Rating: T for violence, death, mild swearing, cruddy humor and terrible puns
Setting: Immediately after the Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria Simulator inferno ending
Summary: This fanfiction was not intended to disrespect Scott's storytelling and plot choices, but I tried to write something cathartic and a happier ending for Henry, Mike and even Phone Guy. This turned out really weird but I just kinda ran with it. This was posted to the FNAF Reddit group years ago.
Author's Note: Five Nights at Freddy's and all canon characters, settings, etc. are the property of Scott Cawthon. This is a non-commercial fan tribute and was not written for profit.
You are free to use any original concepts, headcanons and characters from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.
Views expressed in this fanfiction do not necessarily match the writer's.
The inferno raged on long after its rapid ignition, individual fingers of flame clawing skyward through the collapsed roof. In a wooded area just beyond the back alley, two figures sat on a fallen log, looking slightly worse for the wear with soot stains and singed spots marring their clothing. Both wore grins so wide their gleaming teeth were bathed harmlessly in the orange flickering glow from afar. Finally, the younger of them spoke, clapping an arm across the other's flannel-clad shoulders.
"Henry, my man, we really pulled this off! Can you believe those chumps really thought we were just gonna burn up in there with 'em?
Suckers!"
Despite his jovial taunt, Mike Afton coughed sharply, bringing a discolored and purplish hand up to his sunken mouth. Next to him, Henry winced, his smile nonetheless never fading. Sure, Mike was a great guy and had helped him accomplish his life's mission, but his appearance still took a little getting used to.
"We got it right this time, Mikey," Henry admitted in his characteristic subdued tone. "I must commend you for having the guts, er, I mean the stamina, to stick it out until the end of the transmission before dashing out through the secret exit I'd made for us." He flashed an apologetic look at his friend's sunken and decidedly gutless abdomen before continuing, though Mike had long grown used to the verbal faux paus and wasn't above cracking frequent zombie jokes at his own expense.
"You might remember a certain arcade game popular in your youth that featured mazes and ghosts? It was always amazing how many players would try their hand at that one, forgetting altogether that there was an exit - two of them, actually - they could use in their escape. I won't deny that sparked the idea for this." He beamed back at the engulfed structure that had once been a mock-up of a pizza palace, while beside him Mike choked again, more softly this time.
"Hold the phone, Pac-man inspired this? Well, to each his own, but it had better have been the arcade version, because so help it, if you got any inspiration from that crappy console version that ruined most of my childhood dreams, then I swear I'll march right back into that fire because maybe that really was where I wanted to be after all."
Hearing his own words from his earlier transmission elicited a low chuckle from Henry. "It was the former, I can assure you. That, and while I normally wouldn't speak ill of the dead, in your wretched father's case I'll make an exception. You told me yourself, when you watched him during the less-than-successful Paragraph 3 that was Fazbear's Fright, there were at least two well-lit exit signs right in front of his face and the dumb bunny couldn't override his own programming to use them and escape."
"What can I say, he was harebrained. And you were a better firebug than me." Mike stretched out his arms behind his back, his sinewy limbs making unappealing crackling noises beneath the button-down work shirt he had faithfully worn to keep up the ruse he had been a business proprietor.
"That was what, two rabbit jokes already? If we keep this up, we deserve to go straight to hell," Henry warned, entirely in jest. "And we'll leave that one to your father. But really, had you only listened to my advice, Mister One-Point-of-Ignition-Oughtta-Do-the-Trick, he probably wouldn't have been around for tonight's controlled burn. I tried to tell you, go big or go home."
"Hello. Hello? Uh, is this meeting of the Local Pyros 401 open to all?" The sudden return of the inimitable voice Mike had never thought he'd hear again caused both men to nearly fall backwards off the log where they had been celebrating their victory. Several feet away stood another man with his arms folded across his chest in a manner that was more friendly than standoffish, and his entire form had a gray and eerie translucency. Mike recognized his clothing, from the blue work shirt to the polyester slacks to the logo ball cap, as the very uniform he had also worn at his first undercover job as a night-shift security guard at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. "Uh, I think you left the stove on, buddy," the officer said, jabbing a thumb toward the inferno before them.
Mike's toothy jaw dropped when he realized he was finally seeing his telephone mentor from years before, the one who had sadly fallen under Afton's employ and had sacrificed his final moments trying to give encouragement and advice to someone he had never met, at least until now.
"It's you!" Mike croaked out, and the figure before him nodded. Having spent enough of his existence along the tenuous realm between the living and the dead, Henry gently rested a hand on the newcomer's shoulder, or at least held it against nothing solid where his shoulder appeared to be.
"Mike, I was always hoping you'd meet Clyde. He was the most loyal worker anyone could ask for, and he always had his heart in the right place, but he couldn't protect any of those children any more than I could." Henry wrapped his arms around the figure's form, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling only a vague chill as his arms wrapped around empty space. When he stepped back, Clyde was smiling gratefully. "And I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."
"I owe you my very life," Mike exclaimed, then gestured toward his rotted frame. "Although things admittedly went downhill after that."
Clyde smirked. "Yeah, I guess we've all fallen on hard times. But really, Schmidt, would it have killed you to check the back room like I'd asked?" He settled on a nearby tree stump, not out of any need to rest but just out of old habits. "Then again, maybe it would've. I didn't hold out back there nearly so long as I hoped I could, and I was a goner long before you started your first shift. No regrets here, and I'm just glad I could give you advice in my final moments, because otherwise, Afton would've won." The late security guard reached into the pocket of his work shirt and pulled out an ephemeral cigarette, twisting it between his fingers longingly. "Uh, mind if I smoke?"
Henry clapped a hand to his forehead, still reeling from the shock of reuniting with his old youthful employee. "We're camping out here watching Paragraph 4 burn to the ground and you're asking permission to light that thing up? By all means, go right ahead."
"Er, thanks," stumbled Clyde. "And please don't ask why I still have a jones for these when I'm a goner. I really should quit already, 'cause I heard these things'll kill ya." Touching a lighter to the cigarette and taking a long draw, he scowled at the burning building. "Didja really have to leave my old cassette recorder in there, the one I used back in the day for my spring-lock training tapes? I was always sentimental for that thing." His winged and outmoded hairstyle swayed as he rose to his feet.
"Heck, I'll take a look-see just on the chance it's still intact, and while I'm at it, how about I check in on Springtrap and see how he's getting along-" Mike and Henry both rose to their feet frantically, blocking his path though they had no true power to impede him.
"Don't you even!" Henry yelped frantically, trying to talk some sense into his friend. "Don't you get it? You go in there and you're an ultimate goner. We lit that place up to destroy the remnants of those who we lured there. Remnants are souls, and you, my friend, are nothing but remnant."
Stunned, Clyde sank back onto the stump, noticeably jolting when Henry passed him something.
"Don't sell me out; I never would've let your old cassette recorder burn! It was the last link I still had to you." He smirked. "Your old phone's also safe, out in the trunk of my car, and parked a safe distance from that."
Staring down at the cassette recorder on his lap, Clyde was momentarily overwhelmed, and as a pop emitted from the fire, Mike rose to his feet and shook his gnarled fists at the flames.
"Burn, Baby, burn," he sighed before letting his hands drop helplessly to his sides. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I threw my whole life away in the hopes of letting her escape, only to learn she'd returned to try and do exactly what my father had intended all along. At least she's at rest."
"It wasn't her fault and she didn't remember," Clyde said quietly. "None of them did, and they took me out when they were really going for your dad. But you did the right thing, Mike."
"I could say the same for you, old buddy." Mike's blackened eyes watered slightly, surprising Henry that he still had tear ducts. "So anyway, what's next for us? We make an interesting team, with a ghost, an undead zombie and..." He looked questioningly at Henry.
"A fugitive who had better escape before the fire department arrives and he's nabbed for arson?" Henry rose to his feet, pulling his car keys from the pocket of his flannel shirt as the distant wail of a fire engine pierced the night time air.
"C'mon, let's blow this popsicle stand."
A month later...
Though the young man with his thumb out was trying his best to project an older, more sophisticated image, Henry surmised he couldn't have been older than sixteen. He settled on the bench seat of the battered old car and unswung his duffel bag from his shoulder, acknowledging the offer of the ride with a grateful nod, and squinted at the two backseat passengers he couldn't quite make out in the shadows of the dimly-lit parking lot.
"Where to?" Henry asked, a smile on his careworn face. The boy shrugged, feigning indifference.
"Anywhere but this dump of a truck stop. I don't know what brought you here, but I'm awfully glad you showed up when you did. I need out." He shuddered violently, rubbing his arms and looking desperately at Henry. "I need to get back home."
"I was hoping you'd say that," said one of the passengers from behind him after he'd given Henry his address and they had set out for home, nearly an hour away. "It's scary to be out all alone."
"You said it," sighed the teen, relief flooding his mind now that he had finally reversed a decision he had grown to regret. "I ran away a month ago. But while we're at it, why are you guys doing this, for someone like me that you just met?" He scratched his head. "I mean, you didn't even hesitate or complain about the distance. You just...saved me, I guess."
Henry grinned at him, adjusting his rear-view mirror. "I'll just be mysterious and call it Paragraph 5, but you might say we three live for it."