuming you were fired again?"

Michael grinded his teeth. "So what if I was? I'm not coming crawling back to you if that's what you think I'm gonna do. Paying you rent for this dumb house is already bad enough."

"Mm," William said, sounding disinterested. "Would you at least come down here to the pizzeria?" His smug, pleased tone of voice hardened as he said, "I won't ask you again."

Groaning in annoyance, Michael drew away from the wall. "Fine, but I'm not staying long."

"Perfect," said William. "I will tell Henry you're coming."

"Whatever." Michael hung up, nearly tangling himself in the cord as he did. Shaking his head at himself, he figured there was no use in delaying and hanging around the house, and so, once again he left and drove away. This time, he went in the other direction, headed for Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria—the new and improved one, to be precise. It was a visit he certainly wasn't looking forward to, but at least he didn't have to visit the diner, or even the original pizzeria. He couldn't, seeing as both locations had been closed down, due to circumstances of which Michael did not want to think about.

After arriving, he hesitated outside the glass doors to the building. William was right, he hadn't been to this place yet, and he had no intention of doing so, yet here he was. Silently scolding himself, Michael entered the building. At once, he became aware that it looked much newer and fresher than the diner and pizzeria, both of which he was more accustomed to. The entire place was decked out with vibrant decorations, and as he walked deeper into the area, he spotted the famed trio, Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica.

"Wow." He stopped in front of the stage. "Really pushing kid friendly, I see." He couldn't help but give a slight smirk. "Looks like Freddy's been eating one too many donuts."

"How amusing." William came up beside him, making him jump. He chuckled at Michael's startled reaction. "Did I scare you?"

"No, duh." Michael shot him a look. "Next time give a warning when you appear out of nowhere."

William ignored this comment, motioning to another man as he strolled up. "I'm sure you remember Henry."

"Mm." Michael sent him a nod.

"Ah, Michael." Henry held out his hand, which Mike shook. "I haven't seen you since you were a teen. You...look rather tired."

"Yup, I'm a sleep deprived, jobless guy," Michael said. "Pretty much what I expected for myself."

Henry winced. "No need to beat yourself down like that. You've only hit a rough patch; you'll bounce back, I'm sure."

William gave a short laugh. "As if."

Michael rolled his eyes and fell silent.

Henry glanced between the two, tense and looking rather awkward. Hastily, he changed the subject. "Oh! I almost forgot, I have someone for you to meet," he said, hurrying off. "I'll be right back!" As soon as he disappeared from the room, the father and son were left in a stiff silence, Michael staring at the floor and William glancing around.

"So," he said, "you truly are a jobless loser then, hm?"

"Oh, don't sound so pleased." Michael glowered at him. "You always said I would amount to nothing without you."

"And was I right?"

"You tell me."

"Hmm. Still haunted by what you did, I see."

Michael stiffened. "Shut up."

William merely chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry, I'm not going to jab at you for it."

"Yeah, you've already done it enough," Michael said. "Isn't it funny how much you used to blabber about that incident all the time, yet you never told me—" his expression darkened— "what happened to Elizabeth?"

William's pleased expression vanished. "Ah." A thoughtful look replaced it. "I haven't, have I?"

The conversation ended there, for Henry returned, a new person coming alongside him.

"Michael, I'm sure you remember Charlie." He motioned to her. "You two were quite close when you were younger, hm?"

"Charlie?" Michael tensed. A young woman stood before him, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. She wore a green jacket, purple shirt, and grey pants. Her warm eyes lit up a little as she smiled. Michael remembered her all too well, though it was strange seeing her more grown up now. The two had lost contact, when they were both around fifteen. It had been about four years since then, and it was strange how much someone could change in such a little time. Although, for Michael, it rather felt like ages.

"Um...hi," she said with a small wave. "Didn't know you were coming. It's been a while."

"Yes," he said. "It certainly has."

A silence fell over the four people as Michael glanced away, silently searching for something to say. He thought of nothing. That often happens when you shut off somebody and don't communicate with them in years.

"Well, I'll let you two talk," Henry said, clapping his hands together and making Mike jump a bit. "William and I have to go make sure the foxy animatronic can be fixed again. Those kids...they always play so rough with it. We'll be back in a moment." With a nod to Michael, Henry left, William following close behind.

"So," said Charlie, watching them go, "how have you been?" She focused on him. "Um, you look a little—"

"Tired?" Michael supplied. "Yes, your father just said that. I suppose I don't always get much sleep."

Slight concern crossed her features. "That's almost exactly what you said the last few times we spoke. Have you been doing alright?"

He paused, reflecting on the final times he'd been with Charlie. She had always been a close friend of his, ever since that first day they met. Shortly after the incident, she had been there for him, attempting to console him after she got over the horror of that terrible day herself. She'd seen the effect the entire ordeal had on Michael...the guilt...the shame...the grief. And shortly after this, he stopped visiting her or the diner, and quit talking to any of his friends, though most of them left him on their own accord.

Michael swallowed hard. "I'm managing. How are you?"

The concern began to leave Charlie's face. "Oh, I'm doing pretty good. Currently training to be a technician, sort of following in my father's footsteps."

"Oh." He nodded. "Good for you. I myself am not really into that sort of thing."

"Right," she said. "Unfortunately, my father's a bit protective of me. He doesn't let me work much, especially without him around. It's kinda irritating."

"I can imagine so," he said.

"So what's your job?"

"Um...actually, I sort of lost mine today."

"That sucks, I'm sorry."

"Meh, it was no surprise." He jerked his shoulders into a shrug. Another silence followed. With a deep sigh, Michael ran a hand down his face, then lowered his head. "Look, Charlie, it's nice to see you again...it really is."

"It's nice to see you again too," she said.

"And—" he looked back up— "I'm sorry."

She frowned. "What?"

"I'm sorry for dropping contact," he said. "It was a mistake, I just...I...I don't know, I got so messed up and depressed. I thought that—" he shook his head— "no, it doesn't matter what I thought. Just...I'm sorry."

She tilted her head, tugging on a strand of her hair. "Where is this coming from?"

"Well, we just met again." He turned away. "I thought it needed to be said. I'm not sure if I'll see you much, but—"

"No," she cut in, "I'm sure you will."

"Really?" He sent her a confused look. "I just thought, when you stopped trying to contact me after I did the same, that you'd realized you didn't like me, and you saw me for what I really am."

Charlie took a step closer. "What do you mean what you really are?"

"Never mind that," he said. "I just thought—"

"Well, don't think it," she interrupted yet again, her voice firm. "I truly have missed you. I think it'd be nice if you came around a bit more. My dad's missed you too, you know. Even after...you-know-what, we still cared about you." She gave a slight smile. "So, I don't know, visit occasionally or something. It'd be nice to get to know you again, Mike."

Michael blinked, staring. This certainly wasn't how he'd expected the conversation to go.

Smiling faintly, he said, "Huh. You called me Mike. Haven't heard you do that in forever."

"Haven't heard your dorky British accent in forever." Her smile broadened.

"Oh hush, you know you like it." He waved his hand. "Can't be any more ridiculous than you saying I'm from British."

"Oh no, you still remember that?"

"How could I forget?"

"I think I'm gonna die of embarrassment."

"Don't worry, if you do, I'll burry you in British."

"Oh no." Charlie shook her head, laughing. "Glad to see you've still got your sense of humor. Welcome back, Mike."

"Yes." Michael chuckled along. "I...suppose it's good to be back."