Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On the flip-side, through the impossibility of this warping time he’d found himself in, Gregory came crashing down upon an old parking lot. He hadn’t learned how to land yet, hands and knees scrapped on dirty asphalt and broken shards of glass. Nighttime granted him the cover to recuperate from his impact, wiping smears of blood onto his shirt. When his wandering, silver eyes met the sign in front of him, he couldn’t recognize the place he was in at all.

Apparently, Gregory stood smack dab in the middle of an empty carpark for an establishment called… Fazbear Frights?

Could this be a Halloween-type attraction? Why did this version of the pizzeria’s IP look so rundown? Its windows were smoky and obscured with dust like it’d been abandoned for at least a decade. The outside looked dingy as well.

“Oh, fuck that.” Gregory shivered, folding his arms around himself as the cold night air compounded with his light injuries. “I’m NOT going in there…”

Carefully, Gregory got up and finished brushing himself off. Disgusted with the state of this themed establishment, he turned and decided it was best to try and find someone around the outside of the building rather than go directly in. He learned his lesson in both his original timeline and the horrid one he’d just jumped from not to immediately put himself in a spot where he couldn’t easily escape… 

Not five minutes after Gregory's arrival, a car pulled into the lot. Out stepped a man in a Fazbear security guard uniform: black shoes, black slacks, a navy blue button-up dress shirt, and a black cap emblazoned with “SECURITY” in bright white text. He wore no nametag—the shipment was delayed so his boss said, and wouldn't be available until the attraction opened to the public in a few days. Not that it’d have his real name, anyway.

Hopefully Michael Afton could figure out the secrets of this place and its mysterious, strangely aggressive animatronic before then. The last thing he wanted was for this venture to succeed and inevitably cause more harm to new, innocent families.

The exposed skin on Michael's hands was freshly wrapped in brilliant white gauze. He couldn't do much about his face except wear a mask with the excuse of a sensitive skin condition, although since he was quite literally the only employee around he deemed to keep the mask in his pocket just in case. This left his gaunt, bruise-colored skin on full display, thin lips twisted down into a grimace as he stared up at Fazbear Frights. At least he still had his facial features for the most part; out of all the things he was desperately trying to not let rot away, that and hands were at the top of the list.

With a heavy sigh, he adjusted his hat and patted down his belt, making sure he was equipped with the (fake) taser and (real) flashlight as part of his uniform. Another night of hell was upon him—but he just had to figure out which poor soul was in that damn spring Bonnie suit. Maybe they could give him a clue to his father's whereabouts. He was running out of leads.

Just as Michael was about to stick his key in the front door, the sounded of bushes rustling caught his attention. He froze, eyes snapping to the questionable foliage.

“...Hello?” he called out in that soft British lilt. There was no anger in his voice—no deep-seated hatred or otherwise disdainful tone. He just sounded tired. “Is someone there? Um... sorry to disappoint, but the attraction's not scheduled to open 'till Friday.”

Gregory didn't have enough time to conjure a good hiding spot. After seeing the bright headlights pull in from the main road he made do with what he could, so into the unkempt bushes besides the entrance he went. His night was off to an unlucky start full of pain; Gregory had unknowingly tossed himself amidst the brush, only to find a wayward cholla plant to ensnare his clothes and skin upon.

Of course! Could anything in Gregory's life be easy?

He tried his best to quietly dislodge himself, totally unaware that the security guard was encroaching closer to his hiding spot. Though upon the voice making itself known, Gregory dared to think he recognized it.

“H... Help?” he asked, trying his best to sound a little scared. “I-I'm stuck—it's the thorns...”

Gregory did have to force himself to sound just a little timid. He was supposed to be a stranger, and this was the way he acted around people he didn't know.

Oh god, not a kid...

Just Michael's luck. If only it'd been some adults, or even stupid teenagers trying to sneak an early peek at the horror attraction, he could chase them off without a second thought. But no; that voice was way too young for either of those.

“Ah, shit...,” he muttered this under his breath, then a bit louder added: “Okay, just—hold still. I'm security around here, so I can get you all sorted out.”

Not wanting to freak the kid out more, he hooked the black medical mask around his ears as he walked to the bush. Now only his dull eyes were visible, their once-bright grey clouded over slightly from years of aches and pains. Thankfully, none of this affected his ability to see... And boy was Michael surprised when he laid eyes on the little trespasser, because—

It was Evan.

His little brother stared up at him from the bushes, face twisted in pain from the unfortunate cactus run-in. His eyes were wide and scared, just as Michael remembered. But they were also—

He sucked in a sharp gasp. Who the hell was this boy? And why did he have the silver irises of one cursed with Remnant?

...

This must be one of William's victims. At least he seemed to be alive—if you could call whatever existence he was going to lead with that tormented poison in his veins “living.”

Eventually, Michael snapped himself out of his stupor. Crouching down to assess the damage, he tried not to stray too close without the boy's consent. He could not afford to scare him off.

“Aw, that doesn't look too bad—seems like it got your clothes, mostly.” His gaze drifted down to the slightly-bleeding knees and palms. “Ouch, that's kinda gnarly though... Let me get you untangled, then I can fix you up. I've got a first-aid kit inside. Sound good?”

As much as he did not want to take the boy in there with that rabbit, the police or hospital were out of the question until Michael figured all this out. At least there was only one animatronic to deal with in this place. 

...

Yep. That was Michael alright. Compared to the evil, manic voice of the last one Gregory encountered, Mike now sounded tired. In fact, his whole frame oozed exhaustion, years of disappointment and heartaches weathering his soul down. It was impossible to tell how old his brother was supposed to be from the sliver of his eyes Gregory could see; he was still the same thin man Gregory knew, yet Michael looked as if he had to strain physically to move his torso...

Odd. Given Michael’s apparent penchant to acquire injuries—like Gregory himself—this one didn't come off as threatening. Thank fuck. The worst version he'd encountered of Michael thus far reeked of sycophantic niceness. Manipulative and fair-weathered, like Gregory’s foster parents when in mixed company. But this Afton seemed to be more aligned with the ones Gregory was used to.

Blinking his large and reflective eyes, he nodded, trying not to move so much as he helped Mike work on freeing him from the prickers. “Shit—it cut my shirt...”

This upset Gregory greatly. He just gotten a bunch of new clothes, and they were already stained with vomit, blood, and now shredded fabric along the hem and sides. He seemed much more worried about this than the physical state of his body. It was funny; since being given his “death” vaccine, Gregory didn't really fear being hurt anymore...

It was wholly inconvenient, but not anything he really worried about for the most part.

“I've got some bandages in my pocket—” Gregory said as Mike finally pulled him from the bushes, digging around in his cargo shorts to come up with a few meager plasters that wouldn't work to cover up all his scrapes and nicks. “—Fuck, dude...”

Michael couldn't help but smirk under the mask. He already felt a connection with this kid just from his similarity to Evan and their apparent connection with William, but he seemed pretty spunky, too. He kind of reminded Mike of himself at that age, though whether this was a good or bad thing was yet to be determined.

“Damn, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” he questioned once the boy was finally freed, quirking up a patchy eyebrow. There was a pause, and the smile was obvious in Mike's voice as he added: “Hey, I can't really talk—I curse like a fucking sailor, too.” Glancing at the strips of fabric the boy called “bandages,” Michael grimaced.

“Uh... no. Come inside—I promise you're not gonna get in trouble. I'm security, remember?” Mike tipped his hat and stood, then glanced back to the doorway. “My only request is that you do not leave my side, okay? There's still some, uh... quirks we're trying to work out before opening.”

From past experience, Michael knew unless they were specifically designed to capture children like the Funtime line, the animatronics didn't usually pay kids any mind. To be fair, that was usually during the day and night shift was an entirely different world, but the facts still stood.

Even so... this old Bonnie was weird. Michael just couldn't shake the feeling of absolute dread he felt whenever that thing's face popped up in a corner of the monitor. It was far too smart to be just a robot; there was someone inside, and Michael's goal tonight was to figure out who that was. He just had to sort this kid out first.

Gregory's shoulders slumped, relaxed at Michael's fairly routine behavior. It seemed to be just him around, working his lonely security gig at this decrepit attraction. Looking towards the padlocked front doors, Gregory laughed at the comment about his mother.

“Oh, man! My mom? I don't kiss strangers.” He snorted, not realizing how sad that was until it fully escaped his mouth, free from the harsh prison of his mind. But the smile on his face didn't defer. After all, he couldn’t make a sad joke and then act sad—all that would do was make Michael feel bad for saying anything at all.

It was funny. His life was a funny joke...

“I'll try not to get lost in the crack-shack you work in, sir,” Gregory said playfully, taking stock of this version of Michael as a whole—attitude included. Maybe this was their chance to be what they were always meant to be: partners in crime.

“Ex-cuse me—” Michael scoffed in mock offense. “This 'crack-shack' is... yeah, okay, it's a shithole.” He managed a chuckle then, trying to keep the spirits up despite everything. Clearly, this kid had been through some deep shit in his past too—and not just with William.

Unlocking the door, Michael ushered him quickly and quietly to the security office. He was forever going to be pissed that there was no door, but he'd gotten in a rhythm the past few nights of keeping that bunny away so he wasn't too worried. The thing didn't activate until 12 am anyway, and it was currently 11:42—just enough time to get the kid patched up and hopefully learn a little more about his story before the inevitable call from the boss started his shift.

“So...,” the night guard began, gesturing for Gregory to take a seat in the swivel chair. He grabbed the first aid kit from its spot on the back wall and set it on the desk, pulling out bandages and disinfectant as he talked over his shoulder. “I can't force you to tell me anything, but I've got to admit I'm very curious how and why a kid like you ended up outside my crappy workplace in the middle of the night.”

Alcohol-soaked cotton swab in hand, Michael turned back to the boy and begun dabbing at the worst of the cuts on his knees. “Sorry—this'll sting, obviously. Shouldn't last long.” Silver eyes briefly met as he continued with his task. “I'm Michael, by the way.”

No point using a fake name—they were far too connected for that, and Mike wanted to gain his trust in any way he could.

It sure did sting. The wound seemed to fizzle with nerves taking that pain, still managing to process it all, before a dull feeling replaced it quickly again. Gregory played it off cool, shrugging. Michael didn't need to know just yet what was going on with him.

Turns out my future-alternate-self is a programming prodigy, and I gave my past self the ability to time travel to ensure better worlds for you, me, and all our friends.

…Yeah, that sounded ridiculous; Mike would probably think he had a few screws loose. Gregory rested back, thanking Mike for his help before shrugging.

“Um... I got kicked out of my house a few weeks ago. I saw the sign here and thought it would be a good place to crash,” he explained. It felt nice to have Michael back on his side. The guy seemed to be giving him the mother hen treatment he'd become used to from his “original” influence.

“It's been getting cold out and the park's not really cutting it for me anymore,” Gregory finished, speaking from experience when it came to brief stints of homelessness. Sometimes he could camp in the dugouts of the old baseball fields; even the pavilions had some alright cover. But not in what was clearly fall; the wind at night wouldn't allow a restful sleep. 

Michael simply nodded along, humming in understanding at the tale of woe. Well, that made sense as to why he was picked—if William was still hiding somewhere out there, a homeless kid with no family to worry about him was the ideal candidate for fucked-up human experimentation.

“Got it,” the guard said when it seemed the boy was done talking. “I'm sorry that happened to you. I can... help you find a place to stay after my shift, maybe, or—”

Jesus, Mike, you just met the damn kid. Don't overwhelm him. He didn't mean to sound so adamant. It'd just been so long since Michael truly had someone to care for, and this little bro-lookalike certainly tugged at his heartstrings.

“Anyway.” Michael cleared his throat, moving on to the last few cuts on his arms. These weren't actively bleeding and probably wouldn't even require bandages, but it was still good to clean them up just in case. “You picked a hell of a place to crash... this building isn't just designed to look run-down, it's literally fucked. Boss wanted it 'authentically weathered' and took it waaaaay too far. Oh, that reminds me—if you start feeling woozy, let me know. The ventilation tends to fail, so it needs to be reset on that touchpad. Same with the cameras and audio prompts.”

Finally done with disinfecting, Michael stood again and pointed to a monitor laying on the desk, connected to the building's systems through a couple of thick cables. He grabbed a box of bandaids and handed it to the boy, letting him patch up what he could to give him a break from the fixed attention. “What'd you say your name was, by the way?”

Gregory raised an eyebrow at Michael. Nothing accusatory, just surprised that he wanted to try so hard to help out a kid he just met. Huh; seemed like he might be lucky that if he did everything right, Mike would be a good guy to have as a constant in his life. Noting the way he cleared his throat, stopping himself from offering Gregory a place to stay clearly not being something he wanted to throw on the table first ten minutes of meeting, the boy would answer his next question with another shrug.

“Ah, I didn't say. I'm Gregory, Mr. Mike,” he replied, balling his fists when he felt the dulling throb of his scrapes coming back. Those were going to take a little more time to heal.

“So—are you the only Security Guy at the crack-shack? Or does having more than one person stuck in here suck the oxygen out too fast?” Gregory inquired with a tilt of his head. He glanced around and noticed a clock, finding that it was getting a little late but wholly unworried about it for the time being.

11:56 p.m. read clearly on the digital clock, right above a box of abandoned animatronic parts inside of a moldy cardboard box. It seemed like the whole place was either too damp or too dry, with no in-between. What a deplorable place to stay for a whole shift. Gregory couldn't imagine what dire straits Michael had to be in to even consider this as his career. Gregory would rather risk it on the streets than stay inside of a building that could literally suffocate them when the ventilation systems were acting finicky.

“Just me,” Michael replied with a faint smile under the mask. Thank god for that, really—anyone else in his position would probably have legitimately suffocated by now. At least he didn't need to breathe, thanks to his lack of full lungs. Unfortunately, the less oxygen there was the harsher his panic could get, so he still tried to make sure the room was well-ventilated.

“Not sure how much you know about this place, but if it wasn't obvious, it's supposed to be a horror attraction,” the guard went on, closing up the first-aid kit before finally settling, leaning back against the desk. “I'm only supposed to play a security guard, but between you and me I'm hella overqualified.” He rolled his eyes, anxiously tapping his fingertips where they rested at his sides.

“There's going to be more staff when it actually opens, but while everyone's working on PR during the day I'm doing the physical testing of everything at night.” A look at the clock announced 11:59 pm. “And speaking of which, my boss is probably going to give me a call in three... two... one.”

The phone on the desk rang. Michael gestured for Gregory to stay quiet as he hit the speaker button, upon which a shaky, nervous-sounding man began to speak—not Michael's current boss, but an employee long-past that recorded instructional tapes for earlier company ventures.

“Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Um, there has been a slight change of company policy, concerning you and the suits.

Um, so. After learning of an unfortunate incident at the sister location involving multiple and simultaneous spring lock failures, the company has deemed the suits temporarily unfit for employees. Safety is top priority at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, which is why the classic suits are being retired to an appropriate location, while being looked at by our technicians. Until replacements arrives, you'll be expected to wear the temporary costumes provided to you. Keep in mind, they were found on very short notice, so questions about appropriateness/relevance should be deflected.

I repeat, the classic suits are not to be touched, activated or worn. That being said, we are free of liability, do as you wish.

As always, remember to smile. You are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.”

...

Gregory felt like he'd been smacked in the face with how wildly low-key that call was for the content within. He didn't realize how relaxed the company was about accidental impalements. Of course it was a corporate call; they had to act nonchalant about things as to not freak out their employee base. But STILL! He couldn't imagine Sam letting some issue like this circulating around.

“Wait—springlocks? Aren't those things lethal?” Gregory asked. He remembered the Henry from his timeline mentioning something vague about the suits being retired for a reason. They were hurting the people that wore them. Clearly, they were uncomfortable after death, too... but he didn't want to think about that right now.

Though he didn't know it, Gregory had just alerted Mike that he knew a little more than he probably should about the franchise. However, before he could sent a barrage of questions Michael's way Gregory heard a loud, persistent banging over the generators the building ran on. All previous inquires flew out the window as Gregory jumped from the office chair.

“—Fuck, wait, shh!” the jumpy kid hissed, now standing next to Mike with his back turned from the reinforced security window facing the hallway. He quieted Michael, despite the fact he wasn’t even talking. Hell, Gregory was half certain he couldn't even hear the guy breathing half the time. “Tell me you heard that, right? Or like... That's just ambience. Yeah?”

Gregory dreaded to think of what problem he had to find and resolve that lurked in the damaged and crumbling Fazbear Freight attraction.

As the tape went on, Michael's brow had furrowed to a concerning degree. Things were starting to come together—puzzle pieces about what the fuck was going on around here slotting in jagged combinations. He was still missing something major, that was for sure, but maybe this horrible phone call had given him a very big clue.

There'd been two springlock suit models in use: Freddy, which Michael still cringed to think about... and Bonnie. Knowing without a shadow of a doubt the rabbit stalking him through the building was haunted, Michael's eyes widened at the realization:

What if this wasn't a kid? What if it was the unfortunate employee who'd gotten spring-locked, forced to suffer through this for all eternity?! That'd make anyone want to take revenge on their supposed “coworkers.”

But... no. That still didn't quite make sense. The kids had only been trapped because no one knew they were stuffed into the suits. Clearly, the employee's accident was witnessed and therefore he'd have been taken out.

...So who the fuck was this?

Michael's head snapped up at the bang. He barely registered Gregory's question, and honestly he thought the kid was just some fanboy obsessed with Freddy Fazbear lore. The perfect customer for this sort of morbid attraction. Practically pushing Greg out of the way, Michael pulled up a monitor fitted to a 360-swivel rig. With a quick press the screen came to life, and after a few camera switches Michael stabbed a finger in the corner. A bright, glowing eye could be seen staring directly into the lens, and after switching to another room the guard activated an audio prompt of some demented child's laughter which the creature immediately followed. Task complete, he heaved a sigh and looked to Gregory sidelong. “That is why I don't want you wandering around this place. There's only one animatronic here, and he's not nice.”

Gregory responded with a huff at being pushed out of the way. It was clear it hadn't been done maliciously; Michael did have a job to do after all. Still, this didn't stop the kid from leering over Mike's shoulder, face paling at the silver eye peering back at him.

No wonder he wasn't nice—that was William!

A chill went up his spine at the news that this version of William wasn't so tragically rendered as the one he’d previously shared a sense of camaraderie with. He was likely just as cruel as he'd been in the original iteration Gregory met. The suit he was in looked way worse in this light; perfect for a horror attraction. It made Gregory wonder why he never heard of this place before...

At the press of a button, children's laughter caught the attention of the twitching rabbit. It looked to be opening its mouth in response before following the noisy trail to another dead end.

“What. The. Fuck...,” Gregory breathed out, going straight towards the window to look out for the snared soul inside a fursuit.

“How long does your shift last?” Gregory asked, briefly looking over his shoulder at Michael. Maybe he could just convince the guy to skip his shift tonight while he got his bearings. “You can't seriously be paid enough to stay and babysit that nasty old Bonnie.”

Once again, Gregory was left in the dark for what to do, especially thanks to how secretive Michael had been about his sordid past. He spoke plenty on the good things, but not much on the cryptic nights he’d spent as a mechanic and head of security for various company ventures.

“I stay 'till 6 AM, when that thing automatically switches to dayshift mode and stops being a fucking nuisance.” Michael glared at the camera feed, knowing they had a little time before the audio prompt ran out and he'd need to redirect. As long as the systems didn't fail worse than the night before, they should be okay.

“...Look.” Mike lowered his gaze, and even though his expression was unreadable he suddenly gave off an aura of extreme guilt. “I shouldn't have let you in here. That was stupid of me. I... there's things going in on this place that I can't even begin to tell you about. That Bonnie?” Michael pointed to the screen just in time to catch the floppy ears turning to the camera. Another audio cue, and off he went. “There's something very, very wrong with him. I mean, obviously, but—”

Michael huffed, frustrated as he tried to explain everything and nothing at once. He had to save this kid from all the trauma this franchise could bring.

...However, another look at those silver eyes reminded him that Gregory was already in far too deep.

“God damn it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding what information was prevalent to reveal. “Okay... how about a deal? I give you a personal, maybe not really nice piece of information, and you do the same. We take turns until we know all we need to about each other. This might sound presumptuous and I don't mean it that way, but... I think we're more connected than you realize.”

He didn't even know the half of it. For posterity's sake, Gregory grimaced. Naturally, he'd be reluctant to tell any stranger more than they needed to know about him. Thinking through it logically, he should probably act a little more aloof—as realistically, in this timeline he shouldn't be a hundred percent comfortable with Michael.

Gregory's diffidence came off in the form of crossed arms and a mild sink-eye. Even if he trusted Michael overall, who knows what his past self was looking to ask him about. It could be a myriad of things hard to discuss, or something completely fine.

“Connected? If you say so, Mr. Mike,” the boy replied, turning around just as a forked shadow loomed on the clear fixture's parallel wall. Gregory came to sit on the desk next to the tiny fan, hoping to get some circulation as he found the building just a little too warm for his liking. “If you want to play the world's most depressing game of Twenty Questions, I'm down.”

Was it warm? Michael couldn’t really tell; his sense of temperature control fizzled away with his nerves long ago. He had a feeling they’d need to reset the ventilation soon, but for now all systems were go.

“Okay, I’ll start since I suggested it,” the guard offered, glancing to the window. His eyes widened at the shadow and he slammed an audio cue a few rooms over—luckily still close enough for Bonnie to respond to.

“Fuck off!” Michael hissed as the shadow disappeared, then looked back to Gregory. He seemed suddenly nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll start with a pretty tame one, all things considered. My name’s Michael Afton—that could either mean a lot to you or nothing at all. The important thing is, I’m the kid of one of Fazbear Entertainment’s founders… and I’m also technically presumed dead. I went ‘missing’ years ago, but only because I had to. Obviously, because of this I’m working here under a fake name.”

He made air quotes on the word “missing,” seeming content to leave that crazy admission right there for now. “Your turn.” 

“That’s… heavy,” Gregory admitted in turn, watching as the hulking shadow of William Afton disappeared once more into the thick darkness of the unlit hallways.

Now Gregory was issued with a dilemma. Should he continue to lie under the pretense that he was doing Michael a favor? Or would being open and honest with him in this setting help them out further? He could go ahead and do what he assumed his sometimes-dad was trying to accomplish: easing him into the jarring truth slowly. Gregory kicked his legs, looking away with a short sigh.

Tell the truth, he thought. Being real with him might help solve this whole timeline a lot faster.

Gregory took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly with a hiss, finding the air a bit thin as he began to sweat beneath the collar of his shirt. Quietly, an alarm went off at Michael’s desk.

“So… I… Lied a little. Just a bit. I—I already know who you are,” Gregory explained, when Michael shot him a confused look. “I was in the foster system for a while, and I did run away from home. Then, I lived at one of the Fazbear franchises… But I’m not really from here at all.”

Gregory dragged a trembling hand down his face. Why was this so hard to explain? Maybe because he wasn’t even sure how to; he’d just have to try his best.

“God—you’re not going to believe me at all. I-I really hope you do. You’re a really understanding guy, most of the time at least, so…” He took a deep breath, then exhaled the rest in a rush. “I’m your son. Kind of.”

Mike was going go think he was crazy. Gregory couldn’t look Michael in the eye exactly, but he could only imagine the look on the guy’s face. Gregory sounded nervous on many fronts. They were actively being hunted, and he was alone with a younger version of the guy who was supposed to be his family. Misplaced in a fucked-up timeline, now reunited.

For now, he’d let the confession hang in the air. The truth was so heavy and dense, one could choke on it. And before the ventilation ducts finally reset, Gregory felt as if he were about to start coughing from the stale air inside the building. This place was so dusty...

Gregory caught the totally off-guard look Michael sent his way and tried to diffuse it with a weak laugh. “Uh… Your turn.” 

Chapter Text

“What—?” Michael couldn’t even finish the question, distracted by the sight of Bonnie on the monitor. He went back to the task he was familiar with, ironically grateful as it gave him time to think.

What a weird fucking thing to lie about. To claim Michael was his dad was utterly insane. He couldn’t have kids—he wouldn’t have kids, adoptive or not. There was no way in hell Michael could willingly subject anyone to the tormented horror that was his family.

His brother and sister trapped in animatronic prisons…

His father MIA and likely murdering countless other children as they spoke…

His own body rotting from the inside out…

“N-No, that… that’s not possible.” Michael spoke quietly, face twisted in an expression of utter shock. His earlier theory must be correct: this kid was an obsessive fanboy that just wanted early access to the attraction. Maybe he wasn’t even homeless—

Yet that damn Remnant in his eyes gave Michael pause. There was no faking that; Gregory was tainted with the Afton curse, whether the rest of his story was true or not.

“So… okay, let me get this straight.” Mike tried again, hitting the buttons to reset audio and ventilation. Even he was getting short of breath now.

12:35 am. It hadn’t even been an hour.

“So you’re saying you’re my son,” the guard reiterated, casting a wary eye to Gregory. “Yet you’re not… from here? I… yeah, okay, this is a lot, kid, not gonna lie.” He let out a heavy exhale, one hand tapping anxiously against his thigh as the other worked the cameras. “I know it’s my turn but you’ve got to give me more than that…”

He cast his dull eyes to Gregory again. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you—fucking hell, my life is insane enough you might be completely telling the truth. But you can understand my hesitancy, right?”

Gregory felt those scrupulous eyes bore into him, unamused and even a little scared at the information presented to him. The boy averted his gaze, then rubbed his arm, soothing the spot right above his clunky watch.

“Yeah! Yeah I mean… It sounds like a lie, right? But I can prove it. I’m not from here. I’m from the… Future…” Gregory was losing steam as he spoke. Face palming hard, he groaned at his own words. “Man—I don’t even believe me! Look! I know your childhood best friend, Charlie! You remember Charlie right? You and Dad showed me how to make the kitchen-sink-slush!”

Therein started an air of desperation in the kid’s voice. He felt like he was being forgotten about—but this Michael didn’t have any memories of Gregory to forget in the first place. When the sound of something crawling through the vents started, Gregory’s first instinct was to get up and run behind Mike as a shield, hands grasping the back of the chair in marginalized fear as he kept watch on the dark opening in the corner of the office.

“I-I know that you used to run track in high school! You’re still really fast. And Foxy’s your favorite character in the whole lineup!” Gregory shut his eyes as he info-dumped on the poor night watchmen. “Please trust me! I just want to help!”

This was… a lot. On top of everything else in his twisted, disturbed life, now Michael was dealing with his supposed son from the future?

He listened intently to Gregory’s rambles, cataloguing each fact as he said them. Before he could figure out how to respond though, the thumping in the vent attracted his attention. He shot up with a gasp, flipping the monitor to a whole different set of feeds. Mike encountered this scenario before, but it surely would come as a heart-dropping shock to the poor boy to see Bonnie crawling through the air ducts in an attempt to get to them. With a growl of frustration Michael slammed yet another button, closing off the vent so the rabbit was forced to back out and try another route.

Good news: it’d take him longer to find a new path. Bad news: with the vent closed, the air was likely to grow stale much faster. They didn’t have much time to talk—this possessed animatronic was far more aggressive tonight than Michael had ever seen. The only way Mike could process Gregory’s words was to work somewhat backwards. Turning to stare at him incredulously, he admitted: “Yeah… yeah, I did run track, and Foxy’s always been my favorite. And of course I remember Charlie!”

How could he ever forget? His best friend, so ruthlessly murdered by his own father… the event that kick-started William’s killing spree and search for a way to bring back his family with the power of Remnant. He just had to sacrifice a few dozen innocent kids in the process.

The fact that Gregory not only knew about Charlie and her close friendship with Mike was jarring enough, but there was one thing he said that legitimately took the guard’s rotted brain a few minutes to process. When the words finally registered, Michael’s eyes suddenly transformed—instead of wary intrigue, they held nothing but a soft sorrow.

“Kitchen-sink-slush…,” he echoed, barely turning his head as he smacked another audio cue to send Bonnie running far away. “I-I haven’t heard that in… god, it’s been so long.” There was a crack in his voice, which he tried to cover up with a shaky cough. His eyes locked onto Gregory again with hyper-focused intrigue.

“…You know Jeremy.” It was a statement, not a question. Michael was trying to work out his thoughts aloud, used to doing so on his long nights alone in the pizzerias. “But… you can’t know Jeremy, because he… h-he… and you wouldn’t have even been alive back then, so…”

Mike sunk back in the chair. His whole being felt heavy—body, soul, and all. He wrapped an arm around his hollow torso and pressed a hand over his mouth, looking as if he wanted to throw up. Instead, he swallowed thickly and asked one more question: “You called him dad, too. Does that mean… i-in another time, we… he… he’s alive?”

And there it was. If Gregory still had questions about why his other doting father was absent from his original timeline, he now had his answer.

Thank god this Michael decided to listen to him. The thudding in the vents turned to an obscene thrashing noise, and the vent door had been closed just in time to save them from the golden Bonnie’s ire. He was clearly upset about having to backwards crawl to find a new way inside. Though Gregory was more worried that the lack of airflow not only made the room hotter, but incredibly stuffy.

“I knew Jeremy… briefly. I’m from a broken timeline where he wasn't around. But…” Gregory had to take a deep breath to finish his thought, head leaning up against Michael’s side. “He was so cool… I’m trying to make it right, but I have to go back and help all of you get through the past. I’m… Gonna… Save you… Dad…”

The boy gasped, shutting his eyes as he needed to focus on breathing. He hoped that at this point, if he was legitimately dying the watch would save him. Either that, or the Remnant swimming around in his blood and organs could sustain him despite the burning from lack of oxygen in his lungs.

Soon, the banging stopped, and Gregory eyes fluttered open at the sound of the vents creaking ajar again. Cam 2 showed an awful sight: William was pulling at his rabbit face, writhing as he tried to free the flesh inside. A frustrated growl ripped down the hallway as he attempted to peel spring locks from the muscle and mummified skin to no avail. It would violently snap back into Bonnie’s face and send him reeling into the wall, where he kicked and punched the concrete.

It was clear the lack of proper airflow affected the kid greatly. Despite the glowing substance in his veins, he was still human—which was more than Mike could say for himself.

The boy’s words had a profound effect on the eldest Afton. Instead of completely discounting them as a twisted web of lies meant to stab into his already frail psyche... Michael actually believed him. The concepts of alternate universes and time travel were huge concepts that'd take a while to fully wrap his head around—but he was sure in his very core that this Evan-lookalike was telling the truth.

In another world, Jeremy survived. They’d stayed together and had a family—a child who obviously loved them dearly.

They were happy.

And now, that child was trying to save Michael in worlds not even his own.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mike told him earnestly, gripping the boy’s shoulder once he’d regained his breath.

There was so much more he wanted to say, so many more questions on the tip of his tongue—but that horrible growl wrenched his attention back to the cameras. Michael’s eyes widened and he instinctively pulled Gregory close, as if to shield him from the horrible sight. “Shit… I’ve never seen him do that before.”

Well, there was his proof that the person inside was definitely an adult employee. The face was far too mangled to identify on the grainy monitors, but by their actions the person was pissed. Michael’s gaze shifted to Gregory again. Maybe the kid was aggravating the trapped soul more than usual?

“There’s so much I want to ask that we can’t cover right now, and I know it’s my turn to share—” Michael began, hitting the audio button again. There was a dull clicking noise instead of laughter and Michael immediately reset the audio, hoping the rabbit didn’t move too far. “—but there’s no point in me telling you stuff you already know. You said you come from a ‘broken’ timeline—I’m guessing one similar to where we are now. So then… do you understand what I’m trying to do?”

If Gregory was aware of Michael’s goals, that’d save much unnecessary explanation and allow them to focus on more current issues—like that damn rabbit. 

When the air flow came back, Gregory’s head was already swimming. How Michael kept his composure filled him with a sense of inspiration and determination. Along with the bolstering grip on his shoulder, Gregory could inhale deeply knowing he didn’t have to waste time keeping up the façade of pretending not to understand what was going on.

Gregory glanced to the camera, sidetracked as Michael asked him another question. William looked like he was still in leagues of pain. Thinking back on the last timeline made Gregory’s eyebrows pinch together in a look of pity. When the rabbit turned and began walking around again, searching for a way to sneak into the office one more time, Gregory cocked his head at Michael.

Pointing to the dust bunny on his cameras, Gregory asked in an uncertain tone: “Um… We’re trying to rescue Pappy? Or take him out? Not sure which one yet.”

If he could talk to the guy, Gregory could know for sure whether this William was off the fucking rails or had retained any of his morals. Though he wouldn’t try that just yet; Michael was already stressed out with Gregory simply being here, and adding to the danger would only further irritate him.

“Pappy?” Michael’s face twisted in confusion. “Who the hell’s Pappy? Wait—”

He turned fully to Gregory now, knowing his heart would be pounding like a jackhammer if it was still beating. “Do you know who’s in that suit?!”

How the fuck did this kid know such a thing?

...

Oh—right. He was from the future… sort of.

It made Michael’s head hurt to try and logic everything out. Eyes cast back to the cameras, he caught the rabbit just in time to see him stick his head in a vent. Demented laughter played from the next room over, forcing the springlock suit back out and towards the noise. Though Mike couldn’t hear the soul inside on the cameras, he could just tell they were cursing up a storm.

Suddenly, a gut-wrenching realization made him gasp and stagger away from the enraged rabbit on screen. The way Gregory spoke of the long-dead man was with a melancholy that Michael was all too familiar with; he couldn't quite explain how, but it pulled at a particular, sour feeling deep in his soul reserved for his family. 

Pappy. An old, out of date term; one he'd only heard a single person in his entire life use. And that person, unfortunately, was—

“Hold on… no, no, no, no.” The guard shook his head quickly. He could handle time-traveling doppelgängers and parallel dimensions, but this… this was almost too much.

“You’re not trying to tell me that—” Michael stabbed a gauze-wrapped finger against the screen. “—is my father, are you?!”

Gregory’s eyes widened in horror. His hands went to his hair, grasping the locks in a stressed-out vice grip.

“You didn’t know?!” Gregory retorted, the horror replaced with his deep sympathy. Michael had one of those looks in his eyes where he knew if he said nothing, it could send the poor guard into a panic. “Shit! Were you looking for him? He… Uh… Oh what the fuck?”

Gregory’s train of thought delayed, then full-on stopped when Michael followed William on the camera. They found him in the shadows, currently fighting and attempting to rip apart portions of an old, color-faded Freddy suit that was perched on a special stand. William threw a punch into its jaw, spinning the head around as he bellowed again, his agonized screams along with its accompanied banging filling the partially empty warehouse.

“Dude—your dad’s gone crazy! How long ago did you lose him?” Gregory attempted to piece things together. If William had been out of Michael's sight for a while, a solid chunk of time might’ve passed already from the time he got stuck in the old Spring Bonnie suit to now.

“I…” Michael blinked dully, watching the rabbit—his father—take out decades of anger on Freddy.

Well. That explained quite a lot. Regardless if William realized the night guard was his son, the tormented anger of such an evil soul would surely lead him to go after anyone in his path.

“They found him in a sealed room two days ago… It was totally hidden from the public—a panic room, essentially,” Michael tried to explain, the words tumbling out quickly. “They've been stocking this place with things from the original diner, so it makes sense they found a springlock suit. But… shit, the diner was shut down decades ago. If he’s been trapped since then, no wonder he’s fucking pissed…”

It made sense, if Michael thought about it. He’d lost contact after William sent him down to the depths of Circus Baby’s Entertainment and Rental. When Michael was scooped, it took him a long time to learn how to be a person again enough to venture back into society… and in that time, William must’ve met his horrible fate and somehow been sealed up with the rest of the building. No wonder Michael hadn’t heard any mention of murders at Fazbear locations for quite some time—just the usual careless, avoidable accidents.

Oh god… did Henry know about this? Michael hadn’t talked to him since the scooping incident, either.

And how did William get springlocked in the first place? Why the hell had he been messing around in those things he knew were deadly?

Too many questions and not enough time to answer them. William was on the move again, and the damn audio prompt was malfunctioning. Waiting for it to reset, Michael grimaced and offered a final tidbit of information. “And trust me—he was crazy long before he got stuck in that suit.”

“Oh… So William's bad in this timeline,” Gregory realized. Getting the gist of the kind of person his grandfather chose to be, he shook his head with a sigh of defeat. His family was stubborn; there likely wasn’t any use in trying to get through to him if he'd already lost his mind. “Great.”

The moldy rabbit quickly advanced upon hearing Gregory’s voice, and was soon pressing hard into the glass to garner both of their attention. Gregory jumped at the sudden scare, once again taking a shielded spot behind Michael. The rabbit swayed, attempting to look for that little shadow in the office area with the dingy worker. Unable to see much, William twitched violently before smacking at the glass with his fists.

“Wh… Where? WHERE?!” he growled out, followed by a wheezing cough that sent flecks of copper spraying the other side of the office window.

Gregory cowered behind Michael, unsure of how else to help but to stay quiet and out of sight while the guard worked to steer William away. He'd gotten used to the eccentric old Brit and his gnarly, permanent costume, but seeing it twisted with Will's madness added a whole level to the creep factor.

“Where what? If you’re looking for the laughing kid, I hate to break it to you but that’s a recording,” Michael responded, trying to keep his tone cold and flat. Inside, he was screaming.

This wasn’t how he wanted the reunion with his father to go. To be fair he hadn’t really planned it out, but Michael knew he’d never wanted things to be like this—two zombies facing off with nothing but a dirty glass panel separating them.

Could William even recognize his son at this point? Who knows what decades trapped with nothing but one’s own thoughts and pain did to a person… especially one already so demented.

“You’ve… never tried to talk to me before,” Michael said slowly, gauging his father’s reaction. A gauzed hand hovered over the audio button, ready to send the party-loving Bonnie suit off at the first sign of a legitimate threat. "I wasn’t sure if you could—it looks painful.”

William had only made it to the window once in the past two nights, but he’d remained eerily silent with eyes locked onto the guard as he fumbled to guide him away. No words, just that cold, immortal, murderous gaze.

Would he still want to wrap his paws around the man’s throat if he knew it was his son?

William coughed again. He couldn’t answer Michael; not fully. His lungs kept filling with blood as his body attempted to repair itself around his injuries. After being rendered immobile in a small room for so long, the constant movement the past few nights only aggravated long-standing wounds. Something in his body was always breaking or snapping open. Wounds consistently oozing like nectar from a freshly sliced fruit. The slow and languid drips only served to further plunge him into madness the more he festered in his thoughts and regrets. 

In response, William smacked the glass once again. His head twitched painfully to the side as he assaulted the sturdy frame. “Hurt… Hurting… H… Help…”

If only he just had more—more Remnant to fuel his experiments. He could figure out a way to repair his body. To slowly peel off layers of this once cuddly suit-turned iron maiden, would be a relief previously unknown to man. Unfortunately, he had no clue where his experiments had gone to.

...What if Michael had them?

William hadn’t forgotten about his son. He thought of him often, in fact. Usually cursing his name, figuring his only remaining child had forsaken him the same way Henry had when his old friend encountered his body inside the springlock suit. The both of them were probably together right now, living it up on his dime… HIS hard work! Ungrateful as always...

...

God damn it. Why did Michael still feel a little bad for this man after all the torment he’d caused?

His pained, wet cries tugged at the deepest parts of Michael’s soul. Whereas Mike was hollow inside, William had too much, poking, prodding, breaking with every movement. His father was in pain. He needed help. And yet—

“I don’t know if I can,” Michael responded quietly.

He knew what William wanted. There was only one way to rend himself from that death trap of a suit—a supernatural solution for a supernatural problem. Michael had studied the original models long enough to know that once you were springlocked you might as well be buried in the thing, especially if those harsh rods hit in all the wrong places.

…Or was it the right places, in this case?

William was a murderer. A child-killer. A man responsible for the deaths of at least seven innocent kids—undoubtedly more, though the papers could only report so many mysterious deaths at the pizzerias before Fazbear Entertainment shut them down.

Why should Michael care if he was suffering?

“…I’ll figure something out,” the guard said after a moment, leaving it up to William to decide whether that meant he’d aid in his release or not. Staring hard at the rotted Bonnie costume, Michael pressed the button to play laugher in an adjacent room. “But you’ve got to leave for a bit. We’ll catch up later.” 

He’d try? The man in the office was going to try to help him…?

It was something…

Slowly, William’s head rolled back. With hands flat on the glass, the forever smiling Bonnie face pointed to the ceiling as he let out a plaintive cry of pain. It was like he'd already forgotten what Michael told him about the audio recording. His face snapped towards the sound.

“Ev… Ev…” William gasped out, clambering in an uneven gait. Trying as quickly as possible to find the source. It had to be him—Evan’s ghost was around here somewhere. He needed to make amends.

Gregory shook as he watched William drag himself back down the crumbling hallway. Good riddance for now… The clock read 2:15 and he couldn’t wait to get the hell back out of the mock-up of the previously condemned diner.

“Holt shit, he’s totally lost it.” It didn’t really need to be said, but Michael couldn’t help breathe out the words in a state of mild shock. The dilapidated, molding rabbit with barely any wits about him was a far cry from the strong-willed, Afton patriarch he remembered.

He didn’t doubt William was in pain, though. That week of Ennard using his body as a skin suit was literally the most excruciating time in Michael’s existence. To have foreign metal and circuits jabbing into your most delicate organs every second—and to not even have full control of your body on top of it all—was a torture made up in the lowest level of hell.

The guard let out a shaky breath and turned to the trembling boy behind him. Crouching down, he had the strongest urge to pull Gregory into a hug… but physical affection was a foreign concept to him now, so all he did was place a firm hand on the boy’s upper arm. “I’m sorry you had to see that… are you okay? I’ll try to keep him away better; I never should’ve let him get that fucking close.”

It was hard to see William like that after he'd been so… Doting in the previous timeline. Affectionate, even! Yet now his mind was gone and so was his ability to breathe or speak properly. Gregory wondered what made him decide to ask for help when he’d only been hounding for his blood days prior. Was it a real plea, or more of that sly manipulation he was known for?

At Michael’s touch, Gregory snapped from his thoughts and hung his head with a sigh. “Yeah… It’s just hard. Every time jump I make, it’s always something… You know? I can’t trust everyone right away. Seeing William like that… I mean, he kinda deserves it but…”

It was hard to put exactly what he thought into words. Something told Gregory that the mixed feelings he had weren’t too far off from whatever was going on inside Michael’s own head.

“What about you? Are you gonna be okay...?” Gregory asked, concern in those dead eyes of his. 

“God, I can't imagine what you've had to go through,” Michael remarked with the utmost sympathy. Jumping from one fucked-up timeline to another just to save his stubborn family over and over again... and the kid was barely a teenager. He sighed at Gregory's question, giving a little shrug. “I'll get over it.”

It was an honest response. With each new trauma he went through, the only thing Michael could do was try his best to suppress it and move on, lest the overwhelming guilt and terror destroy his sanity too.

Casting another glance to the window, Michael's brow furrowed.

“So... I'm guessing you know what William did. Or at least that he's a bad person.” The old silver eyes fell back down to meet Gregory's, holding nothing but empathetic softness. “Could you... tell me how this happened to you? Er—do you know what happened?” He looked away with a dull, huffing laugh. “Sorry... honestly, I haven't talked to someone for this long in years; I'm kinda rusty.”

He took a moment to center himself, then tried again. “If it's not too hard to speak about, I'd appreciate you telling me anything you know about how your eyes turned silver.”

Gregory had nodded along, pretty agreeable until it came to the topic of his... Accident.

Plain and simple, Gregory died. Well—maybe that wasn't exactly what he’d gone through with his little transformation. Though when he'd fallen, clutching the hypodermic needle that jutted from his sternum as he felt it's sharp end pierce bone and flesh, he swore his heart actually stopped. In those few crucial minutes, the change already took hold. An irreversible taint that would forever mark which family he belonged to now.

Gregory cleared his throat. They had some time to kill. And like Michael in his previous (good) iterations tried to tell him, talking about it sometimes eased the pain of it all.

“Alright, well... I—Yeah, this is a long story so I'll cut to the chase.” Gregory's hand flew into his head, a nervous habit he'd ironically picked up from Michael as he slung back sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead while collecting his thoughts. “Right so... I was trying to go to the bathroom. And I saw this plushie just sitting on the sink. It looked rare. A golden Freddy; probably a misprint or something, but get this—it could talk! I thought, 'Woah score, brand new plushie.' Because I kept losing mine...”

Gregory couldn't hold eye contact for long as he went on, remembering how vulnerable it all made him.

“He asked me if we were friends, and I said, 'of course'... Then, when I picked it up, this huge goddamn needle, man... I-It hit me right in the heart. You heard me fall down and you held me when I passed out. William—t-the one from my timeline; a bad guy—told me it was a vaccination for death. I'm gonna live forever now and I have no idea what that even really means...”

Gregory thought a lot about this. Not being able to die, and potentially get old seemed like a huge curse. What was he going to do if all of his friends grew up and got mortgages and families?

...Oh wait, that's right. All his friends were already dead... Bummer.

...

If William wasn't already dead, Michael would've marched into that hallway and fucking killed him right then and there.

It didn't take a leap of logic to understand why Will chose to inject Gregory with Remnant instead of murder him like all the other kids. Just a moment ago had been proof—the crazed man knew Evan was still out there, and undoubtedly got confused in his senility and mistook Gregory for his youngest son. Of course he'd want to “cure” Evan of death... too bad he'd already suffered from it decades prior. It was far too late for the little Afton.

“Gregory, I... I don't even know what to say.” The pain was obvious in Michael's voice. Still in his crouch, he tried to add as much conviction as he could to his next words. “You're a strong kid, that's for sure—even without the Remnant. I can just tell. I'm not sure why you were sent here to help me right now, but I won't let that bastard hurt you again, okay? Just stick with me and you'll be fine.”

Typical Michael, offering words of affirmation he might not be able to live up to. He'd try, though—harder than he ever had before.

A thunk in the vents signaled another attempt by William to get in. Michael jumped to his feet, flipping through the feeds until he caught the rotting rabbit's face leering at him from inside a metal shaft. With a press of a button the vent closed off, blocking his way and cutting off the air flow yet again. Hopefully Michael wouldn't start to get those weird visions again... he hadn't even brought those up yet.

“Okay—” He decided to offer a distraction until things could be reset, smiling weakly at Gregory. “—I asked you like a billion questions just now, so it's only fair you get to ask me a few. Anything you want to know that you don't already?”

Oh great, Gregory thought. William must have heard them talking and attempted to sneak in to get a better look. The conversations in this place probably echoed, especially through the ventilation shafts. Wincing at the banging, he attempted to keep his focus back on his eventual father—if he played his hand right at this time-traveling stuff.

There was a couple of things that he could infer already. Michael was lonely. His sporadic conversation skills that he was so kind to point out had been apparent. Greg could only guess that Mike had no one left at this point.

Looking into his poor dad's deteriorated face, Gregory hummed in thought before landing on a question, smiling at the compliments Michael doled out to him. “You're like me, right? Like... You can't die, either... How'd that happen?”

He figured it was a fair trade. Something had to have happened between the time Michael was a teenager to now that made him the way he was.

“...Of course.” Michael closed his eyes, leaning heavily against the desk. Of all the things to ask about... Although to be fair, it was a prominent question. Michael was damn near purple, and that was bound to jar even the most stalwart time-traveler.

“Well, obviously it's not a fun story, but I'll try to spare you the worst details,” he began, hooking a finger over the edge of his mask. Might as well rip the bandaid off now and show the rest of his face—depending on how long Gregory was around, he was bound to see it. Besides, Michael still looked leagues better than his mummified corpse of a father.

Now he could offer Gregory a smile, as gaunt as it was. It was clear the longer he continued existing like this, the more he'd deteriorate. For now, despite the waif-thin, off-color skin that sunk to his bones, Michael still had most of his face intact. There were a few scars here and there, the right side of his mouth terribly thin and boney, but otherwise he looked... alright.

“Humor me and answer one more question first,” Michael continued, shoving the unneeded mask in his pocket before crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you know anything about the Funtime line? Or, I guess I should say: what do you know about the Funtime line? It's relevant, trust me.”

“Oh! I know Circus Baby... Er—Lizzie. I met her in the clown thing, actually. And I know Ennard and you don't really get along either... Uh. You guys were ‘roommates,’” Gregory said, using air quotes with this term. It was a loose way of phrasing the fact that Michael had been worn like a set of pajamas for nearly a week straight before his flesh nearly fell off his bones.

The way Gregory enunciated “roommates” let Michael know he was well aware of what happened between them. The guard's jaw fell open, eyes wide at the fact Gregory could speak of such things so casually... It made him even more curious to know what happened in the boy's original timeline.

“G-Got it,” Michael said in a quiet voice once he'd regained the ability to speak. “That actually saves me a whole bunch of explanation... Uh, so obviously Ennard, with Lizzie leading the charge, decided to hitch a ride out of there. I'm guessing you don't know how, though.”

The way Gregory's face went mildly green gave Michael his answer. He grimaced and held up a hand placatingly. “I promised as little gross detail as possible. There was a machine in Circus Baby's called 'the Scooper.' I honestly don't even know what my father intended to use it for, but that's what ultimately killed me—and saved me.”

Michael's eyes went glassier than usual, no longer in Fazbear Frights but a warehouse deep underground.

“There's a Remnant injector on the machine, so when it does its thing—” He pressed a hand over his stomach and mimed pulling something out, in case there was any doubt as to what happened. “—it also injects Remnant into whatever it scoops. At the same time I died, I was given immortal life. While my body was trying to figure out what the fuck it was supposed to do, Ennard took the opportunity to sneak out with me... That lasted a week, and here I am.” 

Gregory's face twisted into a hard frown at the mental image. Elizabeth and Ennard scooped him—literally, this whole time. It hadn’t been some stupid ice cream-related, inside joke. God… What the fuck?! Both Ennard and Circus Baby were fucking ginormous. Still, they managed to fit inside of his already twiggy dad?

Gregory could feel his own stomach churn that the idea of being brutally mutilated, only to be kept alive as someone's puppet. It made sense now, why Michael reacted the way that he did when Gregory himself had been stabbed. Maybe all this time, he was too caught in the shock horror to realize what happened was more than just his experience: it was the collective trauma it impacted unto others.

Gregory said nothing as he fell forward onto the guard. He couldn't help it—despite his hollow friend's ghastly appearance, he was still Michael. After everything, in a timeline where things were, for the most part, right again, it was him. He must’ve been so lonely looking for everyone in the state he was in. It almost made Gregory angry at Henry for not finding Mike sooner.

Suddenly, the previous iteration of Michael—the pissed-off, murderous one taking the place of William—made sense. How easy it could’ve been for all the others to fall down the same insane slope...

Keep an eye on Dad. His alternate self's words rang through Gregory's head, pulling a grimace. Based on the last timeline, he thought it was a warning... But maybe it'd actually been a plea.

Gregory buried his face into Michael's crumpled dress shirt, ignoring the sharp concave of his chest as he mumbled against it: “I'm really sorry.” 

Chapter Text

How long had it been since Michael hugged someone?

He honestly couldn’t remember. His first instinct was to push Gregory away, worried that he’d be disgusted by the wrongness of him—better to spurn the affection himself before someone else could.

Yet Gregory didn’t seem like he was moving anytime soon. Hesitantly, Michael brought his thin arms around the boy's shoulders, holding him loosely but with all the intent of a good hug.

“What’s done is done,” he murmured, lightly resting his chin on top of Gregory's head. “But… thank you.”

They could only stay like this for a few seconds before another anguished scream echoed through the building. Michael flinched, whipping to the cameras. He dislodged himself from his (kind of) future son and stood, ruffling Gregory’s hair as he moved to the monitors. After sending William on another wild goose chase for Evan, Michael let out a heavy sigh.

“Obviously there’s not enough research to definitively say what Remnant will do to a person long-term,” he explained. “The only facts I’m one hundred percent sure of from William’s notes and personal experience is that your eyes go silver and you quite literally cannot die—at least, not in a way I’m aware of.”

Michael subconsciously cast his gaze towards the thick glass window. The zombie roaming the halls was proof of the Remnant’s ability to keep a body going despite all forces working against it.

Gregory had to let Mike go; William was actually about to go apeshit in the halls. He seemed to be stuck in this odd loop: look for his son, fight the empty Freddy suit, then try to get into the office. It was anyone's guess why he was doing these things, or in the order he seemed to be so keen to stick to. Gregory watched with intrigue as William whipped his head around to hurry for the sound of a child's greeting. The rabbit was getting faster, pushing past the pain now to try and figure out where everyone was.

That was when they heard the choked-up and drowning words come out clearly, whispering down the hall as William forced himself towards the back of the diner.

“Ev...An..!” The odd digital overlay to William's voice sent chills down Gregory's spine. Cringing at his pain, Gregory raised a point—something he learned from Henry.

“Well... I know one way we can die. But I don't know if it's safe to say it here.” Gregory made a point to whisper, both he and Mike studying the screens.

Michael’s gaze shifted to Gregory with wary intrigue. So there was a way for them to truly perish and separate themselves from this hellish plane of existence?

Not that Mike would be able to do so until he took care of his father first. That was his goal, as it’d been for decades. The eldest Afton child couldn’t rest until William was vanquished and all the other trapped souls were freed.

“…Good point; tell me later,” Mike acquiesced after a long pause. He wanted to know the cure for their immortality, but he didn’t want William to overhear. The longer they could keep him in the darkness of his delusions, the better chance they had of taking him down. Hell, he still didn’t even know the night guard was his very own cursed son…

“Look, I don’t know if you have a time constraint or anything with this... y'know, time travel business,” Michael began, redirecting the rabbit again while he talked to Gregory over his shoulder. “But like I said, my shift here ends at 6. The Bonnie suit’s free-roam mode is disabled from then until 12 am tomorrow, so William can’t physically do anything until midnight.”

He looked to Gregory then, offering a soft smile. “If you need a place to stay and plot, you can hole up at my apartment.”

If we make it out of here tonight without William tearing one of our limbs off, the little voice in his head murmured, though Michael quickly shoved this down.

They were going to be fine; he had it all under control.

Gregory glanced to his watch, where the “standard” clock twitched in the very top corner. It seemed like its display struggled with telling him the hour of just one particular timeline—or more so keeping it place. The number changed in the blink of an eye, but always managed to return to one particular combination.

4:39 a.m.

Almost over, Gregory thought, meeting Michael's gaze now to answer him.

“No—I don't think I have a time limit, but I found out last world that it pulls me out and restarts me at the beginning if I fuck up,” Gregory explained. He swallowed at the thought. Hopefully he wouldn't mess up so terribly this go-round. That’d been such a huge mistake to remotely trust the psychotic version of Michael. Gregory could still feel the way his arm screamed in pain... How his brainwashed self refused to let it heal in a masochistic way.

Pushing past the memories, Gregory cast the good Mike a smile over the sound of pained echoes in the hallway. “Oh, hell yeah! I wanna see your house!”

“Apartment,” Michael corrected gently, grimacing at the realization he'd actually invited a guest over. He'd literally been the only one in that place since he started renting it nearly a year ago. Moving around frequently to keep up with his changing aliases meant that he didn't have a lot of stuff to fill his little one-bedroom abode... just a couch, TV stand, and TV so he could watch his soap operas. He didn't even have a bed—he just slept in the living room.

...God, his life was depressing.

Finding that the rabbit had been preoccupied, lost in the corridors and angrily punching things he'd mistaken for people, Gregory wandered the office. His attention was captured by a box full of different animatronic face parts. There were some arms and even an endoskeleton's foot, but most consisted of the toy line and the old, fabric-covered plush line. Ugh... were there kids attached to these things, too?

Gregory shook the box a little, wondering if he could agitate any ghosts into speaking with him. “Helloooo, anyone home?”

Michael tilted his head with a frown, watching him call out to the blank masks. “What exactly are you doing, might I ask?”

Gregory must've seemed like such a weird kid. That's at least what he'd think of himself if he were looking at it from an outsider's perspective. He dug into the moldy cardboard box and lifted up the masks. Most likely, they were empty shells, which was sort of a bummer in a twisted way; it’d be nice to have someone around to guide them or give them any insight as to what happened so long ago.

“Just talking to myself, I guess...,” Gregory sighed in a dejected manner.

Then, that's when he saw it: a white painted face with purple tears trailing down from the eye sockets. Gasping, Gregory bent in further to pull out the mask and hold it up in a victorious manner.

“Alright! Now, we're talking!” Knocking at the side of it, Gregory attempted to invoke Charlie's spirit... All to no avail.

It didn't make sense to him. If this was earlier, and he'd found Puppet—at least, part of her—then where was Charlie? Was she just… not here? Before she was able to transfer to Henry’s android, she’d been anchored to her animatronic, bound by unseen strings that only she could weave together.

“Uh... Weird question.” Gregory looked up to the zombie. “Do you know where the other parts of Puppet might be?”

“Uh... no.” Michael shook his head with a grimace. “And even if I did, I don't think you want to see her. She's pissed.”

Another thumping in the vents, another slam of a button and a responding cry of frustration. Michael's face twisted even more, as he asked in a quiet voice: “Er, do you... know who's in the Puppet?”

Of course he does; he's from the future, Michael had to keep reminding himself. Besides, Gregory was aware that William was in that spring Bonnie suit, so it'd stand to reason he'd know the identities of the others. Well, the ones that still lingered, anyway.

“...Never mind, by the look on your face you already answered my question,” Michael said with a dry chuckle. “But 'Bonnie' is the only animatronic in here—at least, the only complete one.” He made air quotes with one hand, fanning himself with the other. Damn, if he was feeling the heat, then that meant—yup, the ventilation was failing.

“Shit!” Rushing over to the touchpad, he pressed the reset button and held his unnecessary breath, signaling for Gregory to do the same. Once the airflow returned, he sighed out heavily. “God, this place fucking sucks...”

Gregory opened his mouth, only to shut it again. His eyes turned back down to the lightly scratched and smudged mask. He didn't put it back; Gregory decided to keep the little trinket. Maybe if he held onto it long enough, she's find her way out into the open and talk to them...

(—Not a good idea. She and Charlie weren't so understanding just yet.)

...Gregory didn't know this in full detail—that Charlie Emily had gone through a mean streak in her afterlife. She was left with a deep and heavy anger after her failed plans to capture William's soul. Cassidy and she planned it out for so long with the others. Now that William was awake, it pulled them too from their restless sleep.

When alarm bells rung, and Michael made a show of holding his breath, Gregory finally ripped his eyes away to do the same. Gregory found himself standing there, holding stale air in his lungs for 10... Then 20 seconds. He looked around, making sure to glance inside the vents as he held that breath, eyes off Michael for just a moment to scout the windows as well when it happened.

The very spirit in question was annoyed by all the noises. William was already being particularly grating. She appeared silently, grasping Michaels pop up camera system and ripping the movable frames downwards, keeping all his controls and eyes over the facility out of sight. An odd static growl would leave her phantom form, invading Michael's personal space and getting in his face.

Michael shrieked, holding his arms up instinctively for protection as he backed away. His legs hit the chair and he stumbled, though he didn't stop until he hit the back wall. It was a far cry from their interactions in the Pizzaplex, that's for sure. No longer were they old friends happy to be together again after decades of soul-wrenching trauma—or, it would be better to say not yet. They had quite a few meetings over the years that were less than pleasant, none of which they deigned to tell Gregory about during their time as a little family.

“S-Stop, stop!” Michael exclaimed, peeking at the withered face of the phantom Puppet through his arms. In his surprised terror he'd forgotten he had a companion tonight, and with a gasp he lunged forward to snatch Gregory's hand and pull him close. Glaring at the ghost with a protective arm hooked around Gregory's shoulders, he murmured to the boy: “Fucking hell... she's only shown up a few times—honestly, I thought I was just hallucinating from the shitty air, but if you can see her too...”

He left the sentence unfinished; the implication was clear. If Gregory could see the phantom, maybe Michael wasn't quite as crazy as he thought.

Gregory found himself screaming, his shouts ripping through the building as he held tightly onto Michael. Charlie didn’t outright attack them, but her pinprick eyes were focused as she fucked with their computer systems. One by one, their systems would reset. Now an alarm blasted over the speakers in the room and Gregory had to hide his face from the fright this new environment threw at him.

“Charlie! Stop!” Gregory begged, making the phantom's head turn. After a curious pause, she relented, her form fading quickly as fast as she appeared. As Michael worked to reboot their systems, Gregory hadn't felt safe yet to completely let go, Charlie's mask long-since abandoned. A stark reminder that Charlotte Emily was more than just a kind person; she could be aggressive and vengeful like the others and formidable to have as your enemy.

But… didn’t she know Michael? What the hell was going on?

After everything came back, Gregory let go and found the strength to answer without shaking.

“I saw her too, dude! Fuck—doesn’t she recognize you?!” he asked, finding himself glancing up to the hallway—only to look into the threatening and shock-inducing stare of William Afton. His ear, the complete one on his head, twitched when he saw that Gregory caught him creeping up on them. Now knowing for certain that a child was here—

No. Not just any child.

Evan.

“Michael! MIKE, DO SOMETHING!” Gregory begged, pulling hard on his dad's sleeve and pointing at the thing now pressed fully into the glass, like he was trying to put all his weight into smashing through it and into the room.

“No no no no no—” Michael was quickly losing his shit. He could handle William on his own, leading him away with audio cues and blocking off vents. As long as he didn't get to the open doorway—that thing was always in the corner of Michael's eye like the waiting maw of a beast—everything would be fine. With William trying to break the glass, he could still be led away...

“Fuck off!” Michael said firmly, pressing the audio button. The sound echoed through the room—

A room too far from the old rabbit's ears to pick up on. He remained in the window, leering down at Gregory like he was the most interesting thing in the universe. As Michael frantically urged the audio cue to reset, he understood why.

“Damn it, he... He probably thinks you're my brother—oh, fuck.” He slapped a hand over his dried-up mouth with a sharp inhale, cursing his stupidity. With those words, the truth about his identity was revealed.

Michael watched with heart-dropping terror as the glowing eyes of his father turned slowly towards him. Despite his best efforts to remain strong for Gregory, the poor guard's brittle knees began to shake.

...

What with the many ambient sounds of the place gathering white noise in William's decaying ears, it was hard to hear what they were saying in there. Still, he could read lips well enough for a few words to peter through.

Michael... Go away…?

The rabbit held a hand up, placing it now on the glass and then curling his fingers, clawing at it. This couldn't really be both of them. His sons... Michael didn't look like that.

Making the denizens inside the security office jump collectively as his head snapped to the side, William slowly began to shuffle to the open door.

“Hit the button—Mike, do it again!” Gregory yelled, knowing exactly who he looked like. It turned out to be more than a curse than a blessing to mirror Evan. Their shared features always came back to bite him in the ass and managed to get William's attention each and every time.

When Michael stalled, locked up from fear, Gregory leaned over and spammed the screen to Room 2, finally deflating when Springtrap's head slackened, lolling downwards before moving back in an almost zombified state... Those audio disks were no joke; their power over the human mind was unmatched. William's own invention was the only thing keeping him in check.

Seeing Gregory move snapped Michael to attention, too. He couldn't afford to freeze up with him here—sure, they both might be immortal but it would still fucking hurt in one way or another if William got his hands on either of them.

Thankfully, Gregory's wizened mind was quick to look past his latent fear of the Afton patriarch. He slammed the button, freeing himself and Michael from William's ire for another few minutes.

“S-Sorry... I'm sorry...” Michael's voice was quiet and apologetic as he gathered the last of his bearings. Sinking heavily into the chair, he stared blankly at the tiles on the wall. “I shouldn't have done that; I'm so stupid, oh my god...”

He was muttering to himself at this point, the self-depreciating guilt that'd been building since his teenage years nearly crippling. With only his rotting body to fend off such an impeccable foe instead of, say, a sleek new animatronic, this anxious side of Michael that Gregory had only seen in small snippets before was much more prominent.

Gregory's eyebrows furrowed at that. The unfortunately-fated man needed a break. Thus, Gregory took over the helm as Michael got a hold of himself; he’d seen Mike panic before, though it was always hard for him to figure out what to tell him in times like that.

Gregory reached out and held onto his arm. There were no hard feelings; he’d frozen up, too. Fight or flight made one do strange things sometimes.

“Don't talk like that, Mike,” he said firmly, speaking from the heart. “You're the smartest guy I know—you just got scared...”

Gregory hoped that this was a reminder as well: he was here to help, not to be protected. At this point, both of them had experience with defending themselves from animatronic threats... Though this setting and passive way of fighting them was new to Gregory, instead of running away.

“I'm really lucky you're here, actually,” he attempted to soothe. They were so close now. Nearly a 45-minute stretch until the shift was over. Gregory continued to lead William down the halls with the audio prompts, closing the cameras and looking away when he was satisfied with the distance he put between them.

The fact that Michael was actually letting Gregory take over animatronic-prevention duty was a sign in itself that he trusted the kid. He'd never been good with words either, but the touch to his arm was much appreciated. Mike placed his hand over Gregory's and gave it a squeeze, nodding half-heartedly at his words.

“Oh, trust me—as freaky as the whole time-travel thing is, I'm very glad you're here,” he agreed, watching on in approval as Gregory led William on another fruitless chase for his youngest boy. “I don't know how long it would've taken me to figure out my father was in that thing...”

Far too long, that's for sure. Less than an hour to go, and they'd be out of this place for another night. Michael let out a breath and laced his fingers together, stretching his arms out and pretending to crack his knuckles—if he actually tried, they'd probably just break. He stood, resuming his place by the monitors. “Almost done. We can do this.”

There was a time when Gregory was so foolishly brave that he might run into the hallways to act as a diversion for William. Then Michael could focus on keeping the systems monitored properly, and likely save him form a potential mutilation via his own dad's hands. Now, Gregory could only imagine if William got those grubby, bloodstained paws on him. The old rabbit might just hug him until his eyes popped out of his skull. He looked unhinged, unable to comprehend the strength that the suit had as his nerves may have completely eroded.

“We got this,” Gregory agreed, swallowing down the apprehension to agree in his throat. 

His eyes wandered to the Puppet mask that he’d dropped earlier. It sat in its lonesome on the floor. While Gregory felt bad about leaving the immobile spirit's vessel away from her friends, he didn't want to risk Charlie coming back out to fuck with them in a malicious way he’d never seen from the girl before.

“Pappy's brain’s all gone. We can outsmart him,” Gregory remarked, trying to bolster their collective confidence for the remainder of the night.

“Ugh… hearing you call him that is so fucking weird.” Michael grimaced as he turned his attention to the cameras yet again. Pappy was such an unassuming moniker—something you’d call a kind, lovable old man. All the traits this version of William Afton lacked to an alarming degree.

“You were asking about her earlier,” the guard continued softly, jerking his chin towards the Puppet mask when he saw Gregory’s gaze drift to it first. Michael’s gaunt face was back to the resigned tiredness that seemed to be his default expression. “Honestly, I don’t know if she recognizes me at this point… probably not. You wouldn’t know it now, but before I got zombified I was the spitting image of my father. It’s actually half the reason I was scooped in the first place.”

He let out a hollow laugh, though the topic was far from amusing.

“They thought they were killing two birds with one stone: they’d get a way out and take down the one responsible for all their torment. Too bad they didn’t give me a chance to explain myself…” Michael‘s finger jabbed another audio button with a bit more force than usual.

“That's, like, a big reoccurring theme with this family, huh? Miscommunication...” Gregory sighed, coming over and looking down at Charlie's mask, refusing to actually touch it, but peacefully observing. Gregory would refrain from telling Michael how much he did know of the resemblance that ran through the family line. “In the timeline I’m originally from, I'd probably just call him an old creep. Apparently he's not supposed to be like this... The good ending? Everyone's fine for the most part. Still a little messed up, but at least everyone's alive.”

Gregory tried for a smile, hoping that maybe the thought of a world where William wasn’t insane would give Michael hope for something better in the future. “William’s... still kind of a jerk in that world, but he's fun. He scared the shit out of me, then gave me a birthday gift the first time I saw him. Then, I got to watch him and Henry both try to out-cheat each other at cards.”

This earned a much more genuine laugh from Michael. It sounded like the dad he knew before everything went wrong—still a character, but not bad. William struggled to raise his kids, especially after losing their mother, but there was no doubt he loved them.

In his own twisted way he still did, though he didn’t know how to anymore.

“Sounds like an ideal life,” Michael mused, casting his gaze towards Gregory. “Sorry you have to go back to a messed-up one. I… hope you still have people who care about you there?”

It sounded more like a question. Gregory had freely offered information about Michael being his dad and married to Jeremy—the thought made Mike’s shriveled heart ache—but it was clear this was part of the “ideal” timeline with Pappy included. Clearly, Gregory hadn’t had it easy in his own world… his glowing eyes from a rigged teddy bear were proof enough.

“Yeah!” Gregory said with a ghosting smile. Only 20 more minutes to go. “Yeah, you're there. But... Um... A ghost inhabiting an android that looks exactly like you... I'm sorry.” Gregory laughed a little, putting a hand over his eyes. “Everything I'm telling you probably doesn't even make sense. Anyway, Charlie's there, too. God, I miss Charlie a lot. And Freddy? Oh man, Freddy's the best! I love that guy...”

He could really go for one of Freddy's patented hugs right now. It must be in his programming that decoded the perfect amount of pressure and stability to add for whatever the occasion, as Gregory never failed to feel safe in his hold.

“Evan's there, too... He's a ghost and was kind of shy at first, but him and Lizzie are always looking out for me,” he went on to put Michael's mind at ease. “It just sucks because everyone's dead and still trying to figure out all of that while taking care of me.”

He missed all of them. It made Gregory's mind wander to how everything might change when he got back. His alternate self told him that he was going to fix everything... Though whether that meant these alternate timelines would eventually impact his own were yet to be determined.

“You know... In the future, Sam makes a whole mall? Yeah; I ran away from my foster home and thought, 'Wow, this will be great. I'll just sneak in and have a place to steal food from and sleep in the unused party rooms...’ That went really well.” The whole thing was just a traumatic blur at this point. Spending too long thinking about the details made Gregory's stare into that of a thousand yard length.

If Michael could still cry, he knew his eyes would be watering. It wasn’t the best life—clearly everyone Gregory knew all had their own hardships, including himself. But it was a good life, and one the boy looked forward to returning to. Michael could feel the affection for his weird, cobbled-together little family in every word he spoke.

“I… that sounds… nice. For the most part.” It was hard to explain his own feelings on the matter. Maybe if Gregory helped him now, Mike would get to lead a similar life down the road.

Then again… surely the others only stuck around because William was still a threat. If he was taken care of, would they still have a reason to stay? Would Michael even get to meet this world’s Gregory? Would he still be lingering on earth?

The scrambled thoughts were too much to process. All Mike knew was that he cared for the kid in multiple universes, and that included this one. He’d only known Gregory for about six hours, yet he’d give his immortal life to keep him safe. It was instinct at this point, really.

“I can’t believe Sammy Emily builds a mall.” Michael shook his head with a soft grin, setting off another diversion with barely more than a flick of his wrist. Five more minutes…

“It's SO cool!” Gregory laughed, forgetting about how quiet he had to be as they breezed through conversation topics together. Talking to Michael was always easy, and despite how badly this one thought he was at socializing, Gregory never minded. “You'd love it. It's got an 80's theme and laser tag...”

Upon the ringing of the shift bell, followed by the surprisingly ironic cheering of children's voices, William's suit would immediately power down, trapping him in a position he found most uncomfortable. His mouth was slightly agape, trapped frozen in a friendly smile, greeting anyone who saw him on camera in a static joy. It was unnerving to say the least.

“Oh thank god.” Michael let out a relieved rush of air. The ending shift bell would always be one of the most pleasant sounds he ever heard, no matter the iteration. Casting one last look through the camera feeds, he found William slumped onto the floor in a heap. He watched for a bit just to be sure he wasn’t getting up, and when there was no sign of movement he turned to Gregory with a smile. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

With an eager spring in his step, Mike led the way to the exit. After locking the place up behind him, he walked to his car and opened the passenger door for Gregory to hop inside. Slipping in the driver’s seat, he plugged the key into the ignition… then paused as a realization hit.

“Shit… I have no food at home.” Without the organs to process it and the Remnant sustaining him, Michael had no need for groceries. He thought for a moment, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel before casting a sidelong glance at Gregory. “How do you feel about McDonalds?” 

Gregory couldn't have been happier to leave that creepy place. Even as a horror attraction, Fazbear Frights only seemed to be bad news. He couldn't imagine what demand there was for such a place. What kind of weirdo was entertained by a restaurant where a bunch of kids died?

Gregory's eyebrows flew up to his head while getting into the car. Michael might as well have told the kid he was getting a puppy, or a brand new game console merely on a whim. Unbuckled, Gregory momentarily bounced in his seat and exclaimed: “Fuck yes! I haven't had McDonalds in forever.”

Relaxing finally against Michael's passenger side seat, Gregory thought of what to order. He was getting too old for a Happy Meal, but only because the portion sizes were too small... Still, he probably couldn't get one anyway with it still being so early.

“What are you gonna get? Can I have a bacon and egg McMuffin?” He was pretty pumped for having stayed up all night. This was his way of coping with the stress they felt throughout their tumultuous shift.

“I, uh… can’t really eat,” Michael explained gently, focusing on the rearview mirror as he backed out of the spot even though there were no cars anywhere in sight. “But you can get whatever you want. It’s about a fifteen minute drive to my apartment and the restaurant’s on the way.”

Michael was a surprisingly careful driver in this universe. It wasn’t necessarily because he was afraid of getting hurt in an accident, but all the police and paperwork that would come with such an event. Though he’d originally acquired his car by legal means, he’d gone through so many alias changes he didn’t even bother trying to change his name on the registration anymore.

And insurance? He laughed at the concept.

Soon enough they were pulling into the drive-through. Michael parroted Gregory’s order, then paid at the first window and stopped again at the second. As they waited, he thought aloud about plans for today. “So I’m gonna tell you right now—I don’t have a lot of stuff in my place. Like… I don’t even have a bed, since I sleep on the couch when I need to.”

He kept his eyes fixed ahead, feeling sort of embarrassed at the sad state of his living conditions. He had the money to make a nice little home, but what was the point? Whenever a new Fazbear-related tragedy struck, Michael would be forced to pick up and move again. He learned long ago the less worldly possessions he owned, the better.

“I’m thinking we go there and decompress for a bit, then once things start to open up we can head to a store and get you an air mattress or something and whatever else you need. Oh—thanks.” Michael grabbed the food from the employees and handed it over to Gregory. “Sound like a good plan?”

Gregory's mouth was salivating as he listened. He made sure to thank the tired lady at the drive-thru and plopped back into his seat to begin tearing open the packaging for his meal. He'd totally forgotten that Michael's lack of a stomach meant there was really no need to eat.

“You don't have to if it's too much trouble. I'm good as long as I'm inside; I can sleep on the floor,” Gregory said, not trying to make the more exhausted version of Michael go out of his way to provide for him. After all, Gregory was unsure how long he'd be here anyway...

It wasn't up to him. The quest his older self sent him on left no time to become attached to people fully. He was certain it was because both he and his future self knew how easily he connected with everyone. It would be so hard to just leave them of his own accord.

Then again, it would most likely make Michael feel bad for not being able to provide a nice comforting experience for him. Before Gregory bit down into his breakfast sandwich, he added: “But we can if you want! I would be nice to have a bed...”

It'd been a while since he had an official one to call his own, anyway.

Michael followed a similar train of thought. They had no clue when Gregory would have to leave, but while he was here they might as well make the most of it. He frowned lightly as he turned back onto the road, letting out a huff.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor.” If anything, Mike would take up the position himself. His mouth soon curved into a faint, reassuring smile. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. It’s not like I never go out… just not often.”

He was well and truly a hermit, only venturing places other than his job when he had a pressing need—like being out of batteries for the TV remote. Going out in public wasn’t a pleasant experience, but he’d long-since gotten used to the stares. Most people gave him a wide berth anyway, and with Gregory there it’d surely feel more like an adventure than just a chore. 

Gregory actually couldn't wait to go shopping later. It was one of those activities he'd always seen happy families do often—a routine thing for most people to deal with, but for Gregory this would be a fun experience. A fun little sleepover at Mike's place would cut up the time between being scared shitless at the unlisted Freddy's diner, too. Both of them needed to recuperate or run the risk of giving themselves a mental breakdown from the stress of it all.

In less than fifteen minutes, Gregory scarfed down his sandwich and hash-browns. The chocolate milk that came with the meal had been chugged just as fast. Gregory would’ve shot-gunned it to get the sugary breakfast drink in his stomach faster, but there was simply nothing to stab the container with. Shoving his garbage in the take-out bag, they found themselves pulling into the apartment complex parking lot momentarily after the blur of Gregory inhaling his meal.

“Holy shit, kid—you demolished that thing!” Michael was equal parts horrified and impressed. Who knew when the poor thing had eaten last, let alone anything relatively substantial. Was greasy fast food good for a growing boy? No, but it’d give Gregory enough energy to get him through until lunchtime.

Taking the trash bag, Michael got out of the car and waited for Gregory to do the same before heading towards a closed stairwell. The apartment complex was nice, though nothing fancy. A safe, quiet place where Mike wasn’t worried about being disturbed—that’s what he always looked for.

The air was silent save for the ambient noises of daybreak as Michael led him inside. Up three flights of stairs to the top level they went, stepping onto a landing with two units across from each other. Michael unlocked one of the doors and entered, flicking on a light switch with a nervous sort of laugh. “Well… feast your eyes, I guess.”

Wow. It was really... Liminal. Your standard big, comfy couch sat across from a boxy, CTR television, complete with a standing lamp with a gingham shade. But these were, quite literally, the only furnishings inside the apartment. The large living space was cut with a nice little half kitchen—free of clutter of course, as Michael likely never entertained guests and clearly didn't keep food in the house.

None of these factors perturbed Gregory; he stepped inside with a bounce in his walk. Finally, a place to just sit and relax. He wasn't trapped anywhere, or running away from giant animatronic killers. 

“It's pretty cool in here!” Gregory told him earnestly. 

Michael laughed as he locked the deadbolt, soon joining Gregory by the TV. “Even if you’re just being nice, I appreciate it.”

He could tell from Gregory’s face that he was being honest, though. With that realization Michael gently ruffled his hair, a gesture he carried across timelines. He handed off the TV remote and moved towards the bedroom, calling over his shoulder. “I’m gonna change out of this shitty uniform; watch whatever you want.”

A dresser was the only piece of furniture in the bedroom, and Michael quickly grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. This room had the most stuff, simply because it took a lot of careful time, effort, and supplies for Michael to keep everything together in the most physical sense. A brief check confirmed that all his self-stitching was still intact, and after rewrapping one of his hands he slipped on the new outfit and joined Gregory in the living room. He now wore a pair of dark wash jeans and a fitted, long-sleeve black turtleneck. All of his clothing was form-fitting since it helped assure things stayed in their proper place. Plus, the ribbing on the sweater detracted from any weird, stitched outlines that’d make Michael seem off.

“Find anything good?” Michael asked, taking a seat next to Gregory.

Gregory had been channel flipping. There was no TV guide, or any way to tell where the good channels were, but once he found something that he knew they both liked, Gregory stuck to it. Right now a commercial for some weird burger place was playing, but it honestly looked kind of like a Freddy's rip-off. He didn't pay much attention to it, opting to speak to Michael as he came to sit in besides him.

“I found The Immortal and the Restless, but it sucks ‘cause I don't think I'm caught up to this episode yet,” he replied. “The last thing I saw was Vlad got fired from his job at the Taco place.”

This would be a nice distraction. Sooner or later the two of them would have to start formulating a plan. For now, it was in their best interests to take it easy, especially for Michael. After everything Gregory suddenly dropped into his lap, he’d need some time to really process the absurdity of it all. 

“No way you’re into Immortal and the Restless,” Michael said with an incredulous look to the boy next to him. “Other me must’ve opened your eyes to good TV—oh my god, he did?!”

Gregory nodded, causing Michael to be laugh. Same in every universe, huh?

The security guard's thin mouth curved in a grin. “Okay, well if you don’t care about spoilers let me catch you up…”

Chapter Text

They hung out and watched TV for a few blissful hours. Both appreciated the break, and in that time shared small anecdotes of their lives. Nothing big that’d get them thinking about all the trauma again—just small, unassuming little stories that were aimed to crack a smile.

Eventually though, it was time for the trip to the store. With the sigh of an old, decrepit man—not that far from the truth, really—Michael stretched his arms into the air before grabbing the remote and switching off the TV.

“Hate to break up the marathon, but now’s a good time to go shopping,” he remarked, then slowly got to his feet. He’d learned the ebb and flow of the crowds so he could avoid them, and now was as good a time as any.

It was bound to happen eventually. Gregory wanted nothing more than to freeze time and waste it all with Michael. Maybe eventually that was something he could experiment with—taking his watch and picking apart its coding to find a way to stop an hour or two for himself and others.

Even so, popping up from the couch, Gregory was always ready to go. It was almost nine in the morning now; the shops were beginning to open.

“Where are we going first?” he asked, a lasting smile now plastered on his face. He just hoped that Michael and he could keep this energy up while exploring in the outside world. He may not realize it now, but with the way things were going, Gregory was becoming a fairly reclusive kid. Being in large crowds would tire him quickly, along with any social interactions that hadn't consisted mostly of his inner circle of friends and family. 

“I’m thinking we check out Walmart first,” Michael said, patting down his pockets. Keys, wallet, mask—check. Following Gregory out the door, he cast the boy a raised eyebrow. “You still have those in the future?”

The less stores they had to visit, the better. Hopefully they could pick up everything thing they needed in one place and save some stress—goodness knows they’d get enough of that starting at midnight…

After buckling up in the car they were off again. As Michael pulled out of the parking lot he suggested a plan, keeping his eyes forward. “I’m thinking we just walk down every aisle and pick up whatever we need as we go.”

He could use some more bandages, and it’d be in their best interest to get Gregory some first aid stuff, too… the kid clearly led a rough and tumble life. Whatever else they needed could be determined along the way.

Gregory nodded; of course Walmart was still a thing. He remembered that one time Rita and Terry “forgot” him in the electronics section. He’d just been happy to have a moment of peace to himself while playing the PlayStation demo as they drove home. Gregory got to stay completely unsupervised for a total of six hours, starting his long career of loitering off at the tender age of eight.

This trip to the Walmart would differ than trips with his foster family. Obviously Michael—in most universes—seemed to care for him to some degree. This put the kid at ease knowing he'd be safe under his watchful eye... Besides, they probably didn't have to worry about many patrons being there on a Thursday morning. Less of a crowd for Gregory to fret over, and less people to stare at Michael. Hopefully.

“That sounds like a plan!” Gregory agreed. It would do them good to look around. Maybe they could find some supplies for their next shift at Fazbear Frights.

Gregory's assumption was right. There were barely any cars in the lot when they pulled in, and Michael had no trouble finding a spot close to the entrance. He turned off the car and sat there a moment, gazing up at the bright neon sign as he gathered his nerve. He just hoped no one would bother them; one of Michael's greatest fears these days was overly-friendly store employees. The one risk of going at the crack of opening hours was that there were less patrons for staff to focus on, meaning Michael in his curious state was often a beacon for their attention.

They couldn't sit in the car all day, though. Even as the man fretted, two more vehicles parked nearby. Blinking out of his stupor, Michael hooked the mask over his face and stepped outside. Yet again, the only things visible were his bandaged hands and the discolored skin around his sunken, grey eyes.

“Ready?” he asked, holding a hand out for Gregory once the boy exited the car as well. “Not that I expect you would, but... try not to wander too far, okay? This place can be more confusing than a damn maze...” They always seemed to be changing up aisles and locations of things, much to Michael's distress.

“I think all Walmart's are like that,” Gregory laughed along. The buildings themselves were designed like old dungeons. Confusing as if made purposefully to trap you there. It was probably a marketing ploy, ironically one that Sammy Emily also employed in his own building schemes.

It was muscle memory at this point. Gregory took Michael's boney, calloused hand in his, having no problem with it. Most boys his age wouldn't be caught dead holding their father's hand, though this move was best for the both of them in the end, what with Gregory's tendency to wander at the sight of trouble and Michael's own issues with anxiety in public spaces. They both should be fine as long as the other was right there.

Inside, the first face they met was an elderly woman, a grandmotherly figure who stood in her vest and smiley button at the podium.

“Good morning, boys,” she greeted, in the middle of cleaning her thick-rimmed glasses when they moved passed the big sliding doors. “Welcome to Walmart! All camping gear is twenty-five percent off today.”

“Thanks, lady!” Gregory spouted back, hurrying Michael along before the woman could fold her glasses back onto her lightly wrinkled nose.

The kid was fast, Michael had to give him that. He found himself being tugged along at an unexpected but not unwelcome speed, barely managing to snag a cart before they were traversing the first aisle.

“Think an air mattress counts as 'camping gear?'” Michael questioned, his gaze roaming over the shelves for anything useful. It appeared to be their seasonal collection, which likely didn't have anything relevant to their needs. Summer meant that it was full of beach gear and discounted Fourth of July memorabilia. A huge cardboard box full of bright, artificial colors that'd turn into the most amazing popsicles when stuck in the freezer made Michael look away harshly. What he wouldn't give to share some with his siblings again...

He'd give Evan every single blue pop in existence if they could spend one more day on the front steps baking in the summer heat.

“I don't see anything we need; let's try the next one.” It was Michael's turn to tug Gregory along, moving quickly towards the second aisle.

Gregory too found himself eyeing the delicious frozen treats in the freezer. He was about to suggest they get some, as the midday heat was still likely to be brutal despite the colder Utah nights they’d been having, though Michael was the first to break away from the (almost) deadlock stare with the box of Otter Pops. Based on the pained look in his eyes, Gregory decided not to push him for the sweet treat.

They passed by another relic: a crate of discounted VHS tapes, mostly filled with horror flicks to amp people up for the next fall holiday. Gregory knew what they were, but it was admittedly weird to see the tapes set out in place of Blu-Rays, or bypassed complete in lieu of streaming services. Plenty of people perused the B-list movies, as the crate was disorganized and a quarter of its stock was missing.

The following aisle only held more food, a woman and her son casually looking over their expansive Toaster Strudel section with little interest. The kid besides her didn't stop talking about the flavors he wanted and the supplies he needed for school coming up.

“Uh—next aisle?” Gregory asked Michael with a light hand squeeze. He didn't know how close he wanted to get to people, after all.

“Looks like they've got breakfast stuff here—it you want something, grab it; don't let me stop you,” Michael gently urged, wearing a strained smile under the mask. At this rate he was worried they were going to end up breezing through the whole store without actually picking anything up.

Gregory truly could get anything he wanted—Michael had no right to be a stickler for a healthy diet, especially if the kid was only here for a high-stress day or two. Money wasn't an issue either, although it was hard to say, “my father's disappearance left the entire Afton legacy to me, including all of his funds—plus, my uncle helped me out quite a bit,” without it coming off weird. He just wanted Gregory to be assured that while Michael took care of him, he'd never go without.

“Really?” Gregory asked, momentarily afraid that Michael would want to back away from what he promised. When his de facto guardian nodded and let go to push the cart aside, he looked around like a kid in a candy store.

He soon found raspberry Toaster Strudels, mouth watering at the sight of the boxes. He'd probably only need one... Though maybe it’d be in his best interest to snag a box of frozen breakfast burritos, too. The spicy ones with the radical, in-your-face packaging were really calling to him. When he went to grab them, he noticed something in the corner of his vision at the end of the aisle.

On a reflex, he turned his head to try and sneak a peek at the shadow lurking behind one of the end caps. However, no one was there. Neither the mother nor the son seemed particularly bothered, so Gregory had shrugged this off as him simply being paranoid. Another cursory glance around the refrigerated hall and he hurried back to Michael before the frozen goods had a chance to melt in his arms.

“Did you know they sold El Chip breakfast burritos? I didn't even know they made these things!” he said as he excitedly dumped his haul into the shopping cart. Gregory didn't realize in the moment how much the little things like this made him happy, but it was a real comfort knowing that he was going to have enough food for the next couple of days.

For as long as Gregory was here, Michael would make sure he was in good hands. He smiled softly behind the mask as Gregory dropped the stuff in, taking a curious look at the burritos. “Huh... those look deadly in the best kind of way.” 

The mother and son moved on, and after another cursory look around so did Michael and his sort-of-future-kid. A final frozen food aisle greeted them, this one containing dinners, sides, and all related sort of items. Michael perused the selections, walking slowly and noting everything on offer. He hadn't really taken stock of what people were eating for quite a while for obvious reasons, and it was interesting to see how some things never changed.

“How about you pick up a few meals here, too?” he suggested. “We can stock up on things in the snack aisle to take with us tonight, but anything frozen we can heat up at the apartment.”

A shitty ventilation system prone to failing and the lack of a fridge in the fake employee breakroom at Fazbear Frights meant that anything covered in ice would be a melted puddle by 1 am.

“Good idea!” Gregory agreed, letting go of the cart once more to head down the aisle, hunting for the perfect meals. It was easier than buying ingredients for something home-cooked; he didn't have the knowledge to make anything, and with Michael's stressful work schedule, it just wasn't realistic. So, a few TV dinners it was.

He picked up a few, then some pizza rolls. Looking at them, he almost missed the gummy textured cheese of Fazbear's pizza... Hopefully the El Chips X-TREME caliente breakfast burritos would be enough to hold him over before he could go home again. The boxes and plastic bag of food was tossed into the basket along with the things they already harvested.

“Have you ever had pizza rolls?” Gregory asked, casually tossing them into their cart. Someone way down the far side of the aisle was staring at them, but when Gregory turned around, the man giving the odd pair a stink-eye had quickly averted his gaze and continued his shopping.

And here we go.

Due to the nature of his jobs over the past few decades, Michael had developed a sort of sixth sense when he was being stared at, far more accurate than most people's. He'd caught the man's gaze before he looked away, causing Michael to let out a pinched sigh and usher Gregory along with one hand on his back and the other on the cart.

“Pizza rolls?” Michael cast his eyes down to the food in question. “You know... actually, I don't think I have. I've eaten enough shitty but delicious pizza at Fredbear's that I can still taste it, though.”

Mrs. Afton had cooked lovely dinners for the family during Michael's childhood. When she was unable to it was either pizza or chicken tenders if they were at the diner—Michael always felt a little bad for Chica when he caught the animatronic's gaze as he bit down into the fried remains of her distant cousin—or frozen dinners when they were home. Michael had basic kitchen skills, though his father was notably not the best cook, so he'd learned everything he knew from Henry. Even so, the concept of frozen pizza rolls never entered the Afton's mind, since he had enough of the real thing to last eons.

Gregory would make a point to glare at the guy who’d been staring them down. There was no need to gawk at people you didn't know like they were some side-show at a circus. Gregory knew that both their get-ups were strange; his clothes were noticeably dirty, and Michael was dressed from head to toe in dark linen and bandages. Still, they were just people...

Gregory managed to shake this untoward rage from his brain and continue raving about pizza rolls.

“Ugh, I miss Fazbear's pizza—this is an alright substitute though!” he assured Michael on the off-chance that he could eventually try one. Maybe Gregory could work on getting Michael a stomach next. Something to help return him to normalcy somehow... Continuing in a casual tone, the boy added: “Rita—my old foster mom? She wouldn't save me dinner a lot of the time, so I'd just eat like a bag full of these before bed. So good.”

Michael's grip tightened on the handle of the cart. The neglect was something he'd only experienced for a short while, but it'd left a dark stain on his life that he'd carry with him forever.

Towards the end, when both his siblings were dead and before Mike was old enough to officially leave his father's house to get a place of his own, William had barely been around enough to check that Michael was still alive, let alone make sure he was properly fed. Holed up in his workshop with his horrendous experiments that Mike only learned about after the fact, it was a stretch to say Will even lived at his house anymore. So many nights Michael waited to see if his father would come home, only to fall asleep on the living room couch... until one day, he just gave up trying.

“You... you don't have anything to do with those people anymore, do you? Your foster parents?” Michael's blank stare finally came back to the present as he looked down at Gregory hanging off the cart, seemingly without a care in the world despite his troublesome words. “I know you said me and the others take care of you, but there's not a chance of you going back, is there?”

It was all well and good to take Gregory in on a whim, which Michael would do in any universe. But without the legal paperwork, they'd have to find a damn good way to keep the foster system off their backs...

Gregory hadn't even realized spouting such sentiments would get Michael worried for his safety. Waving the notion away with his free hand, Gregory laughed it off.

“Oh! Yeah, no way; they think I'm dead,” he said, relaxed as he knew that neither Rita nor Terry would think twice about going back to the Pizzaplex now that they knew what was waiting for them in the darkness: the alleged vengeful spirit of the murdered children, plus their neglected foster son. With the impression that they would be mortally wounded should they return for his corpse, the two of them fled. “It was a pretty good plan too. Man, Terry looked like he was gonna piss himself when Charlie came out with the knife...”

Out of context, to passing customers inside the Walmart, the conversation turned heads along with their unconventional appearances, though Gregory was doing his best to ignore them as they glanced over the stock before them in their travels.

“Yikes.” Michael grimaced, a bit of weight lifted off his shoulders once assured Gregory didn't have to deal with his foster family anymore. Sometimes, it was just better to let people presume you were gone for good. “I think anyone would piss themselves to see Charlie with a knife...”

After so many scares at so many pizzerias, it was hard for Michael to separate Charlie from her Puppet anymore. The thought of that thin creature approaching with a glinting blade clutched in those lanky fingers was enough to make him shiver.

They'd finally made it to the camping section, which unfortunately had gotten a bit more crowded than the boys would like thanks to the sale. Michael parked the cart at the end of the aisle and went in with Gregory close at his side, trying his damndest not to bump into anyone as they squeezed through on a beeline for the air mattresses.

Gregory walked in without a care; seeing all these tents for cheap made him think about grabbing one in case he had to camp out in other locations his watch could bring him. Though he didn't want to squander Michael's hospitality and kept moving forward, eyes searching for a sturdy inflatable mattress to hunker down on for the night. He could spy them at the end of the aisle, only a few left with the automatic pump built in so he tugged on Michael's arm as gently as he could while hurrying up.

Two people, presumably a couple, stood in the way as they discussed their up and coming camping trip. Gregory stood back to watch them for all about ten seconds before loudly clearing his throat to garner their attention.

“Hey—excuse us, just need one of these...,” he said, trying to get past them. Their wide eyes were set on Michael, and distracted they didn’t budge. This irked Gregory in the wrong way.

“Hey! Please move. I want a place to sleep tonight. Thanks.” His patience with the rude people in this store was starting to wear thin as he pushed through the now retreating, duo to grab for the air mattress they needed. “Fuck's sake, man. People...”

“You should've seen the crowds when I wasn't myself,” Michael muttered in a low voice, barely reading the label for the mattress as he reached for it when he realized it was just a bit too high for Gregory. “Fucking moronic bastard thought it'd be a good idea to take scenic strolls around the neighborhood when he could barely fucking walk...”

It was clear what entity he was referring to. Thank god social media platforms like TikTok hadn't existed back then, or there would've been a thousand viral videos going around of a “purple guy” stumbling through a suburban neighborhood. One of the most agonizing parts—mentally, since every nerve ending Michael still had would scream in pain at every shift and breath—was when Ennard tried to be friendly with the neighbors, which always ended in the most awkward encounters known to man. Gregory let out a sympathetic groan of disgust at that delightful mental image.

“Oh no—Ennard tried to talk to people?” Gregory let out a sympathetic groan of disgust at that delightful mental image. Jesus, that thing couldn't talk their way out of a paper bag! He could only imagine the things Ennard tried to say. In his head, he could practically hear them now.

GOOD JOB AT WAKING UP TODAY... NEIGHBOR...

THE WEATHER SURE IS OUT TODAY...

They probably even tried asking people for a cup of sugar like how they did on TV. It was so disgustingly tragic that it was almost funny—but shot right past hilarity back into a grotesque scene in Gregory's head.

Mattress acquired, Michael returned to the cart with Gregory in tow and rushed them towards a far less populated part of the store. In the bedding aisle they took a break, basking in the stark white of unadorned pillows of varying sizes and softness. It was clear Michael's anxiety was rising, though he could still push through for now.

“I think we got almost half the store done... I'd say we should skip the middle, but I really think you should get a few more clothes.” The older man managed a little smile and teasingly nudged Gregory's shoulder. “No offense, kid, but you're dirty as hell.”

“Dude—I probably smell like a gym bag right now.” At the opportunity to buy some new, unspoiled clothes, Gregory laughed at Michael's comment. To the clothing section they traveled, heading for something that could hopefully fit Gregory. 

“Honestly? I can’t even tell,” Michael admitted, then cocked his head in thought. “…Not sure if that makes things any better.”

The kid could smell like a gym bag overflowing with a football team’s dirty socks and the zombie wouldn’t know. Michael frowned as he riffled through the clothes, taking in the fashion of the time. His own style could be boiled down to “minimalistic,” just like his apartment. The less colors and patterns he wore, the less attention he attracted.

…And yet people still found a reason to stare, like the mother observing him from a few racks over as her son picked out his own clothes. Michael had tried going with and without the mask, but at least if he wore one people were marginally less inclined to ask what was wrong with him since they assumed it was something contagious.

“How about these?” Michael asked, holding up a pair of dark grey cargo shorts. He had a feeling that like himself, Gregory appreciated having many useful pockets to store things.

Gregory was happy to see some old fashions for very cheap. Since hanging out with Charlie and Michael, he'd grown fond of both their music tastes and styles. Seeing the baggy skate shorts made Gregory gasp, only drawing more attention from the family shopping nearby.

“Hell yeah! I really need a new pair. I've been wearing these ones for a straight-up month.” He held up the shorts, finding them to be the same acceptable size he always wore. Glancing around, Gregory mentioned to Michael: “I need some long sleeve shirts. It's getting cold at night. Maybe an undershirt too, if it gets hot in the security office...”

Thinking aloud, Gregory looked up from the racks, eyebrows furrowed when he overheard a conversation that the nearby mother and son were having.

“—weird looking...”

“Don't stare!” the mother chastised. “It's not nice. He could be very sick.”

This made Gregory's blood boil. Maybe it was the fact he was coming into his teenage angst (or perhaps, emotion spiked by something more supernatural) but Gregory pointed an accusing finger at the kid.

“Hey, quit staring at my dad or we're gonna have problems!” he said, openly calling out the redhead across the way at a rack filled with hoodies. He wasn't exactly being quiet about it. “He doesn't need your pity.”

“Oh my god,” Michael muttered, both impressed and slightly mortified by Gregory's confidence. He quickly took his hand and tugged him away, offering the offended-looking mother a quiet: “Sorry!”

They moved to a section out of the other's sightline, where Michael let Gregory go only to ruffle his hair. Ooh—yeah, the kid definitely needed a shower when they got back. Even Mike's bandaged, nerve-damaged fingers could tell that texture was not right.

“Cool your jets, Gregory,” Michael told him, though by the way the sunken skin around his eyes pulled it was clear he was smiling. “I appreciate the back-up, but we've already got a psycho zombie after us—we don't need a rude kid and his mom on our case, too.”

Gregory allowed himself to be pulled away, seemingly unafraid of the stocky redhead who was making a fist at his side. Gregory pointed at both his eyes, then to the small family unit as if to say he'd be watching them—an empty threat, but a threat nonetheless.

“Sorry, Mike...” Gregory apologized, looking around the other racks to try and busy his trembling hands. Standing between the shirt rack and what looked to be the piercing and jewelry kiosk, Gregory forced himself to get distracted as he watched an older kid getting a myriad of studs put into their ears and face. “...Hey, can I get a piercing?” 

Michael's mouth opened and closed uselessly for a second.

Holy shit, he was not ready for a kid if these quick-fire subject changes were the norm. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Gregory's shoulder as if the boy would run off on his own no matter the answer.

“Objectively? Do whatever the hell you want,” Michael began, as good an influence as ever. “But right now? Absolutely not. Come on.”

A little tug, and Gregory was redirected back to the shirts—long-sleeve, just as he'd been looking for.

“If the other me sees you come back from god knows where with piercings and shit, I'm gonna be a little concerned—er, he will? Whatever.” Mike let out a small laugh, looking through some racks out of Gregory's reach. “Also, word of advice? Don't get them done here... Find a legit parlor when you're a little older.” 

Herded back into their shopping spree, Gregory nodded and went away at taking a few shirts off the rack for himself. Heavy-set baggy sweat shirts, with typical graphics for the time being; one was plain, another stripped, another with something called MTV on it. Gregory wasn't totally sure what that was, but the colors caught his eye.

“Yeah,” Gregory agreed as he threw everything he wanted into the trolley. “You're probably right. I mean, you might be cool, but oh man—Freddy would pass out if he saw me with a piercing.”

While he didn't want to give anyone a heart attack, he did feel like now that he was out of the controlling household of Rita and Terry, he'd eventually experiment with his style... Eventually was the keyword. Right now he had other things to worry about.

“Anything else you think we'll need?” Gregory asked with a content smile on his face.

Michael grabbed a few plain t-shirts for when the dingy office of Fazbear Frights became stifling, then finally pushed the cart onwards with a hum. “Snacks for on the job... Then I want to swing by the first-aid stuff and I think we're good.”

He peered into the cart, taking stock of their stuff. A mattress, meals for Gregory, clothes, and soon to be acquired snacks and extra bandages—a pretty solid haul, if Michael said so himself.

“You really seem to love your Freddy,” Michael remarked with a curious lilt in his voice. “The way you talk about him, it's like he's alive... Er, not that there's anything wrong with that. I can't even imagine how smart the robots are where you're from.”

Michael didn't want to accidentally upset Gregory by insisting the bear was just a machine. The only semblance of “sentience” he'd seen in animatronics were when they were possessed by a wayward soul—

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Gregory with wide eyes.

Of course. How could he be so stupid? Surely the bear was unfortunate enough to be possessed by a dead child... Although that didn't explain why he was apparently friendly instead of violently angry.

How much had changed in this alternate future from the life Michael knew?

Gregory nodded, unaware that Mike had made a full stop as he thought about his words. In fact. Gregory didn't put too much stock into what Michael said either, but when he noticed the man's gait failed to match his own, he turned and gave him a sideways glance. With his head tilted a little, it finally clocked,

“Oh... I... Yeah, Freddy's a good guy. He helped me out a lot when I was trapped in the Pizzaplex. He's actually the reason I know you,” Gregory explained gently. He didn't want to talk about it here. How do you explain to your dad, who was just getting used to immortality, that one day he was going to die in a horrible and painful manner—so horrible that the agony associated with it all caused his spirit to persist long after he passed?

Well you don't start the explanation near the Fruit Roll Up's in the snack lane at a Walmart, that's for sure.

Michael seemed to understand the implications, nodding faintly before picking up the pace again. “Got it; we'll talk about it when we get home.”

And that was the end of the discussion for now. Just stick a pin in it for later, like so many other nonsensical things in Michael's life.

Yet again Gregory was free to roam the aisles and drop whatever caught his fancy into the cart. After a sufficient amount of snacks were acquired, they headed to the healthcare section. Michael quite literally scooped the entire stockpile of gauze into the basket, apologizing silently to the staff that had to restock. He grabbed a pack of band-aids for Gregory and some more antiseptic, then decided to just go ahead and get a mini-first-aid kit to top everything off.

Finally, they were ready to check out. There were two tired-looking clerks standing by the registers, and with no line Michael was able to waltz right up to one and start unloading their haul onto the moving platform. As Gregory helped, Michael offered the clerk a kind but soft-spoken: “Good morning.”

He'd feel more awkward if he didn't talk to the bored-looking teenager when they'd be forced to stare at each other until the transaction was complete.

Gregory might be coming into his newfound mood as a somewhat abrasive teen—someone who scolds adults and their sons in public and wants to get a piercing—but he wasn't a total monster. He went to the end of the checkout and wait for the items to go towards the end of the belt. After all, they bought a lot of things today; it wouldn't be fair to make the bored kid at the register bag everything by themselves.

The guy manning the checkout seemed grateful that someone offered the help, nodding thankfully to Gregory and turned to greet Michael with a server-friendly smile. “Morning, Sir; did you both find everything okay?”

“Sure did; thanks.”

Thankfully on both sides, that was the only stilted piece of conversation they had before Michael was asked “cash or credit?” He swiped a near-pristine card from his pocket and ran it through the machine. Since he rarely actually bought things with it, the hard plastic square looked just as it did the day he got it. Another muted exchange of goodbyes and the boys were off, Michael pushing the cart full of their bagged-up prizes to his car. Gregory helped him load everything in the trunk, they sent the cart careening into its designated resting spot in the parking lot, and off they went.

“Well that wasn’t too terrible, was it?” Michael grinned down at Gregory from his now mask-less face as he started the engine. “I know you’re supposed to discourage growing kids from eating a shitty diet, but my family owned a pizzeria, so… where do you want to get lunch? We’ve got a Sonic, Carl’s Jr., Burger King…”

Gregory thought on it, fingers perched in front of his mouth in a little triangle as he came to a deliberation. He needed to eat a burger right now, Gregory decided. Though from where? He might as well go for something he never had before. “Carl's Jr.!” 

“Then to Carl’s Jr. we go,” Michael, announced, putting on his blinker as he rerouted the drive in his mind.

After getting food they headed home. Between them, they managed to get all the bags upstairs in one trip. Thanks to the Remnant, Gregory was deceptively strong—a trait which Michael would’ve also possessed had he the physical muscle to lift things.

“Go ahead and finish eating while I put stuff away,” Michael suggested, staring to unbag the frozen items first. “After that, we should probably talk about some not-so-fun stuff… When you’re ready, of course. I’m not going to push you.”

He had to know what was up with that Freddy, though… It was driving him nuts.

Gregory was so amped to eat his food that he helped Michael grab as many bags that would fit on his hands as well as carrying his take out bag. The faster they got into the apartment and got everything situated, they could relax...

Or so he thought. As they passed the threshold into Michael's home, Gregory planted himself on couch. When Michael mentioned about having to talk, Gregory looked a little tense, but not apprehensive. After all, they really did need to iron things out. Gregory was just wondering how exactly Mike would take everything. Hopefully it would be a better reception than it was this morning to all of Gregory's truth-bombs.

“Sure, Mike,” Gregory agreed, unwrapping the thick burger as he spoke. He tried to sound casual, even if he knew some things specifically might send the guy into a spiral. He also thought wondered if spilling too much might alter the timeline...

Surely, if he was doing something wrong, the watch on his wrist would stop him. Right?

Michael took his time putting everything away, giving them both a chance to work through their thoughts. He had a billion questions on the tip of his tongue, but like Gregory he understood that there were some things he simply wasn’t meant to know—not yet, at least. Just from the way Greg spoke about his Michael, it was clear he had absolutely none of the knowledge that this Afton was learning. When—if?—Mike met his Gregory a few years down the line, it’d be his turn not to overwhelm him with weird facts he already knew.

When he simply couldn’t rearrange his stockpile of gauze anymore Michael went back to the living room and perched on one end of the couch. He meant what he said—he’d wait for Gregory to be ready. He had the burden of telling Michael all these horrible things… all the zombie had to do was listen and try not to have a panic attack.

With the straw to his root beer hanging out of his mouth, Gregory slurped the drink thoughtfully before placing it down along with a half-eaten burger. After that he turned, facing Michael on the couch. The kid crossed his legs into a pretzel and took a deep breath, hands planted firmly on his own knees to ground.

“So... You wanted to know more about Freddy, right?” Gregory asked, reaching up to mess with the back of his hair and feeling the built-up grime. “Yeah, so... he was the only animatronic that wasn't trying to hurt me while I was stuck in the Pizzaplex. The rest of them had their facial recognition fucked with... They were kidnapping kids and bringing them to a woman in a bunny suit.”

He tried to speak lightly, only willing to go into extreme detail about everything if Michael asked. “They had this virus... But it wasn't a virus. Technically it was a person—or, like, the digital AI based on a person? It’s kinda hard to explain, and we’re still not totally sure how it happened… But all the animatronics were infected except Freddy.” Silver eyes flickered over Mike’s face, gauging his reaction so far. When the man seemed okay, Gregory added: “Freddy had an unexpected security system: ghost possession.”

Michael’s rotted brain worked overtime to categorize what things he needed to addressed immediately, and what he could move past for now.

Facial recognition gone haywire? Been there, done that.

Woman in a bunny suit? Suspicious, but they could circle back to it later.

Virus infecting the animatronics? See point one.

Someone was keeping Freddy from getting overtaken? Ah. Now that was a topic of interest.

“So… okay, let me make sure I understand,” Michael began slowly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “The animatronics were infected by a computer virus that made them go crazy—that I understand. Unfortunately, it’s happened before.”

He paused just a moment to grimace at the floor, then regained his focus by bouncing one leg with nervous energy. “But a spirit stopped the virus? They didn’t… make it worse? Now that’s weird. From my experience, vengeful souls usually enhance the negative energy of malfunctioning robots. Unless—”

Suddenly he sat up straight as an arrow, clapping a hand over his mouth as the realization smacked him like a blindsiding truck. Wide, grey eyes slid to Gregory’s and Michael said in a muffled whisper: “Oh… Oh my god… was it me?!”

...

Ugh; that was exactly what he was trying to ease into telling Michael!

The guy was smart; Gregory didn’t doubt that. Still, the realization that he was going to die—or, at least, that his soul would leave his body somehow—hit Michael in slow motion. Gregory didn’t like seeing the sudden glint of hope be dashed from his eyes.

He couldn’t say nothing; Gregory had to answer. “Yeah—that’s how we met. You and Charlie were working together with Freddy. And before you ask… No, I don’t know how you died. But… I mean if I had to guess, it was a fire. I think I remember Henry mentioning that…”

He couldn’t know for sure though, which was starting to become a problem. Everyone spared him the gory details of their lives on the off-chance that he couldn’t take hearing it—yet here he was, possibly about to live it with them. 

Michael let out a strangled sort of half-moan. He technically already died—his body did, at least. He was just like the others really, a soul clinging to a vessel. But unlike the others, Michael didn’t have an animatronic shell to cling to… and the only knowledge he had of how to get from point a (where he was right now) to point b (hitching a ride in the latest iteration of Freddy Fazbear) was FIRE.

“Okay… okay, it’s… I mean, I figured it’d happen eventually,” Michael murmured, speaking more to himself. The irony that he went on to possess the newest bear while his poor brother was stuck in the old springlock model wasn’t lost on him.

God, where even WAS that thing now? Michael had unfortunately lost track of it, and just hoped Evan and his vengeful suitmate weren’t suffering more than they already had.

…He was losing focus. Tapping his fingers against his thigh, he tried moving onto another topic.

“You said the virus was like an AI based on a person. That… wouldn’t happen to by my father, would it?” How that could happen was lost on him, but Michael couldn’t think of anyone else who’d want to do something so crazy and evil.

The question is: was all of this still going to happen now that Gregory was here in the past to help set things right? And if not, and Michael’s assumption was correct… was there a way to stop William now and prevent more deaths in the future?

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, he’s the reason why I got the Remnant.” Gregory said, looking down at the cushion between them. The empty space that separated them helped Gregory collect himself. “He had his heart set that I was Evan. Stopped his whole takeover plot just to grab me, but in the end, Cassidy and the others helped me trap him again.”

He was in a harmless ash pile now. Though Gregory felt entirely less bad about killing a literal virus. It wasn’t a real person; just a digital copy of William Afton. Though with the way that Glitchtrap acted and his kill count alone, he deserved whatever was coming to him.

“But that’s why I’m here to help! I’m going to try my hardest to stop that future from happening!” Gregory assured. It couldn’t be set in stone, not with him here. “We need a good plan though, and I’m really open to suggestions because… I’ll be honest. I have no idea how to fix any of this.”

Usually Freddy or Charlie made the plans. Gregory was on his own and had to trust his instinct, which had already proven to be fallible.

“No pressure though, right?” Michael gave him a weak smile. Despite the morbid humor, his mind and soul were already set: he’d do anything it took to assure none of the bad things in the future came to pass.

“Alright, let’s think about it as logically as we can.” Michael leaned back against the couch, though the rigid tension in his shoulders betrayed his nerves. “Somehow, William was converted to a digital virus. I’ll admit I’m not the most informed when it comes to that sort of thing—” He’d always favored the hands-on technician work, and he would continue to do so. “—but it’s got to have something to do with the spring Bonnie suit he’s trapped in.”

Michael rubbed his chin, his gaze far away as he continued to think aloud. “The ghosts whose bodies are physically in the animatronics have the strongest bond with it.”

Charlie was the one exception, though it didn’t surprise Michael at all. She’d always been strong-willed… that’s part of why they worked so well together as friends. There was a moment of silence before Michael spoke again, this time in a definitive tone. “I think, whatever we do, our goal should be to leave absolutely no trace of William behind—his body or the suit it’s attached to.”

How they’d do that was a whole other story… but at least this way perhaps the murderer couldn’t be ported into a damn video game by unsuspecting employees.

Gregory thought on it a little. He supposed that William, when and if he gained control over his body again, would stop at nothing to get himself back out of the suit. It was the whole reason why Gregory went through everything he did. The boy nodded, reaching for a fry and popping it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment with furrowed, thoughtful brows.

“He’s already done too many bad things. Plus, he’s only suffering inside the suit. That’s like, the right thing to do…” Gregory’s chin rested in his palm as he thought on the mechanics. “I mean… If the building doesn’t lock us inside for the shift, we might be able to disable the ventilation and trigger a fire?”

The justification for burning William Afton to a crisp was sound. Still… he was Michael’s father, even after everything. If only he had his mind together, for there were so many things Michael wanted to know.

“Ah—the building itself doesn’t auto-lock, but I lock the doors so he can’t get out,” the stalwart night guard admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck, mirroring Gregory’s expression. “I suppose I can leave us an exit… he seems hyper-focused on us anyway; I doubt he’d try to leave on his own. But he’ll probably try to follow us, so we need to time this perfectly…”

His frown deepened. “We also have to make sure he stays down. I’ve heard of one or two smaller fires in other Fazbear locations and those animatronics are really fucking resilient. Actually… it might be best for us to incapacitate him first so he can’t move around and try to escape.”

Unfortunately, that would mean getting close to the rotting rabbit. The thought made Michael’s skin crawl. Even so, his tone remained measured and slightly detached, trying his best not to think about the fact that he’d kind of sort of be murdering his own father.

To be fair though… in a roundabout way William killed Michael first. The Funtime line was all his doing.

Without thinking, Gregory suggested: “I could run distraction!”

Offering himself up to use as bait would be scary as hell… But if he could just manage to get to William, then find a way to get him to stay in one of the rooms, then they’d be free to leave and spring their trap.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to get him to chill. Maybe he’d stop fighting us if he saw that I’m there?” Gregory theorized. But was that a chance he really wanted to take? On the off-chance that William only wanted to rip his head from his shoulders, then resetting after that would be a bitch and a half. Especially after finally acquiring all these snacks.

Gregory popped another fry in his mouth, thinking on it with a frustrated huff. “If I had a taser, this could be so much easier.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately the taser they gave me is as fake as Fazbear Entertainment’s commitment to employee safety,” Michael said dryly, casting his gaze to the useless “weapon” sitting on the kitchen counter. His eyes rolled back to Gregory and he gave him a knowing look. “I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say, but I have to say it anyway: I don’t want to use you as bait if we can help it.”

He shared the same sentiment as Gregory to an extent—neither of them could really die if William got ahold of them, but they could be hurt. In Gregory’s case, he didn’t have the luxury of missing most of his nerve endings… if he got injured, it’d sting like a motherfucker.

Michael let out a sigh, shifting again as if he just couldn’t get comfortable.

“We’ve got to find a way to keep him down that doesn’t involve either of us running him in circles until the whole place is on fire. Even if we did let him think Evan was back, by the way he tried to bust through the glass last night I think he’d try to hug you to death, intentionally or not…” He lightly massaged the bridge of his nose. “God, I wish they hadn’t taken off all the fucking doors in the damn place; that’d make this a whole lot easier.” 

Gregory nodded, sharing his annoyance for the lack of cover that they gave him. This company really could give less of a shit about its employees, huh? Michael's future son sighed and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“This sucks,” he vented aloud. There wasn't a good way of putting William out of his misery. But if he was left alive, then the future Gregory knew would simply repeat itself.

The thought of being crushed to death in William's robotically enhanced limbs didn't sit well with Gregory either. If push came to shove, they might have to settle for the diversion tactic. Though the more he ran it over his head, the less he envisioned it working.

“I guess we could wing it? It'd be nice if any of the ghosts were helping us. But they're being weird for some reason,” Gregory pointed out, as if it was odd that all of them were suddenly not so sociable.

Michael just laughed hollowly. “Good luck with that. If there's any ghost actually in there, it's probably Charlie, but as you saw she and I aren’t really on the best terms.”

In Gregory’s future it sounded like they were friends again, though. Michael wondered if it’d be possible to have such a thing in his own timeline…

“The only person I think would ever be able to help besides her—if she wasn’t pissed beyond belief—is Uncle Henry. Unfortunately I have literally no idea where he is right now, and we can’t waste time searching for him.”

From Michael’s tone it was clear he wasn’t seriously entertaining the idea, merely stating what would never come to be. He looked to Gregory with a tired smile. “Well, we’ve got something at least: try to contain William, then light the place up.”

“That reminds me...” Gregory relaxed his sitting position and stuck out his legs again. “I need to get that mask out of there. You know, before we set that place on fire. Just in case...”

Gregory didn't know if Charlie was going to be needed in the future. Gregory scratched at his greasy scalp, mentioning: “I don't know if she'll stick around after your dad kicks it, but it'd probably be nice to keep anyway.”

At least they had a barebones outline of what they had to do. Getting there was a whole other can of worms. Gregory rolled up his discarded wrappers from both his burger and fries and headed for the kitchen to throw them out.

“I'm gonna go get changed!” he let Michael know, just so that the guy didn't think he was trying to sneak around his half empty abode. The feeling of his grimy, slightly damp clothes was starting to make Gregory's skin crawl.

“Yup, go ahead—take as long as you need,” Michael said a bit absently, his mind whirling with memories of his childhood best friend.

It was only about noon, meaning they had twelve more hours to kill before heading back to Fazbear Frights. As Gregory did his thing, Michael pulled his legs onto the couch and turned on the TV for some background noise. He didn’t even bother changing the channel, simply listening to the mindless chatter as his mind drifted far away.

Tonight (hopefully, if they didn’t fuck things up) they were going to end William Afton for good.

Tonight, Michael was going to try and kill his father.

(And to his utter annoyance, even after everything William had done… the idea still left him feeling a smidge uneasy.)

Chapter Text

Gregory didn't need long to pick an outfit. He spent more time trying to tame his hair; the cut had grown out very slightly and, due to the grease at its roots, now stuck out in odd little spikes.

After opening the bathroom door, for a moment Gregory simply watched Michael. He looked like he was thinking about something. As the TV glare reflected on his bruised face, Gregory hesitated before approaching and breaking the immersion of the sitcom.

“You okay, Mike…?” he asked, flopping down on the couch, taking the opposing end to give the guy some space. Gregory wasn't a mind reader by any means. The only concern he had was the thousand-yard stare Michael had while watching the colors dance around the TV screen. He didn't even look like he was really focusing on it, just needing sound to disassociate to.

“Huh?” When Michael turned that blank stare on Gregory, it was clear he wasn’t looking at his future kid anymore. For just a split-second, so fast it could’ve been a trick of the light, his face twisted into an expression of the utmost regret. Then his features softened into his typical mask of weariness, though he managed a faint smile. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

Obviously.

Gregory was looking at him quizzically, clearly expecting more if Michael was willing to elaborate. He didn’t want to talk about his father again—not right now. They still had a few more hours of peace before they had to face him.

“In your future, it sounded like Charlie and I were friends again,” he prompted instead, a hesitant light in his dull grey eyes. “Does that mean she… she forgives me? And… you said my siblings were there, too. Is Evan… I mean, are we friends again? And Liz?”

It wasn’t something they spoke about with Gregory, the former animosity between Mike and Charlie. Did they have a falling out before her death? 

Gregory didn’t know how to answer. She seemed as though she’d forgiven Michael for whatever it was that happened between them... so Gregory settled for an answer that he, at least, understood to be true. “Charlie loves you, dude. You guys hardly go anywhere without each other; I think you only split when you have to work.” The kid offered a hesitant smile. “We found the others in the basement. Liz and Evan don’t hate you, either. No one does…”

Gregory tilted his head, a hesitant question on the tip of his tongue. “Is… Charlie mad at you? I thought… Maybe… She forgot what you looked like? And mistook you for your dad…”

He didn’t know if it was difficult to speak on, but Gregory needed to piece these things together if he was going to help all of them through their issues. A challenging task for such a young boy, yet something that needed to be sorted through for the sake of their shared futures.

The sheer relief that washed over Michael was palpable. In Gregory's future, Charlie wasn’t mad at him… neither were his siblings.

Evan didn’t hate him.

Gregory’s question caused Michael’s smile to slip, but only faintly. He didn’t respond for a moment, trying to figure out the words. How do you explain to your future kid that you’re the one to blame for everything that went wrong?

Although… surely Gregory must be aware of what he did to Evan all those years ago. (Probably.) Regardless, it was a tough topic for anyone to discuss.

“No, you’re right,” Michael eventually said, talking slow as he worked through things aloud. “As far as I know, Charlie thinks I’m William—she’s never really given me the opportunity to explain, but I can’t blame her.” He grimaced, looking to the floor.

“She did hate me for a while after… um, after what happened to Evan. But we made up, right before…” Mike trailed off, swallowing hard in his dry throat.

He’d never forgive his father for taking away the only friend he still had after the accident. Lizzie tolerated him only because she had to—at least that’s what it seemed like—and William was obviously MIA. If not for Henry, who knows what twisted person Mike would’ve turned into.

Gregory gave Michael a nod; he’d gotten the gist quite a while ago when he met Evan. There was an accident—one that Michael was at the epicenter of. It made Evan’s soul cling to the old Fredbear suit that he and Cassidy eventually shared. It seemed after the fact, most people in Michael’s life scorned him for the incident.

“—Right,” Gregory interrupted quietly, saving his dad from the pain of talking through the details. “It… was an accident though. And if it means anything, I don’t think of you differently.”

Clearly, in the future he and Charlie still thought the world of Michael. It sparked an idea in Gregory’s head. They needed help. And if Charlie wasn’t going to listen willingly, then they might have to make her.

“We could try to talk to her. To Charlie—I mean, what do we have to lose?” Besides their failing oxygen supply William could take the advantage of... But they wouldn't let that happen.

Those dull grey eyes softened at Gregory’s consolation, and Mike nudged his knee with a grateful smile. “You’re a good kid, Gregory. No wonder my family loves you.”

The guard’s head tilted at the notion of trying to befriend Charlie. She wasn’t even fully tangible right now… but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help.

“Hmm…” Michael‘s brow furrowed, then he shrugged. “What do we have to lose? I know she won’t hurt you—it’s only my father we have to worry about. One of us can keep him occupied while the other tries to get through to her.”

She’d undoubtedly show up in the office tonight, though when was completely of her own volition. 

Gregory beamed at the compliment. He was glad that Michael wasn't too outwardly shaken from his sudden appearance in his life. It was welcome knowing that most versions of Mike usually held Gregory in high regard.

“We can work on a plan with her, then!” Gregory agreed, a little more at ease knowing that had some barebones construction of a plan going on.

At the suggestion of one of them distracting William, Gregory looked down. He would offer himself again, but realized he’d be running around entirely in the dark. William knew those halls—it was his diner. He'd catch the lost child as soon as he bolted and found a dead end.

“Maybe you should distract him? It'll give you a second to talk, too... Maybe you can say everything you think you need to get off your chest,” Gregory suggested gently.

“Agreed,” Michael replied with a nod. As much as he didn't want to go up against his psychotic father either, it made the most sense for a number of reasons. He held up a hand, lowering each finger as he listed things off. “Okay, so the very loose plan so far is: one, leave an unlocked exit so we can get out when things go down; two, try to get Charlie on our side; three, figure out a way to keep father incapacitated; and four, light the place up.”

All good overarching ideas, though there were quite a few missing pieces between each step.

Michael let his hand drop into his lap with a crease in his brow. “Hmm... if we want to burn the place down, we need to pick up fuel and ignition... We can make a quick stop on our way to Fazbear Frights. You okay with all that?”

“Hell yeah!” Gregory responded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. He didn't exactly want to kill anyone; Gregory just really wanted to burn the creepy place down. It was better that than let things fall to even more shit and trap some of those kids in the future...

Quinn and Cain—he wondered if he'd still get along with them after all of this was said and done. Hannah, too. God, would she even know him in this world? It stung just a little, realizing he'd only had the pleasure of befriending them through their unfortunate demise.

After Gregory's joyful outburst, he looked pensive for just a split second. He'd gladly rewrite everything for them just to live. Even if it meant them never remembering the time they spent together in whatever timelines he touched...

“So what were you thinking? Gasoline? Propane explosion? We could be sneaky and use paint lacquer!” Gregory suggested. “They use that in insurance frauds.”

…Why in the hell did this kid know so much about arson?

Michael chose not to ask about such things, but the crease in his brow definitely deepened as this small child listed off ways to raze a place to the ground. He blinked at Gregory for a moment, before letting out a short laugh.

“I was just thinking good old-fashioned gasoline,” Michael replied, shifting position to sit up a bit straighter. “If we get there early, we can lay a trail through the whole building while the Bonnie suit's still in daytime mode. That way, even if we come across William he shouldn't be able to go after us. Then whenever we're ready to take him down, all we have to do is light a match.”

Easier said than done, Michael was sure. Still, it was the best option they had—otherwise, it'd be Gregory distracting William from the office while the guard snuck behind him pouring gas over the floor and hoping the deranged rabbit didn't catch onto their scheme.

It sure was a dangerous plan. But Gregory wasn't complaining; if something went wrong, he could always go bad and fix it. That was the beauty of this magical, time-traveling watch, he supposed. He couldn't be too scared of the plan turning south. What was the worst that could happen?

Gregory's watch gets burned and he can't ever leave?

…

That was always a very real possibility.

But that wouldn't happen; Gregory had been keeping an eye on the thing so far. This could work, so long as he and Michael worked well enough. And if Charlie could help out, that would be even better. Though with the state she seemed to be in, Gregory was having his doubts.

Leaning back now with a smile on his face, Gregory said: “This is pretty solid. Um... You don't think you're gonna go to jail right? I could probably find a way to bust you out...”

Now that made Michael laugh. “Kid, they wouldn’t have the first clue who to even look for. I’ve changed my name so many times, they could search for decades and still never get close.”

Michael hadn’t meant to become a man with a dozen aliases and counting, but seeing as he went missing and was presumed dead… he was kind of forced into the lifestyle. According to the paperwork, the night guard working at Fazbear Frights was a Mr. Adam Johnson, the most generic man in existence save for his excellent prowess as an animatronic technician.

Gregory let out a sharp laugh at that, pushing back his hair from his face. “What?! Oh man—that’s so cool!”

Michael was at least smart with the way he went about everything. Besides, they probably couldn’t fingerprint anything recovered in the fire. Michael was always wrapped in bandages or gloves, and Gregory didn’t even exist technically. The investigators would be looking for them for a long time.

“We still got a few hours to kill,” Michael remarked, shooting the boy a small grin. “Sorry I don’t have anything fun in here besides TV… but we can see if there’s anything good on, if you want.”

“No worries. I lived in a giant mall for a little bit; I could use a break from nonstop fun,” Gregory admitted, sinking into the couch after his laughing fit. Not that he’d ever disparage the niceties afforded to him, but the constant overstimulation required breaks. A little mind-numbing television would do them so good.

“Man, it’s a good thing this is like… The 90’s or something. Otherwise I think they’d be onto us,” Gregory said with a relaxed smile, just like how a true partner in crime would celebrate.

Michael made a curious, mildly concerned face as he grabbed the remote and began flicking through channels.

“What year do you come from, anyway? I don’t think you ever told me.” A little half-grin quirked up his mouth. “Or would telling me that information fuck with all that timey-wimey stuff you have to deal with?”

He was only partially joking. Who knew what sort of things could mess up timelines and futures… Gregory obviously had a vague idea of things, but surely the kid couldn’t know everything.

“Uh…” Gregory thought on it briefly. He supposed it couldn’t actually hurt anything to let him know what year he was from originally. “2022. It’s pretty much the same.”

“2022?!” Michael could barely even fathom such a date. The number sounded so foreign and admittedly kind of frightening… although Gregory said not much had changed from now, so he supposed it might not be too bad.

“Yeah! You're like an old man in the future!” Gregory said as if the Michael beside him wasn't almost entirely a skeleton now. He laughed at his own assessment. “—I mean. You look young eventually, but uh... Maybe that's a story for another time.”

He scrunched his face, thinking.

“My future self didn’t tell me not to say anything specific. Maybe it’s not that important?” he wondered aloud. It would’ve been nice to get some important details on stuff like that. “All I know for sure is that two of me can’t exist in the same timeline at once for, like, more than ten minutes. It could pull reality apart or something…”

He shrugged, nonchalantly leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder when they found the cable cartoon channel. With their luck, it was an old re-run of Fazbear and Friends. Michael tensed when Gregory leaned on him, but only for a second before shifting so they were both more comfortable. Surely his bony arm was nothing compared to the couch cushions, but he couldn’t say he didn’t appreciate the casual comfort.

Together they sat, watching animated animatronics frolic around on TV. For now, everything was okay.

For now, in just this short sliver of time, they were at peace. 

Even if things had already gone completely wrong in the unfortunate boy’s own timeline, at least he was trying to stop it from happening again. Michael just hoped he’d be around to see his Gregory in the future.

Could his soul linger on after everyone was put to rest? Would he want to?

Looking down at the spunky kid curled up against him, Michael knew he absolutely would.

“Take a rest, Gregory.” His words were soft, akin to the doting father he was meant to be a couple decades from now. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”

Unintentionally snuggling Michael’s arm, Gregory nodded and replied with a hum. It was so comforting to have the good Michael back. The guy he could depend on. Soon enough, Charlie would hopefully join their crew again, too. At least Michael wouldn’t have to be alone for quite so long…

It felt like forever since Gregory fell asleep on a couch. The last one was the oversized sofa in the penthouse hotel suite, curled up with his favorite protective bear. It was his last waking thought, how Freddy and Michael were so similar in the way they cared for people.

Then, away he drifted. A relatively peaceful sleep in the face of uncertainty.

***

Oh how Michael wished he could just let Gregory rest. He wanted to sneak off while he was passed out and get rid of William on his own, then swing by somewhere on the way home and pick the kid up a fancy, non-fast food dinner for all his troubles so far.

Unfortunately, that simply wasn’t plausible. As much as neither of them liked it, Michael needed Gregory’s help. They’d never get through to Charlie without him, and even if they left her soul out of the mix Michael couldn’t defeat William on his own. The fact that Gregory was here in the first place was proof of that.

So, with the utmost reluctance, Gregory was being gently shaken awake at 9 pm. He’d gotten a solid few hours of rest in and Michael would’ve liked to give him more, but if they wanted to get those last-minute supplies they’d need to head out before the stores closed.

“Rise and shine, kiddo,” Michael greeted the bleary-eyed teen. “How are you feeling?”

Gregory didn't jolt awake this time. It was a nice change of pace. Normally people waking him up resulted in him giving them a slightly dirty look. This time, Gregory was far too out of it from his nap to really register emotions as whole yet. Everything was strange and vague, but that came from the territory of impromptu naps.

“Mm—yep. I'm up...” Smacking his heavy eyelids together a few times, attempting to wipe away the blurry sleep still affecting his vision, Gregory rolled off of Michael's arm, sure that by now if the guy had any nerves left it would’ve long since gone numb. He deeply regretted now being able to save or pocket any of Sun's caffeinated candies to jolt him back to life. Regardless of whether or not Gregory was awake, they needed fuel for their fire. Gregory swung his legs over the edge of the couch and rubbed his face, rising like a zombie from its grave.

“I consolidated all the snacks when I was putting stuff away earlier, so the bag on the counter should have everything you need,” Michael said, attempting to stand as well.

Talk about a zombie—his movements were stiff and awkward, a drawback of staying tucked up on a comfy couch for an extended period of time. His brittle bones and half-gone muscles strained as they were put to use after hours of immobility, but after a bit of mental and physical prompting the eldest Afton was up on his feet once again.

“You want to heat up a dinner really quick, or are you still good from earlier?” Michael asked, cautiously stretching his arms high to the ceiling as he eyed Gregory. 

When he pried his hands from his face, Gregory saw stars with how much he squished into his eyes with his knuckles. It was a miracle of nature that he didn't wake up too hungry. He may just be able to get through tonight just skating by with snack food. “I'm still really full from the bacon burger; the snacks should be good.”

A short walk to the car later, snacks were set in the backseat and the boys piled in the front. Back to Walmart they went, this time with a much shorter list. They grabbed a few sizable canisters of gasoline and some matchbooks. Michael also picked up some thick rope—he doubted it could keep William down, but maybe they could use it to trip him up or something. Thankfully the tired clerk at the register didn’t question their very suspicious combination of items, simply ringing them up with dull eyes.

Before they knew it, Gregory and Michael were pulling into the empty lot of Fazbear Frights. The night guard turned off the car and sat there for a moment, staring up at the creepy sign. For the billionth time and counting, Michael wondered how the hell his life got so messed up.

“It’s about 10:45 now,” he stated in a quiet voice, as if the spirits inside could hear them all the way out there. “Like I said, the Bonnie suit should be offline until midnight. I know we can cover more ground if we split up to drench the place in gas, but I’m hesitant if one of us comes across him and for wherever reason he does react.”

He huffed, glancing down at Gregory. “What do you think? Stay together or split up?”

All the movies said stay together, but Michael valued the time-traveler’s opinion on the matter.

As Gregory’s eyes stuck onto the flickering neons of Fazbear Frights, he bit the inside of his cheek nervously. William had been formidable in every timeline. Here, he was obviously well into his mental decline. Who knows what he’d do to manipulate either of them into letting him live.

While it was in their best interests to find Charlie and convince her they were no harm as soon as possible, Gregory just didn’t feel comfortable leaving Michael alone with his father… But maybe there was a way to keep in touch?

Back at Michael’s apartment, Gregory had transferred the contents of his pockets into his new, dark grey cargo shorts. Not only did this include a plethora of bandages, but his old Fazwatch. The idea sprung into his head and he rifled through his many storage pouches to retrieve the novelty item.

“I’m afraid of William getting violent if he knew I’m around. If he wakes up, you know?” He held out this two way communicator, hoping that at least then they could stay in touch should they become separated. “And Charlie—she might attack us if she sees you before we can explain. Here, this way we can find each other.”

It was risky to be apart. Gregory hated the idea of going alone the more he thought on it. But this wasn’t permanent if either of them had anything to say about it.

“Go find your dad. Maybe try tying him up? Then, when we have everything we need, we’ll get the hell out of there and torch the place,” Gregory planned. It was a plan with many foreseeable holes, but if Charlie decided to play nicely, they’d have a shot of leaving unscathed. 

Michael took the watch with ginger fingertips. It was risky for sure, but he did feel better knowing there was a way to stay in touch. He couldn’t help but marvel slightly at the novelty toy, blinking in surprise at the crystal clear touch screen display. It’d long since disconnected from the Pizzaplex network, but the soft blue interfacing was still bright as day.

“Alright… thanks, this will be very useful,” Michael acknowledged as he slipped the watch over his thin, bandaged wrist. After securing it as best he could, Michael reached out and ruffled Gregory’s hair.

“We’ll get this done tonight. Hopefully we can at least get Charlie on our side before my shift starts… and speaking of—” He turned slightly in his seat to look at Gregory seriously. “—no matter what you’re in the middle of, meet at the security office by 11:55. That goes for me, too. If I’m not there in time, call me. Got it?”

“Go it!” Gregory replied with a can-do spirit, raising his hand to smack Michael's palm in a high-five. All that was left was to remove the heavy chain and padlock then drag themselves inside.

An eerie quiet fell over the building. The only sound was the white noise of the buildings generator and ventilation systems working their impotent magics. Gregory wasn't exactly sure what Michael's plan was with the long length of rope he'd acquired, but didn't see it fit to question it.

They only had a couple hours to make everything work. So, as boldly as a child who was somewhat scared of the dark could, Gregory took a deep breath and quickly dipped into the security office. He grabbed for Charlie's mask, holding it in a white-knuckled death grip before heading into the dark recesses of the building to seek her out.

The rope was hooked over Michael’s shoulder like an odd sash. He had no doubt he could tie William up, but he also knew the sheer strength of the suit—supernatural or not—could rend it to pieces in no time. It might buy them a few minutes at the beginning of the night though, and in this line of work every second counted.

Gregory helped Michael carry in the gas canisters and set them in a room near the main door, but not directly in their exit path. While Gregory split off to find Charlie, Michael picked up one of the canisters and started the mission of pouring gasoline all over the attraction. He worked systematically, walking from room to room and pausing before he entered to steel his nerves for the potential of seeing that rotting rabbit he unfortunately called “father.” He made it through three rooms just fine, but as he entered the old, dusty arcade he froze with a little gasp.

There slumped against the wall was the spring Bonnie suit, still as the grave but oh so ominous. For a moment Michael was stuck, just staring at the thing now that he wasn’t at risk of being maimed. Then, slowly, he set the canister in the doorway and began to inch forward, shifting the rope into his hands.

It seemed that without power or an endoskeleton to hold the suit up, William was forced to sit slumped against the wall. His mouth hung open in a terrifying grin with a dead-weight head pulled to his shoulder for support. The mouth of its trapped corpse was stuck in a permanent, never ending and silent scream.

But just because the suit was off, didn't mean that the tormented soul inside would rest. Not yet...

Inside, the grotesque and bloody mouth of Michael’s father moved, gasping out as it dared to ask this stranger in a broken and raspy voice: “What... are you... doing..?”

His tone was utterly pathetic. It trembled, frightened and weak from years of torment inside that leaking room at Freddy's. “Please... Don't... Hurt... Me...”

The man inside was far too weak yet to move the suit on his own. Its heavy padding was wet, and the coils inside were too heavy a task for William to bear on his torn and decomposed muscles. If only he had more time to heal, then he could move as if it were his first time trying the damned thing on.

“Please don’t start with me,” Michael said, stopping in front of the suit. He meant for his words to come out hard and cold, but his emotion betrayed him. He sounded soft, unsure, and vulnerable.

“It’s… I-It’s for your own good,” the guard murmured, getting painstakingly to his knees. Bonnie seemed so much smaller than it had when he was a kid—slouched and immobile, it was a far cry from the bright and lively thing on stage. Still, the mummified body inside sent a chill through Michael’s spine.

That was his father.

He’d been searching for this man for so long and he’d been here all this time, sealed up in a room to deal with the torment of his agony all alone.

Michael couldn’t do it. He couldn’t touch the thing… not yet.

He shook his head and leaned back on his haunches with a grimace, voice breaking as he tried to speak again. “God… why did you do it? How could you do such horrible things?”

William was taken back by this tone. Who was this stranger to scold him in such a way?

The ghastly creature twitched uncomfortably. “His own good?” The man was going to hurt him. To try and kill him...

Well, unfortunately for the stupid guard, he couldn't. If the springtraps didn't end William’s life, nothing would. This man's self-perceived “good deed” was just going to piss William off. Then, that accusatory whimper that left his throat made William think twice. There was no point in hiding it. What was going to happen if he admitted it? Go to jail? He was already serving a life sentence of his own design.

“For... Them...” He gasped out in a surprisingly honest answer. “My son... My daughter... Needed... Them... Can't... Go on...”

William interrupted himself. A horrible wrenching cough left his throat, shaking the suit as it jolted and shook from the force of it all. A dark liquid sprayed out onto the bottom of Bonnie's once-pearly white teeth. His invention... a tainted prison cell. A deserved one, maybe. William realized it would never be his turn to be happy.

Though it all begged the question: how did this guard know who he was?

“Who... Who are you..?” he asked after recovering from his respiratory error.

A wayward droplet of decrepit bodily fluid found its way onto Michael's shirt, causing him to flinch back as if he'd been burned. However, this small fright didn't stop his mouth from settling in a hard line. His initial assumptions had been right—William was doing this for his children. At least, that's what he told himself to appease the guilty thoughts.

And perhaps in his tormented, decayed state he was back to those original ideals. He was trying to move forward so he could help his kids again—his son and daughter.

His son. And daughter.

His son... singular.

“...Did you even look for me?” The question seemed to come out of nowhere, but it was something that Michael had been dwelling for decades. He twisted the rope in his hands, not even noticing as the course fibers bit through a break in the bandages and touched his shriveled skin. The profound sadness was ebbing, replaced by anger. “You only cared about the others, I know that. When they died, you were completely beside yourself. But when I went missing after you sent me into that death trap... did you even give a shit?”

Michael's glare was icy, and he felt the confused eyes behind the rabbit mask meet his own. Apparently, he had to spell it out for the senile old man. “Father, it's me. Michael.”

Michael...

Michael…?!

William garnered strength, if only for just a moment. His first reaction was rage. A rage he wasn't exactly proud of. The suit twitched in the arms, like he tried to push himself up.

Then a long and drawn-out wail came from the suit. His own son was here to kill him. For nearly a full week, he'd been hunting his own flesh and blood. The cry was that of a man who realized how truly fucked-up the situation was. His eldest son was here, not for some meager power struggle, but because Michael thought that William truly abandoned him and was out for revenge.

“No... NO.” William reeled back, the suit banging hard against the walls. “Michael... I left... I left you...?”

…

He remembered now.

Oh yes, he remembered the night he “left.” Everything he had was left behind in Michael's care. His wallet. The safe in the basement. All his notes and projects so carelessly scattered without any barriers to show his son who he truly was. The man behind it all, every misfortune that happened in Michael's childhood, and his own sole protector was the cause of it all.

“—I was trapped... The springlocks... Michael...,” he tried to convince. After all, the plan was to return, after William had a chance to accomplish his goals, and Michael came to terms with his ideals. They were supposed to be happy—them, Evan, and Lizzie.

And he’d been so close. He still was! Those old fucking suits and the ghosts were in the way.

Carefully, a slow and deliberate paw reached out. “Don't leave me here... D-don't..!”

William wretched again, Bonnie’s paw dropping useless in his lap as another coughing fit ensued. 

Thank god Michael's tear ducts had dried up long ago, for he would be weeping from this encounter. He wasn't quite as emotionally strong as the Mike Gregory knew—the one who'd already been through this, and who'd hunted this spring-trapped version of William time and time again until he was able to tamp down on the deepest emotions so only the hardest nudge could free them.

Now, in this moment, Michael could only shake his head again and sit back, his unnecessary breathing shaky as he listened to his father try to convince him he hadn't meant to abandon him for years. It wasn't going to work though. Even if he was weaker than his jaded, older self, Mike had still been through far too much to let a few words sway his determination.

“You admit you left me, then you ask me not to the same? Still a fucking hypocrite, I see.” He let out a short, dull laugh, scooting forward on his knees with the rope held aloft. He'd have to move quick and careful—William could obviously still influence the suit even during the day. Looping one end around the large, moldy torso, Michael pulled it tight so Bonnie's arms were cinched by his sides.

“How can you expect compassion for what you've done?” the guard went on, speaking through clenched teeth. “Especially from me?! You left me to figure out your dirty little secrets all by myself. I had to learn that my father was a murderer and the fucking coward couldn't even be there to own up to it all.”

Real panic was beginning to take hold of William. Dear God, he was going to do it. Michael killed his brother, and now he was going to kill him, too. The suit was shaking now as Michael worked on tying those careful knots at his side.

“No—I didn't want to leave you!” Not wholly. There were hard days where William thought Michael would be better off without him. It was because of his own grave mistakes that got him into this mess. How could he still blame his son for everything?

…Easily. That was just the way William was.

Bonnie's head managed to turn, creaking slightly as it followed Michael's fast-paced machinations.

“I left to get rid of the evidence... I was so close. Your brother... I had to get him first. I was supposed to be back before you woke up...” He tried. But his lackluster explanation before seemed to have really enraged his son now.

“You don't have to do this...” He reminded Michael, his speech growing stronger the more he exercised his voice. “I can fix you. I can fix us. Just help me, Michael...”  

Of course he was going to fix his family. It was the only concern he had.

The others?

…They deserved what they got.

Brats. The lot of them. Spoiled rotten by their shitty parents. Throwing pizza at the walls and screaming their heads off. Disgusting, vile kids with no sympathy for a grieving man.

When Michael hesitated, only to tie the knot tighter, the suit began to shake violently.

“LET ME OUT RIGHT THIS INSTANT. You can't do this, Michael! MICHAEL!” William berated, his voice thick with mucus and violent rage. The second the clock hit midnight, he was going to put his son through a wall.

Michael could feel the moment he's father's poorly contained ruse of trying to win him over snapped, even before William started screaming. It was like as he pulled the ropes taught, it also pulled on William's fragile, false composure until it simply broke.

“There you are—I was wondering when the real you would make an appearance,” Michael muttered, trying his damndest to keep his voice steady. He couldn't let his father see how much is words had actually gotten to him.

Fuck, what he wouldn't do to put it all back to rights—to save his brother and sister and be a family again... But it was far too late.

Michael knew what he'd done to Evan was inexcusable, but his father let his grief consume him until he made one deadly mistake after another that eventually led to his own demise... and his only remaining child's as well. Whatever sickly sweetness William imbued into his tone was utterly false.

So why did Michael still feel like he wanted to believe him?

“Y-Your words mean nothing,” he pushed on, hands shaking as he tried to finish his work. He just had a few more knots to tie, but his damn nerves were making it a very hard task. It was taking all his composure not to burst into dry sobs, and he only hoped he could keep it together until he had a second to himself for Gregory's sake.

Gregory—that's who he was doing this for. Michael couldn't forget that. The trembling noticeably lessened as he redoubled his efforts with a heavy crease in his brow.

William knew that was a lie. This whole thing was a misunderstanding, one he wasn't reacting to in a particularly parental manner. Years of desensitization from violence made his first reaction one of defensive brutality.

It wasn’t right. The little, starved conscious that William had left begged for the prominent and savage part of him to shut up before he made it worse. William was just too good at making things worse for himself.

“You can’t do this! Michael, I’m your fucking father!” he cried out, his head swiveled from side to side as his weak arms tested the ropes. There was no use in fighting and wasting his energy now. “Please, you don’t realize what you’re doing! It’s not fair!”

It was futile. His son was truly estranged now. Nothing he could say would be anything Michael believed.

“Evan’s here—haven’t you seen him? You can’t kill me when I’m so close to bringing him back!” Something about his last plea rung as genuine. In his senility, William had thought there was a chance for his grotesque plans to come to fruition. Evan would love him for saving him, and resent Michael for impeding that process. It would serve him right for attacking him so blatantly after their forced separation. 

“You're a liar and you're fucking deluded,” Michael hissed, pulling the last bit of rope taught with the emphasis on the words. William was encased now, the strong cord wrapped tightly around his torso and legs. The only range of movement he should be able to have now was swiveling his head and bending at the torso (as Michael had opted to leave him sitting up), so the most he could do was try and scoot across the floor like a weird snake.

However, they both knew that would be painful as hell—and also fruitless, as it wouldn't help free him from the bonds.

Michael finally stood again, smacking his hands together to wipe off the fiber remnants as he glared down at William. “I know exactly what I'm doing, father. I'm stopping you from hurting more innocent children for your sick experiments. I know everything you've done, and I will never forgive you.”

Fists clenched by Michael's side, he turned to leave. Then he paused, and in a random burst of rage turned around and kicked one of the plush legs hard. He couldn't feel the surefire pain in his foot from such an impact, and for that he was grateful. It was a childish gesture, but it also just felt right.

Agony. It ripped through William. The cruel joke of it all only punctuated by Michael’s harsh attack on his shin. William thought he even felt one of the animatronic parts sink so deep, the springlock poked straight through his mummified calf muscle. Everything stung; the pain shot through him and caused the old man to thrash involuntarily against the cold, unforgiving wall.

What stung the most? Probably his last living family member leaving him. Not because he was torn from him, but because he chose to go.

...Ahah. This was Henry’s fault. He left him to rot in that backroom. Sealed him away to protect the business…

He didn’t even tell Michael what happened to him…

They were officially dead to him. DEAD.

William could only watch as Michael retreated, livid and heartbroken as he silently vowed to kill them both no matter what it took…

***

Back at the security room, Gregory was having a tough time coaxing Charlie out. He’d found her after running through the cameras a couple times, far closer than he expected. She wasn’t exactly shy; he could see her eyes in the vents as he talked to her, pretty much about anything and everything.

Charlie was a lot quieter than he remembered, though. Those white pupils were off-putting at first glance and the inky tears that stained her face weren’t that comforting inside the dark vent—but then again, Gregory figured was starting to look pretty scary, too. He wondered if she thought the same way about his eyes.

“So… From memory, those are all the original Pokémon that I can think of,” Gregory remarked, trying his hardest to put Charlie at ease enough to get her to say anything. Glancing at his watch, he narrowed his eyes at the time.

Michael made it to the security office just in time. Well, Gregory had gotten Charlie to show her face at least—sort of. Michael didn’t bother stepping fully in the room, lingering just outside the huge window. He tapped the glass to get Gregory’s attention, noting how the piercing eyes in the vent instantly flickered to him. The guard winced involuntarily, turning his focus to Gregory while keeping the thin shape in the corner of his vision.

“I didn’t get to gas up all the rooms, but I found Father and tied him up,” Michael said, speaking a bit louder than usual so his voice would travel. He inclined his head to the dark hole, hoping Charlie wouldn’t get a sudden wild idea to slither back into the vent and pop out at him in the dingy hallway. “Any luck on your end?”

Gregory stopped in his tracks upon seeing Michael right outside. The surprise nearly made the kid jump right out of his shoes and after making a point to touch his chest and breathe out, he huffed a sigh.

“She’s just been listening to me talk about Pokémon for the last…” Gregory looked at his watch, having mentally tallied how long it’s been for him. “—28 minutes?”  

As Gregory stood with his back facing the vents, long and slender arms begun to reach out towards him. Now that the real threat had returned, she couldn’t keep hidden. Fingers that were just a little too long were poised and ready to grab Gregory’s ankles. Before Michael could even react and warn him about the impending double-cross, she quickly yanked the kid down, sending him to the floor to smack painfully against the concrete. Gregory screamed—that actually hurt!—and scrabbled to keep himself in the office.

However, Charlie was stronger and more determined, pulling the boy fast towards the vent. She wasn’t going to let that bad man hurt anymore kids. Not on her watch.

Chapter Text

“CHARLIE!” Gregory had been roughly pulled halfway inside the vent, struggling to hold onto the edge. “CHARLIE, STOP! FUCK—”

“Oh shit!” Michael acted quickly, moving faster than one would expect from a rotting corpse. He rushed into the office and grabbed Gregory’s forearms, holding tight to counteract Charlie’s pull. She was strong, her protective nature giving her a burst of supernatural energy in the face of the perceived threat.

“God damn it, Charlie, let go!” Michael said through clenched teeth, pulling with all his might. He let out a small gasp when he heard something crack, hoping it hadn’t been anything major. “Shit… listen, I’m not trying to hurt him! I want to protect him—AH!”

The zombie gave a few solid tugs on the last words, finally dislodging Gregory from Charlie’s ghostly grasp. The momentum sent them both falling to the concrete in a heap, and once Michael got over his daze he quickly sat up and wrapped his arms around Gregory. The boy was sitting in his lap, held against his hollow chest as his de facto guardian peered into the vent with wide eyes.

“Charlie, please!” Michael begged, watching the very angry figure start to crawl out with those pinprick dots of white locked onto him. He could feel her rage, thinking another child had been lost to the clutches of William Afton’s madness. “It’s me—Michael! My fath—William’s in the Bonnie suit! That’s who you need to be mad at… For fuck’s sake, I’m on your side!”

His pleas had been falling on deaf ears for decades. Would she believe him now…?  

Gregory was caught in the middle of a contentious tug of war, most of the tension falling onto his ankles as he felt one nearly dislocate and crack from the contrary forces. With his eyes shut, he finally let out a gasp as he fell back into the safety of Michael's boney chest.

God—was this, like, the first time that Michael thought to try and talk with the spirits?!

Charlie's hands briefly retreated as she listened to the man’s plaintive cries. The only thing visible in the darkness of the ventilation shaft were her large, watery eyes.

“Liar...,” Charlie responded with short-sighted malice in her tone. Her tearful gaze narrowed at the security guard vengefully. “Michael died. He's gone and I can't get him back. I was too late. But I'm going to save them...”

Even if half the spirits didn't believe in being saved any longer, she was going to try. What else could she do? Just let William wreak whatever havoc he pleased? Body after body would keep turning up and Charlie's work as the caretaker in this hellish afterlife would never be fulfilled.

Still... There was something in the desperation of this stranger’s voice that made her think twice.

“If you're really my friend... Then tell me something only he’d know,” Charlie growled out as her face came closer to the edge—and that’s when the boys got a good look at her ghostly body.

Gregory’s eyes blew wide, shocked to see an android peering at them. Only... No; this wasn’t a robot fortified by mystical powers, but an actual ghost—Charlie’s ghost, separated from Puppet to free-roam. Gregory wasn’t sure how or why, nor was this the time to ask; for now, he’d chalk the weirdness up to the concept of “different timelines, different quirks.” It was something he had to accept in order to make it through.

Charlie, when outside of Puppet, chose to take a rather horrific form. Her face was a pale blue, corpse-like in pallor and with dark streaks trailing from her eyes. Around her neck were noticeable dark bruising where stale blood would have collected from the unrelenting grip that sapped her life away.

Michael had seen this horrific form before, used to torment “William” when he caught glimpses of Charlie out of the corner of his eye. It never failed to make him wince though, looking upon his best friend in such a horrendous state.

…Then again, he wasn’t much better.

“I-I…” Michael swallowed thickly, his hold on Gregory remaining tight and secure as he wracked his brain for an answer. He tried not to think of the past too long or he’d lose his mind, but there was one memory recently brought up that caused a tired sort of grin to quirk up the corner of his mouth. “I can tell you so many stories from when we were kids, Charlie… remember when Evan ate all those ice pops and threw up in Lizzie’s toy chest? You told me to keep an eye on him—you’ve always been there to keep me in check, and god did I fucking need it—but of course the second I turn my back the dummy inhales all the pops in the bag… it didn’t take long for them to all come back up. We all had a good laugh—after we cleaned it up, of course. Now that was nasty.”

His nose scrunched, as if wiping up a little vomit was any comparison to the sheer amount of agonizing body horror they’d all been through. Michael’s gaze was soft though, looking like he might cry if he was able to.

“You’re right—I did die,” he went on in a quiet tone. “And I’m sorry I left you again. My soul stayed; I just wasn’t bonded to an animatronic—that’s why I’m like this. But… But I never stopped looking for you all.”

There was the tiniest hitch in his breath now, and he had to look away from that piercing stare. “Fuck… I’m sorry, Charlie. I-I’m so sorry…”

Gregory offered Michael a hug, trying to nonverbally show Charlie that he trusted the bruised-looking man. The ghost didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him, her own searching eyes dancing around for any loophole as to how a stranger could remember such an esoteric portion of her childhood.

Good god, the amount of sugar the four of them ate that summer. The blue stains didn't look like they'd come out of Evan's clothes anytime soon...

Charlie's expression on top of her appearance changed in a blink. Those tear trails still stained her face, but the bruising on her neck and the pale affect on her face seemed to mellow into something resembling normalcy.

He really didn't forget about her. Oh God—she’s been hunting him the entire time?!

Charlie looked briefly disgusted for allowing herself to be fooled. If she could vomit out of nervousness and disappointment, she just might’ve. Her stare only relented for a half a moment, then stuck right back onto the pair cowering before her.

“It… It is you...,” Charlie murmured, her now timid voice barely above a whisper. Completely pulling herself from the darkness and into the harsh fluorescents, a more normal version of Charlie came to light. She looked exactly the same—from the very last day of her life, and the last enduring memory anyone had of the teen.

“I'm... I'm such an idiot, Mike—” She scolded herself, figuring that Michael would have been too scared of her now for everything she's done. How could he talk to her so kindly after everything she and the others put her through?!

“We’re both idiots,” Michael told her, and the relief in his voice was palpable. He even managed the faintest ghost of a laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t blame you, though—my face is so ugly I’d go after me too.”

It was a lame, self-depreciating joke, but sort of true. With his cursed genes, he was forced to look like his murderous father. Even in death, they were both emaciated corpses with the same bone structure.

“Hey—” Michael could sense Charlie’s unease and regret. They were feelings he knew all too well. “—it’s okay. I know you weren’t after me. You… you’ve done all you can for those kids and I’m just so sorry I haven’t been there to help you.”

Slowly, as if she might startle like a frightened deer, Michael lifted a hand to his best friend. The other arm was still loosely wrapped around Gregory’s waist, needing comfort of the boy who knew far too much for one so young. If he said she still loved him in the future, then surely Charlie would take his offer now. With the kindest smile and eyes he could muster, Michael asked in a quiet voice: “Are... we still friends?”  

…

Are we still friends?

As Charlie stared, dumbfounded and with a heavy heart, she remembered him asking her that at her party. Charlie didn’t give him an answer then; it was the one thing she sorely regretted from her life. There were many regrets she had on that day, but now that it was brought up, it stood in the forefront of her brain.

Trying to shake those tears away without much luck, Charlie leaned forward, taking hold of Michael’s hand.

“Always,” she assured. She watched as the kid clung to him, hiding his face away from Charlie and her dissolving wrath. He hid so comfortably beside Michael, his appearance striking her as familiar in a way that she just couldn’t put her finger on right then. With a reassuring squeeze around Michael’s palm, Charlie apologized: “I’m sorry for letting you think I hated you—I was just so angry. I just didn’t want to say anything that I thought I would regret…”

Not that it all made much difference now with how much time passed. It was best to forgive and forget some things…

(Being strangled in an alleyway by some alcoholic you thought you could trust? That wasn’t one of them.)

“And you have every right to be angry,” Michael told her, holding on just as tight. “Trust me, I'm never going to be upset at you for trying to get revenge—I'd do the same thing in your position. I'm just sorry I didn't do a good enough job of proving who I was sooner.”

They were both partially responsible for the years-long miscommunication. Ever since Michael fully came into his father's looks, it was an undoubtable fact that people would confuse him for William—dead spirits of the man's former victims included. Whereas Charlie had been consumed by her rage, Michael had been overwhelmed by fear. It was literally all he could do to cower in those offices, fending away Puppet and her gang of pissed-off animatronics for six hours at a time.

After he was scooped, things were different. Sure, he could still be maimed by large, angry machinery, but there wasn't a chance of him dying... Michael would never sing his praises for being infused with Remnant, but at least it allowed him to continue his quest to find his father and free the spirits without worry of his own demise.

“Anyway, can we just... agree to talk about this in-depth later?” Michael continued, releasing Charlie's hand slowly. “I really missed you and there's so much we need to discuss, but I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of time.”

He looked at his watch. 11:57. Three more minutes, and they'd see how well Michael's rope-tying skills fared against a very upset corpse in a rabbit suit.

Michael glanced down at the kid in his lap, then back to Charlie. “Uh, did you... actually get to meet Gregory, or were you just listening to him ramble about Pokémon?”

Charlie offered a weak smile at Gregory. Technically, he introduced himself by taking her mask and waking her much earlier than she expected.

“Yes! Gregory, right? I’m sorry I didn’t say anything; I’m kind of rough at making new friends…” She curled her palm, the first friendly touch she’d felt in decades now leaving a lasting impression on her phantasmal fingertips. Somewhat worried at Michael’s poor decision-making (some things never changed), she glanced to the older man. “Question—why did you bring him in here?”

“I… sort of tricked him into letting me in,” Gregory replied as if assuming he’d be judged for this. As Mike said, they could fill Charlie in about everything later; he had an important ask before they were to be hunted again. “We need you to help us… William’s probably going to try and kill us for real tonight. Can you do anything?”

Charlie scratched the insides of her palms with an annoyed look on her face.

“No—No, Gregory don’t you worry. He’s not going to get anywhere near you guys…,” she assured, not wasting a moment before going to the other spare parts in the cardboard box and sorting through them. “Hm… Yeah, they’re all still here. We can distract him for you… What’s your plan anyway…?”

“Immobilize William, then burn the building down,” Michael replied simply and succinctly. He grimaced, sparing a glance at Gregory. “We need to make sure we truly destroy him, though—no part of his body can linger here.” Charlie was giving him a strange look over her shoulder, and he let out a small sigh. “It's way too complicated to explain right now. You just have to trust me.”

Shifting Gregory off his lap, Michael ruffled the boy's hair as he got painstakingly to his feet, then checked the time.

11:59.

“Okay, so I tied William up before I got to the office, but I wasn't able to cover the whole building with gasoline,” Michael went on, repeating the status in case Charlie hadn't heard due to her strict focus on Gregory earlier. “He also knows who I am, and I have a feeling he might be able to get out eventually, so—”

Suddenly the phone rang. It was 12 am; night shift had officially begun.

Michael quickly clicked the speaker button on the receiver and a voice rang out through the dingy office.

“Hello, hello?

“Umm, this is just a reminder of company policy concerning the safe room. The safe room is reserved for equipment and or other properties not being currently used, and as a back-up safety location for employees only. This is not a break room, it should not be considered a place for employees to hide and or congregate. And under no circumstance should a customer ever, be taken into this room, and out of the main show area.

“Management has also been made aware that the Spring Bonnie animatronic has been noticeably moved, and would like to remind employees that this costume is not safe to wear under any circumstances.

“Thank you, and remember to smile. You are the face of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. ”

Gregory swallowed a thick glop of spit that welled up in his throat upon listening to that recording. That rule had to be made because of William. He'd gone in there to use the suit one last time, unknowing that it would be his tomb. It was hard to say whether or not William's plan was to leave Michael behind entirely. Then again, to Gregory it hardly mattered when the guy was still out to get them according to Michael's insistence on burning the joint to the ground.

They would stick to the plan... At least, that was the idea, until Charlie's worried expression and uneasy voice trickled through the air.

“You're going to set fire to Freddy's?” The place that had been her home, albeit dingy and falling apart... But where were she and the others supposed to go?

She wanted to object. This could be her final night to set things right, to stop William in the ashes of the business he helped create, taking with him the remnants of the lives he extinguished, although some part of her hated this. They'd finally have their peace, yet the pain of no longer existing both scared and filled her with a heavy melancholy.

“I'll... go slow him down. You stay here, keep Gregory out of sight,” Charlie directed, her line of sight lingering on the abandoned toy parts, along with the less salvageable bits of the old characters forgotten and left at the bottom to rot. Then, she was on her way. 

“Charlie—” Michael reached out to her, but like the transient thing she was she slipped right out of his grasp. Soon she was around the corner and out of sight from their naked eyes, visible only on the cameras as a faint figure drifting through the halls.

“Damn it,” Michael muttered, looking at said camera feeds with a pinched expression. Gaining her assistance had been the goal, but she was clearly upset underneath her determination. He’d just wished to talk to her a little more before she rushed off to aid them…

Flicking to the camera overlooking the arcade showed William already struggling to get free. With midnight came control of his horrid body for six hours, and sure enough he was trying to use it to his full advantage. With a heavy sigh Michael glanced down at Gregory.

“Thanks for helping with Charlie,” he said with an unidentifiable look in his eyes. “It’s… good to finally talk to her again. And, you know, not having her trying to kill me all night.” He laughed weakly, the stress of the evening already beginning to wear on him.

Gregory knocked into Michael’s arm, briefly gaining his attention before gluing his eyes back on the screen.

“She’ll be okay. We’ll get a chance to talk to her when we’re not about to get our limbs ripped off,” Gregory reminded. Everything was going to be alright if their plan went fine. He followed Charlie’s movements in the camera, paying particular attention to the way that the feed would turn to static around her phantasmal form.

***

William was barely held back. Once he found the suit power on, he felt stronger than he ever had, with a newfound rage inside him accompanied by his updated plan. Break out of here, kill Michael before he can kill him. Then, track down Henry and torture him before killing the bastard, too.

William advanced closer, appearing on the tenth camera. However, once he painstakingly dragged himself to the end of the hall, William found himself frozen in place as he saw someone he hadn’t in a long time.

Charlotte Emily.

Her neck was broken and hanging at a disgusting angle to the side of her shoulder. They were locked in a staring match, William far too apprehensive to say anything.

And Charlie? She merely stood still to intimidate him, blocking his path.

“Move.” William finally warned, fists balled at his side and digging into his plush palms. Charlie said nothing, only taking a sudden step forward and making William jump back in fear. “I’m warning you, brat!”

***

“Ugh...” Michael was glad he couldn't fully see Charlie's distorted body on the cameras. Just the angle of her head made his phantom stomach queasy.

He hadn't seen her when she died; Henry wouldn't let him, knowing that it would absolutely break Michael to witness another one of his family member's mangled bodies. He was forever grateful to his uncle, but this also meant that Michael had no frame of reference to tell whether this was truly what Charlie looked like that night in the alley, or whether it was amped up for disturbing effect.

He honestly didn't want to know the answer.

“I... need to go back out there,” Michael remarked slowly, watching the stand-off. The tension from the encounter in the hallway could be felt through the tiny display screen. With a heavy sigh he looked to Gregory again. Oh, he did not want to leave the kid alone, but—

“I've got to finish covering the building with gas. I want this whole place to go down.” The tone of his voice said it wasn't up for debate. Pulling the monitors down so Gregory could access them, Michael instructed firmly: “I need you to keep an eye on them. If William starts to make a break for it or gets past Charlie, lead him away with the audio, okay? I'll try to be sneaky so I don't attract his attention, but...”

He trailed off, as the rest didn't need to be said. Michael had a bulls-eye on his back now, and if his father sensed his presence he was going to try and kill him—he could feel it in his cold veins.

Gregory reached out to grasp Michael's arm. Tiny fingers furled into the cuffs of his sleeve, trying to find an excuse to get the man to stay put.

“But if he sees you, he's gonna rip you apart!” Gregory whispered harshly. It was more than risky; in a small confined space such as the original diner, William would be a ruthless hunter. He knew Michael was resourceful. Fast, too—yet it did nothing to calm his nerves. Even so, Gregory knew they had to make sure that the place caught fire and William along with it.

“I... please be careful, Mike.” Though Gregory was sure that the guy didn't need the reminder, he just didn't want Michael to do anything reckless.

“Aren't I always?” Michael's smile died as quickly as it appeared, fading into a grimace. “...Actually, don't answer that. Horrible question, even rhetorically.”

He crouched down and pulled Gregory in for a hug. Though William might not kill him, he'd certainly do his best to maim his son until Michael couldn't protect his “brother” anymore. If this was the last time Gregory was going to see Mike in one piece, he wanted the kid to have a somewhat decent memory of him.

“I've just got a few rooms left,” the guard reassured, speaking into Gregory's shoulder as the boy clung. “And I know the alternate routes, so I can get around. Plus, Charlie's on my side now, and I've got you helping from here.”

Stay strong; you won't be alone for much longer... Gregory had to remind himself of this as he shoved his face into Michael's shoulder. He could practically feel the protruding bones stabbing his cheek bone but it hardly mattered. He just was dreading the worst, seeing Michael get wrecked on the camera feeds was only going to mess with his mental health even more.

They couldn't waste any more time. After a firm pat to Gregory's back, Michael released him and stood. He did wear a smile now, albeit a strained one. He ruffled Gregory's hair as he headed for the open door, calling softly behind him: “I'll be back as soon as I can. Stay safe.”

“You, too,” Gregory replied without hesitation.

After watching Mike leave the hallway safely, he resumed looking over the building. Charlie was chasing William around; anytime he felt brave enough to try and pass her, she would twitch and freak the guy out even more. This could be easier than they thought, if Charlie managed to keep him away from Michael while he worked, and Gregory kept the ventilation systems on—

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Camera and Air Duct Failure

Gregory's snapped in an instant to the second screen, eyebrows raised for his hairline as he bit the inside of his cheek anxiously. He clicked the RESET ALL button, hoping there wasn't any real issue... But hearing the faint sound of thumping growing ever closer made Gregory panic and shift back to the first screen. The boy had to make an educated guess based on where he saw William last, and chose to close up camera fourteen’s vent.

It's like the guy knew exactly when the cameras went down—playing helpless until he could slip away and try to get inside the security office...

***

Michael wanted to put those old high school track skills to use, but he knew his thudding steps would instantly attract William's attention in the echoing gloom of the attraction. So he did the opposite, moving slow and cautious as he listened for the lumbering footfalls of the corpse-infused rabbit. It was surprisingly easy to retrace his steps and grab the gas canister he'd set down earlier. This of course set Michael's nerves more on edge. The place was eerily quiet... although when he heard a sudden dull clomping in the ventilation above his head, he understood why.

“Shit!” Michael hissed before he could stop himself. How stupid could he be to forget about the vents?! He shouldn't have left Gregory alone... The kid had watched him work the systems last night and therefore should understand how to close off the vents, but that left him more susceptible to passing out and making everything worse.

Suddenly, the noise above stopped. There was a low, frustrated growl and the thunking retreated as William backed out. Michael felt his dead heart's nonexistent rhythm slow the tinniest bit.

Gregory was okay (f or now).

Picking up the canister with renewed vigor, Michael tipped the nozzle to the floor and began pouring the flammable liquid all over the slick tile.

***

Those gasoline fumes weren’t helping the breathing situation. Gregory felt like a frog sitting in a pot of increasingly heating water. The longer he concentrated at the screen, the worse his vision began to wobble. Textures didn’t seem right any longer; everything became soft and fuzzy under his touch, and his cheeks began to burn with the smell overpowering the once-dusty scent of the building.

When the vents and cameras finally reset, Gregory gasped in the fresh air being pulled in from the outside, going into a coughing fit. As he wheezed his little lungs out in painful chokes, he tried to keep an eye on all three of his targets.

William had scooted back out of the closed vents, heading for Michael in a staggered jog which Gregory found grotesquely uncanny. Charlie was tailing him, causing William to slow and look over his shoulder as she haunted her killer. Before William could make his way to Michael’s location, Gregory would command his suit with the audio prompts, pressing a nearby hallway’s button in an exhausted manner. After hitting the button, he slumped into his seat and wiped his sweaty face. The dizziness did not relent, and Gregory’s vision began to swim once again.

***

Hearing the audio prompt echo nearby, Michael realized two things simultaneously: William was close, and he had to take an alternate path. Mike had been heading that direction, but he trusted Gregory’s judgement. He hadn’t seen that golden suit anywhere, although he could hear him shuffling in that painful gait.

Two more rooms. Just two more rooms, and they’d be one step closer to the end—

Michael sucked in a sharp gasp, nearly releasing the canister in heart-dropping surprise. He’d taken the longer way around in an attempt to avoid William, but the timing backfired—with the child’s laughter faded away, the rabbit was stepping out of the hallway and looking right at Michael.

“Shit…” Against his great effort, the guard’s knees began to tremble. Even the tired zombie had to admit his spring-trapped father was really fucking imposing when standing at full height. Surely Gregory was watching though, and they’d soon hear another peal of giggles nearby.

…But nothing came.

Instantly, Michael began to panic. He dropped the near-empty gas canister and took a step back, murmuring in a quiet, shaky voice as he stared down those furious glowing eyes. “Gregory?! Ch-Charlie?! A little back-up’s appreciated here!” 

(Gregory was a little preoccupied now with visions swirling in his eyes: old suits gathering by the window to frighten and intimidate the boy. On the office chair he cowered with legs pulled tight to his chest, unable to move or breathe properly. He felt like he was dying and these old characters had come to welcome him into the afterlife…)

Unbeknownst to the terrified boy in the office, William’s rough laugh was drawing closer to Michael.

“But no one came to help…,” he chuckled with cruel intentions, slowly approaching Michael. “You were never one to think these things through, huh, Sport?”

Rhetorical and mean in his advancements, with an arm outstretched, he reached for Michael’s shirt and lifted him from the ground in an almost careful manner, like he was lifting a kitten by the scruff of its neck. William dangled Michael and laughed as he tried to kick him away. “You should have died so long ago… Just like your siblings. Let me put you out of your misery…”

“No! Fuck OFF!” Though Michael couldn’t really choke anymore, the feeling of constriction around his throat was extremely uncomfortable. He thrashed in William’s grip, but his strength paled in comparison to the Bonnie suit and the spirit inside filled with unquenchable rage.

“Let go of me!” Michael hissed, struggling vainly to free himself. He was well and truly caught—but he hadn’t given up. If he couldn’t wrench his shirt from William’s grip, perhaps he could just slip out of the thing… He just couldn’t make it too obvious.

“You’re fucking delusional,” the zombie griped, kicking up his thrashing. Keep William distracted with words and big movements to detract from the smaller motions of undoing the dress shirt buttons one by one was Michael’s goal. He glared at his father, hissing through clenched teeth.

“What’s your plan, anyway? Still trying to bring the family back?” He huffed a short, derisive laugh. “You think Evan would want to see you after all you’ve done? I bet he hates you now.”

The corpse past Bonnie's mask smiled at him, as if he were proud of Michael. William couldn’t stop those poorly hidden maniacal giggles from pouring out as he started to shake Michael. “Hate me? Michael, you’re the one that killed him, remember?”

Oh, how much Michael screamed when he saw it, the mangled, bloodied mess of his little brother… Though like his father, Michael didn’t cry. Liz had, but she wasn’t like them—calculated and intelligent men who got the things they sought after.

William had hated Michael for what he did. Now, despite the setback it created in his life, William was proud of him in a dark, twisted way. Most people were incapable of something so drastic.

“You’re just like me… We could have done so many great things together… Too bad it’s come to this,” William cooed, then let out a noise of confusion when his son suddenly slipped from his grasp, save for the undone shirt still clutched in his paw. “—Huh? Michael? MICHAEL, GET BACK HERE!”

William went to turn and sprint after him, but found himself slipping hard into the ground from the slick of gasoline on the tiles. 

Michael landed in a hard crouch, though thankfully he had no air in his desecrated lungs to be winded. He sprang to his feet with the agility of a cat, running full-pelt to the office and ignoring William’s furious cries. He clutched his stomach as he ran, that long, jagged scar from his encounter with Ennard now on full display. Everyone would be able to see his homemade first-aid, the haggard stitching sewn painfully into his skin with shaking hands to keep what little was still left inside together.

Skidding to a stop outside the office, Michael was horrified to see Gregory slumped down in the office chair. He rushed over and sat the boy up, instinctively pressing fingertips to the pulse point in Gregory’s throat before realizing he had no nerve endings to actually feel for it with.

“Gregory!” the man hissed, shaking the boy. At least he still looked to be breathing, although the newly-failing ventilation surely wasn’t helping. With a harsh curse Michael slammed the RESET ALL button, rebooting the systems before frantically searching for William on the cameras. He found him quickly, too close for comfort but still able to be lured away with an audio prompt. That task complete, Michael turned his attention back to the boy still laying prone in the office chair. “Gregory, come on!”

Gregory finally came to after the third or fourth shake. He was tired and flushed, a little blue from the fumes surrounding them. The Remnant flowing in his body only kept the prolonged torture of his lungs ongoing. Gasping, Gregory leaned forward and figured he was still hallucinating those awful creatures beckoning for him to join them.

Little did he know that they were all too real. Those phantoms were soon herded away by Charlie, confusion twisting their deluded minds as they tried to figure out which protector to follow—for held in Gregory's death grip was Puppet's partially shattered mask.

“Did you do it…?!” Gregory managed to gasp out. It was 2 in the morning, and he was already so tired. “Please tell me we can go—”

Another cacophony of wheezes fell from his chest. Gregory quivered, fairly certain that he was merely inhaling fumes at this point before the vents rushed cool air back over them.

A harsh frown crossed Michael’s face when Gregory opened his eyes. Right… the unfortunate kid had Remnant in him. He’d be uncomfortable, but not dead from the stifled airflow.

“Almost,” Michael replied, sparing another glance to the cameras and leading William away from his path to the office. “I’ve got two rooms left, but William grabbed me. Obviously I got free, though it cost me my shirt.”

He offered the weakest smile in existence as he turned back to Gregory. God, the kid looked rough.

“Do you need to step outside for a few minutes?” His eyes were set, tone serious. “No sugar-coating: if we leave even for a minute, we lose track of my father in this maze… But you need more fresh air than I do.”

Either option came with its own risks: allow William the freedom to roam and potentially hide out for a few minutes, or risk Gregory and/or Michael passing out again before the hour is up?

After the shock and finally regaining his breath, Gregory got to see the fullest extent of Ennard's damage. Past the wide-set sutures was a hidden, inky black hole that once housed many of Michael's vital organs. Gregory never thought he’d exaggerated his wounds, but actually seeing the scars rather than hearing about it was a different, shocking story. Gregory had to take a second and clear his head, waiting until his face didn't feel so hot before answering.

“N-No, we… We can't let him get away,” he decided. Taking the risk was like playing with fire, both literally and metaphorically. It would suck, but sticking out the night no matter how long it took was their best option. Besides, if one of them wasn't watching the systems, those gas fumes might just ignite all on their own. Steeling himself again, Gregory said with firm determination: “I'm saying put... Do you need to take a break or anything?”

“Okay; and no, I’m fine.” Michael nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. It was the best choice, despite it not being a great one. He glance back to the monitor to see William yet again heading their way, and he hit the audio button in the room closest to the rabbit. Thankfully a faint “hello” played before the system went offline, which Michael quickly rebooted with a frustrated grumble. “Damn thing… I will stay here for a few minutes and help you with all this shit.”

His gaze shifted back to Gregory, then dropped to the mask in his lap. “Any idea where Charlie went? I didn’t see her when I found my father…”

Gregory's stare shifted from Michael to outside the security office window. As he looked, he ran a soothing hand through his hair, gripping the follicles at their root as he cleared his throat.

“I think, um… I think Charlie was trying to move them—the ghosts? They kept telling me it was easier to just die.” He recounted their taunting before feeling like the air was poisoning him slowly. Eventually Gregory would feel like his lungs weren't on fire, though his already pale skin looked just a little more blue in this light. He wasn't going to hope for something that wasn't likely to happen. Taking the mask back in hand, he ran the pad of his finger over the crack. “Charlie took them towards the back. I think she's keeping them away from us now.”

Whether they would see her again before the night was over, Gregory couldn't predict. Then, that nearly muted sound of metallic thumping that sent chills down his spine sounded off again. “Not now, you old fuck!”

Michael certainly didn't care, sending a loud “Fuck off!” into the office vent opening as he pulled the third monitor towards him. Sure enough there was William, taking the long way around and leering at Michael through Cam 11's viewpoint. He closed off the vent, though his shoulders didn't untense until he heard the retreating of plush fur through the metallic ducts.

“Try to take slow, even breaths,” Michael instructed, not liking the pallor of Gregory's face at all. “I'll reset the air flow as soon as he's out...”

He wished Charlie could stay by their side to help, but she was clearly needed elsewhere. Michael felt horrible that the other spirits lingered behind... He'd thought it was just William's old, festering soul in this wretched place, though once he figured out that Charlie was in fact quite real he should've known the other “hallucinations” were as well.

“We'll get William to the farthest room away from here, then I'll try again with the gas,” Michael suggested, catching sight of the golden suit painstakingly backing out of the open grate he'd tried to come through. 

It was their only choice. Gregory rubbed his temples and felt hard, spaced-out, thumps where his pulse was. For a moment, Gregory was unsure if he was breathing just because he was aware of it, or if he was trying to make his lungs work for him again because they’d stopped.

Checking the cameras, Gregory tried to be Michael's eyes as he kept the building's security features from falling apart while they were still inside. Upon reaching the fifth camera, Gregory frowned deeply as he found William mocking them. He stretched back Bonnie's head the farthest it would go to reveal the decimated person inside. Despite it looking like his mummified grandfather was writhing in absolute agony, he swore there were the remnants of a smile etched permanently into his high, eroded cheeks.

“He must think he's being real funny right now...,” Gregory muttered bitterly, luring William back yet another room to pull him away from the sad attempt to scare him. William always thought he was funny in whatever iteration the timelines carved him into… though there was only a few that Gregory ever felt safe enough to laugh in, or to even entertain the joke's existence.

“Pretentious bastard,” Michael muttered, glaring at the figure as William’s body lurched towards another room. Heaving a sigh, he pointed to Camera 3. “I’ve got to go here—” Sliding his finger across the screen, Michael landed on the hallway just outside the long glass window. “—and here, right outside the office. Only problem is, I think the first gas canister is out and the other one is all the way back here by the entrance.”

The guard’s thin, bony hand traveled slowly up to Cam 8. Certainly not an ideal scenario they found themselves in…

“We’ve got to play a little ring around with my father,” Michael went on, turning back to Gregory. “I basically need to do a circuit of the building and retrace my steps. Keep William as far away as possible, and reach out if anything comes up—including if you start feeling extra shitty again.” His face twisted in a worried grimace. “Seriously, the first sign of you fading, call me immediately and we’ll take a break, okay?”

Gregory hoped there wouldn't be a need for taking breaks. Should the buggy and constantly crashing vents fail him, then there’d be an issue.

“I'll lead him towards the back. You can radio me when it's time to bring him up front,” he asserted. The plan sounded good in theory, but without Charlie around, it could prove fairly difficult for them again. “When you go back there, try and look for Charlie? She's taking a really long time.”

He couldn’t help but worry, despite his friend not having a physical form to maim or harm.

“I’ll find her,” Michael reassured. He’d already lost Charlie to her madness once; he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Gregory was tenser than ever. The Pizzaplex was scary to be alone in at night, that was for certain. But this place? What sick, twisted person designed a place like this for children? Sure, this iteration had been converted into a horror attraction, but the new owners couldn't be blamed for most of the design choices; they barely changed anything.

The boys worked together to lead William to a room that should initially be out of Michael’s way. While the rabbit was distracted by laughter, Michael flashed Gregory a final strained grin and set out. He had to pass the first gas canister on the way, and sure enough it was empty. Moving slowly and quietly, Michael snuck around while Gregory led William’s decrepit frame to and fro. As the night guard turned the corner leading to the front door, he stopped in his tracks with a sharp gasp.

“Charlie!” he hissed quietly, gesturing for the ghostly figure to come closer. There was a definite hint of relief in Michael’s tone at locating her—and now having a companion for his slow-going trek.

“Woah... What happened to your shirt?” Seemed to be the first order of business on her mind as Charlie greeted him. Was he just trying to show off the gross scar he had in a poorly planned intimidation tactic? Charlie's more likely thought was that he simply got too warm in this hell-hole of a building and took it off.

“Oh, that’s your main concern?” Michael griped with a roll of his eyes. “If you must know, that asshole grabbed me by my collar and threatened to ‘put me out of my misery,’ so… it was either lose the clothes or lose my head.”

Though he was obviously trying to joke about it, the strain in Michael’s voice betrayed how frightened he’d been during the encounter. Finding what he was looking for, he grabbed the gas can and showed it off to Charlie. “We’ve got two rooms left to douse, then we can move to the final stage of the plan.”

“Riiiiight. Setting everyone on fire,” Charlie finished, her legs never reaching the floor as she floated over to Michael. She was still having a hard time coming to terms with it all. What might happen to her after the diner burns down?

Though right now, she couldn't find the time to care. There was a boy in here with a real heartbeat, discordant as it was. He needed their help to stay alive as much as they needed him.

Charlie didn't want to scout ahead or hang back; she'd stick right to Michael's side and refuse to leave it. She knew now that she was like a polar opposite to William. Anywhere she was, he would try to be in the opposite direction.

“I saw where you left the jerry can; I'll follow you back and scare off that smelly dork,” Charlie assured, despite her bitter attitude at their little plan.

“Thanks, Charlie.” Michael gave her a genuine smile, grey eyes soft with the prospect of decades of torment finally coming to an end. He placed the can on the floor so he could fiddle with the watch on his wrist, a notable crease in his brow as the display swirled with brilliant color. True to Gregory’s assumption he figured out the communication feature easily enough, pressing a little button on the side and holding the device up to his mouth.

“Hey, Gregory—Charlie and I are ready to head back your way. Let me know when we can start moving.” As he waited for a response, Michael noticed Charlie staring dumbfounded at the watch. He chuckled and held it out for her to look at. “This is a… Fazwatch, I think he called it? Gregory gave it to me. Said it’s from the fut—oh.”

Michael’s eyes widened as he remembered that to Charlie, Gregory was just some random kid off the street he’d stupidly been duped by because he happened to look like Evan. With a grimace, Michael rubbed the back of his neck.

“…It’s useful, that’s all you need to know. I swear, once we get out of here, we’re going to talk for days on end—there’s so much crazy shit I’ve got to tell you.” There was a pause, in which Michael’s gaze turned hesitant. “Um… you are going to hang around a bit after this place goes down, right? I-I mean I totally understand if you want to go once father’s truly dead, but—god, sorry…”

What the hell was he even thinking? Of course she’d want to get the fuck off this mortal plane. Once her murderer was gone and all his lingering victims were freed, Charlie would have no reason to stay. Yet again, Michael was being selfish thinking she’d remain just to hang out with her former childhood bestie.

Charlie's eyes sparkled at the toy watch. It was a marvel to her. A screen you could touch, and it would know what you wanted to do? It was a beguiling novelty, and one that reminded her of one of her father's wholesome inventions. He was always a masterful toy maker...

Charlie followed, watching and listening silently as Michael repeatedly put his own foot in his mouth, fumbling over his words as she stared on in intrigue. Did she even have the heart to tell him?

Charlie wasn't even sure if she had the choice to stay or not.

If she could? Oh, she'd love to stay and catch up. There wouldn't be anything else in the world that would make her happier than to reunite fully with someone she had been so sorely missing.

“Why are you sorry?” Charlie asked, stopping him by the shoulder to carefully glance around one of the back corners. She waited, hearing the telltale audio queue of Gregory pulling William farther away.

Michael was less sure of himself now, nervous even. She supposed that she couldn't blame him considering his circumstances. If she needed a purpose after death to stay, maybe it would be making sure her friend was alright? The other children would be saved after today, but who was going to save Michael?

Charlie supposed it was up to her, as always. Though that was a job she would never complain or fret over.

“I'd love to stay—if I can, that is...,” she replied gently.

“...Right.” Michael's expression softened again, seeming at peace with that answer. “Good enough for me.”

All he wanted was for Charlie to be happy. If that meant choosing to move onto the afterlife, Michael would be the first one to lift her up towards the heavens (or wherever they ended up once their time on this earth was over). He couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in his heart when she admitted her want to stay, though. He'd really missed her. If she could linger here, after they caught up they could find Henry and see if he knew anything about those freakishly cool android-things Gregory had mentioned. The poor man would be shocked at the state of his daughter and nephew, but Michael had no doubt he'd take them in with open arms.

Back in the horror attraction, Michael and Charlie continued to traverse the halls. The guard was so involved in his thoughts of what the future might bring that he failed to notice the strangeness filling the air at first—or lack thereof, might be a better term. The place was deathly silent. There was no children's laughter, no lumbering footsteps... and no cycling ventilation.

“No!” Michael hissed, turning to rush back to the office. Gregory must've passed out again from the stupid airflow—that had to be the case. He couldn't even fathom the other possibility of William reaching the terrified kid...

“What? What's up?!” Charlie asked, turning around to look at Michael, the sheer panic rolling across his face. William wasn't around; there wasn't even the sound of the ventilation going off… Which made Charlie palm her face, then grasp onto Michael's shoulder's to steer him in the darkness.

“He'll be alright, Michael don't worry—” she said, though Charlie didn't even believe it. She didn't experience fear most of the time anymore. Her feelings had become jaded over the years, replaced by an intense melancholy. The only thing that hadn't decomposed was her intense loyalty and the need to protect the people she felt close to. 

The diner had stopped breathing. William was nowhere to be seen. So, together she and Michael ran around the twisting corridors and empty party rooms to find a horrific sight: Gregory passed out, his face near-completely blue with oxygen deprivation. That wasn't even the worst of it—

Stroking his hair as if trying to gently wake him up was the highly confused William. He didn't take notice of them, and began to scoop Gregory up from the chair.

“I knew you'd come back eventually, Evan... I'm going to make everything right...,” he whispered, holding the limp kid as if he fell asleep on a car ride and was ready to be carried home by his doting father.

“Oh no... no no no no...” Michael raked his fingers down his face, watching through the thick glass. Panic set in immediately—he had to get Gregory away from William. Who knew what sick, deluded plan the decrepit soul had in store for his “youngest boy.”

“HEY!” Michael slammed a fist against the glass to garner William's attention, sneering up at the rabbit as his head whipped towards the sound. “Put him down right now!”

He knew his commands would fall on deaf ears, but he was more so trying to distract his father from moving while he concocted a real plan. Well, at least they were at the last two hallways they needed to fill with gasoline. Holding the canister below the windowsill so William couldn't see what he was doing, Michael tipped it over and let the slick liquid pour by his feet as he slowly walked from one end of the glass to the other, towards the office door. All the while he talked, the glare on his face full of determined coldness. "Like I said earlier, Father, you're fucking delusional. That's not Evan. Clearly you're too senile to realize it, but he's not your son.”

William snapped his head back from Gregory, cocking it to the side as he listened closely to Michael. He was going to mock him back with some ill-conceived retort… Though, for once, he decided to give his son’s wild claim some consideration and take a closer look at the boy in his arms.

“He's... not mine?” William asked, seeming to shake now. His plan fell apart at the seams before it really got a chance to take off. “He's... Where is he? Where is Evan?! I know you're hiding him!”

William dropped Gregory, his unconscious body falling with a hard thump on the tile. Then, the rabbit raised his foot with malicious intent.

“Tell me this instant or I'll step on this brat's stupid skull!” he threatened, pressing the flat of the exposed metal on Gregory's head, enveloping the side of face with a painful step.

Charlie had to do something—anything. But what?! She couldn't talk to William; that might make him kill Gregory outright. She snuck inside, phasing through the wall with the intent to sit and watch anxiously until she came up with a better plan.

William had spotted her from the corner of his eye, unintentionally shifting his foot a little out of the danger zone. He seemed to be scared of her, even when she’d been bluffing about being able to do anything remotely torturous to him. That was all Cassidy's business.

This was it. Michael had to act now, or it was all over. He didn't have to imagine what it'd look like for the innocent boy's head to be crushed by the heavy weight of an animatronic—he'd witnessed it firsthand all the way back in 1983, and it wasn't a sight anyone could forget.

Michael was not going to let Gregory suffer the same fate.

Unbeknownst to the group, the boy's watch had started flashing a red warning as William poised to strike.

WARNING: TIMELINE COMPROMISED. INITIATING EMERGENCY RESET. PREPARE FOR REFRESHED LOOP IN THIRTY SECONDS.

Thank god for Charlie, Michael thought as he threw the half-empty gas canister down the hallway just outside the exit door. With her keeping William’s focus, it gave Michael the few seconds he needed to rush the huge rabbit and give him a hard shove. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but the imbalance and flailing away from Gregory was his goal. Michael snatched Gregory up and threw his unconscious body over his shoulder, then rushed to the exit. He paused just long enough to pull the matchbox out of his pocket and set one ablaze, throwing it behind him before running out the door and locking it.

EMERGENCY RESET CANCELLED: PROCEED CAUTIOUSLY.

Only when he’d tossed Gregory in the car and backed out of the parking lot did he realize he forgot to grab Charlie’s mask, or even say goodbye to her. There’s been no final, poignant words for his father, either—Michael left him to his anguish just as he had all those years ago.

Catching sight of red flame in the rearview licking the windows of Fazbear Frights, Michael gripped the steering wheel tight and let out a gasping, shaky sob.

Chapter Text

Flames from inside lapped at the windows of Fazbear Frights, illuminating the building like a beautiful jack-o-lantern. Sadly, this pumpkin would never make it to Halloween. The old, dry framework caught like lint in an over-loaded dryer, left in the rearview—right in the past where it all belonged.

Gregory was still in the car beside Michael, the bruise from being dropped a red smudge on his blue, oxygen-deprived cheek. It wasn't until the sobbing from the driver’s seat grew loud that Gregory's eyes slowly blinked open.

“...W... Where am I?” he rasped out, vision blurry. He honestly couldn't tell if he was in the office still. The worn leather seat felt the same as the swivel chair he'd passed out in earlier. Upon rubbing the opacity from his eyes, he sat forward and gripped the dashboard.

“—Holy shit. Mike? Did we do it? Is it over?!” he asked earnestly. If they were in the car, driving away in the middle of the night, Gregory could only assume that Michael was able to soak the rest of the diner and save him! He sure was crying a lot, though. “…Are you okay to drive, dude?” 

“Oh, Gregory, thank fuck—y-yeah, I’m fine.” Michael sounded almost guilty for getting caught, furiously wiping at his eyes with a sleeveless arm. His gaze drifted to the kid for just a second before going back to the road and he took in a deep, shuddering breath before continuing.

“I… I lit the building on fire, that’s for sure. Can’t tell you much more than that.” He pursed his lips, staring ahead but not really seeing what’s in front of him. It was all so overwhelming, he felt number than usual. “Let’s talk more when we get back to the apartment. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

He hid the tears so quickly. That didn't help Gregory's own guilt about being the cause of Mike’s suffering. He could only assume the man had been worried about him passing out again amongst a myriad of other feelings involving his estranged father burning in a fire of their own making.

Though Gregory had to be honest, he felt sort of numb, too. Besides his own emotions, a strong nothing threatened to overtake him. Gregory coughed a few times, feeling as though his lungs shrank with everything he inhaled earlier.

“Uh—I'm alive! I think... I don't feel bad,” he said, not trying to make Michael worry more than he was already.

This car ride gave Gregory a chance to check his watch. There were a few notifications on his alert wall—a reset that was apparently cancelled. What the fuck happened when he was out? Gregory swiped them away, feeling the sweat on his brow sticking to the limp bangs on his forehead as he tried to collect his thoughts.

A few realizations came to him:

He nearly died again… And Charlie's mask was left behind.

Poor Charlie...

Gregory's brows pulled together, his top lip quivering at the thought of her soul burning in there. Was she really alone? Was she fighting William with the other ghosts? Was she scared?

Gregory turned from Michael, looking into the darkness through his passenger side window, a few stray tears rolling down his cheek. If he was still here in this timeline, maybe there was a chance of seeing her again. That there was more to this than Gregory first expected, something he could further help out with. He would silently hope this wasn't the end for Charlie. It just couldn't be, but the suspense of the unknown would haunt him until he had an answer.

(If the cruel universe decided he deserved one.)

***

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. Both Michael and Gregory mused on similar thoughts, though their areas of focus differed. It wasn’t until they’d entered Mike’s apartment that the exhausted zombie spoke.

“Why we get changed and meet back in the living room?” Michael said, triple-checking the locks after shutting the door—with his luck, William would somehow crawl from the ashes, find his way here, and try to strangle them both in their sleep. He glanced down at his chest with a grimace, noting that some of the stitching had become concerningly frayed due to all the strenuous activity. “Shit… ugh, let me just grab some stuff and the bathroom’s all yours. A shower might help you feel better, if you want. We can heat you up some food after.”

Michael might be laying on the paternal concern a bit thick, but he couldn’t help it. The guilt of shoving his brother’s head in Fredbear’s mouth had resurfaced anew at the sight of Gregory nearly crushed under Bonnie’s heel. He was trying to overcompensate in any way he could that didn’t involve pulling Gregory into a hug and never letting go.

Gregory nodded, not willing to argue. Seeing the way Michael’s thick sutures were cracking open gave him a severe rush of anxiety. What if he just… fell apart? Gregory could apparently work a few miracles, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to sew a human body back together.

“Let me know if you need help with your stitches, Mike…,” Gregory offered before moving to the dresser in Michael’s unused bedroom to find his clothes. Getting a shower would be in his best interest; both of them stunk like gasoline and the smell of the rotting diner.

“Can we have pizza rolls later?” Gregory asked, wondering if he was good at sounding normal after everything that just transpired. He thought tonight would be a little more triumphant and he’d be ready to feast after a job well done, but the dread Gregory felt didn’t give him much of an appetite.

No, there was an odd void in the pit of his stomach—one that would take millions of bite-sized, mass produced strombolis to fill. Even if he didn’t want to, Gregory knew he had to make himself eat to keep himself from feeling sick later.

“Sure—just give me the word and I’ll heat up the oven,” Michael replied, trying to keep his tone even and calm as well. Gregory had the right idea; there was no point getting worked up again yet. What’s done was done, and they needed a break before trying to pick up the pieces.

Speaking of pieces, Michael’s stitching wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He’d spent so many years sewing himself up, it was second nature. Just under fifteen minutes later the zombie emerged from the bathroom with a fresh set of sutures overlaying the old ones. There wasn’t any point in removing the previous iterations—they’d fall out on their own through unintentional wear and tear. Plus, it led to the possibility of Michael actually seeing the gaping hole in his body, which he tried to avoid at all costs.

“Shower’s all yours,” he said, moving to the bedroom to tug on another fitted shirt and change his pants. He’d wipe himself down with a washcloth later when Gregory was taking a nap, as real showers weren’t the best idea for him. Moving back to the living room, he curled up in a corner of the couch and flicked on the TV, curious to see if the fire had already made it to the local news.

The early morning cable outlets were having a field day. When Gregory moved inside the bathroom to get cleaned up, a journalist had been in the middle of a report, the static from turning on the television only momentarily deafening before the man on screen told the viewers at home:

“—raged on from the hours of 4 to 6:30 am. The beloved chain restaurant has fallen victim to a suspected case of arson. Local officials have been unavailable for comment pending their investigations.”

The camera panned, showing off the half-baked-out diner. Memories both good and bad up in smoke as the anchor moved to question passerby pedestrians, people noisy enough to come and see the commotion for themselves. While the building still stood, the roof looked completely caved in.

“I’m here with Police chief Burke now. How do you think the fire was started, Officer Burke?” the reporter asked, holding a rather cumbersome microphone up to his face.

“Uh… We can neither confirm or deny any criminal allegations. Though it’s beginning to look that way, we simply have no leads to go off of, other than a few fuel canisters and lack of security detailing the attraction,” Officer Burke sniffed, jutting a finger over his shoulder. “While it’s sad to lose a new attraction, I just think we’re lucky that the fire didn’t spread and no one got themselves hurt.”

“‘Lack of security’ my ass,” Michael griped, rolling his eyes to the sky. It was because of his position as night guard that the horrible place was put to rest. He cringed to think of what would’ve happened if some poor, hapless soul was in his place when they busted down the false wall and released William into the world.

Due to his tendency to move around and switch identities, it didn’t make sense for Michael to keep up to date records of the landline numbers where he stayed. All his contact to get the job had been done through pay phones. Therefore, he wasn’t worried about being contacted by police or his (likely former) boss. Besides, he knew Fazbear Entertainment would much rather throw this under the rug than launch a full-scale investigation anyway. Just another blot of darkness on their already inky-black paperwork…

Eventually, Mike heard the shower turn off and switched to a generic daytime soaps channel for something a bit less close to home. When Gregory emerged from the bathroom, Michael gave him a smile and patted the couch next to him. “Hey, you look a little more awake—feeling any better?”

Gregory was rubbing at his face as he made his exit from the now-steaming bathroom. The bruise on his face was gnarly, but should fade in a few days—maybe sooner with the Remnant. Otherwise, Gregory’s normal pallor seemed to have returned. Now clad in the comfy clothes he'd chosen at the store yesterday, he released a slow exhale, acknowledging Mike with eyes barely held open and a nod. Though he was certainly “better” in the sense that he no longer smelled like stale food, petrol, and dirty laundry, and wasn't so tweaked after a morning of inhaling gasoline fumes, the boy was still troubled about Charlie.

The feeling that something wasn't finished yet in this timeline had given him a growing sense of paranoia. After all, he hadn’t even seen the final fight in the last one, but the moment his actions put his friends’ counterparts on the right path, his watch vaulted him to the next world. So, if their plan truly worked and William was gone once and for all… Why was Gregory still here?

He'd never admit his suspicions to Michael. God knows the guy didn’t need another thing to fret over just now. He’d figure it out eventually, anyway. Gregory surmised there were loose ends he needed to tie back up; he just hoped it’d be easy to find them.  

“I’m alive and don’t smell like a trash can, so… yeah,” Gregory responded honestly. Too wired to fall asleep, too tired to really be all there, he collapsed beside Michael and rooted himself into the cushions like he'd always been there.

“The entire left side of my body feel like a bruise,” he admitted, eyes glued onto the fuzzy TV screen while he spoke. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m… half-alive.” It was clearly meant to be a joke based on the upturned corner of Michael’s mouth. “I’ve been watching the news—they’re all over the mysterious fire at Fazbear Frights. The police say it might be arson, though they can neither confirm nor deny it.”

His expression fell as he took a good look at Gregory, noting that the bruise wasn’t just on his face. A line of purpling skin traveled from his cheek all the way down his left arm and leg, and there’d surely be some marks on his side as well. That tiled floor was unforgiving.

“Sorry about the aches,” Michael said with a grimace. “I should’ve been there so he couldn’t—er, wait. Let me backtrack.” He closed his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts before looking back to Gregory. “What’s the last thing you remember before you passed out? I’ll fill you in on what you missed.”

Gregory wore an uneasy expression. He knew something must have happened. In his time unable to radio Michael, he'd been paralyzed with fear until the oxygen totally sapped from his brain. With nowhere to go, he fell into a dizzy, spiraling slumber.

“All my systems had to be reset... William showed up. Then there was nothing. I couldn't open my eyes again,” Gregory answered honestly. He didn't even seem to have the strength to move his diaphragm for a proper deep breath back there, passed out staring down the face of his would be murderer.

“Was he throwing me around or something?!” Gregory asked, eyebrows pinched together in spontaneous anger. If that was the true reason for all his aches and pains, then William got exactly what he deserved back there.

“Well… at first, no,” Michael replied with a grimace. “He still thought you were my brother so he picked you up. I don’t know where the fuck he thought he was taking you, but I, uh… I kinda freaked out and started yelling at him. When I told him you weren’t Evan, he dropped you on the floor—hence the full-body bruise.”

The older man’s face seemed to grow impossibly paler and he glanced at the floor, unable to look Gregory in the eye for a moment.

“He tried to… god, he wasn’t happy that you aren’t his reincarnated kid, I’ll just say that. But Charlie distracted him while I grabbed you and torched the place on my way out. And that about sums it up.” Sighing heavily, Michael leaned back into the cushions and lifted his gaze to Gregory again. “I didn’t stick around to see what became of them though, so unfortunately I need to go back tonight and check things out.”

Of course! That fucking psycho. Gregory knew the moment William figured out the self-employed ruse, he’d be ready to tear his head off without question. Gregory then just became some kid. A true and painful statement to think about, but 100% correct: he was no one to these people in this time. William would just do with him as he had to the others, breaking them open and collecting their souls for his creepy, party-themed dark harvest.

“You're going back there?” With widened eyes, Gregory stared at Michael. It shouldn't have surprised him so much. Michael always wanted to brave the horrors his father created just to make certain he couldn't return. “Right... Well, guess I'm coming, too.”

“You said yourself that William comes back in the future if we don’t stop him now,” Michael pointed out. “I’m not taking any chances. And no, you’re staying here this time. I’m not exposing you to that bastard again if he’s still kicking.”

Even Michael didn’t believe the conviction in his words. Who was he kidding? This time-traveling kid—his son, apparently, which was still weird as hell to think about—was just as stubborn as any Afton.

Michael heaved another sigh, pinching bridge of his nose. “…You’re not going to let me go alone, are you?”

Gregory's expression turned sour at being told no. This wasn't just some bratty exploit, but real proof of his worry for Michael. “No way! I'm coming with you! What if Charlie's gone and you need someone to save your purple butt?!”

Stubborn and sassy—he likely fit in very well in the future. Somehow, Gregory didn't feel as though his words had much strength either. So, he resorted to lighthearted threats. “Look... If you leave me here, I'll find a way to get to you. You should probably just make it easier for yourself and let me tag along.”

“Just as I thought.” Michael's mouth set in a determined line. “Fine, you can come with—but we’re not splitting up again, okay?”

It was a stupid idea in the first place. Necessary, but stupid. Breaking the group apart never worked in those cheesy horror movies Michael used to watch, so it made sense it wouldn’t work against a real supernatural threat.

There was a beat, and then Michael suddenly pulled Gregory in for a hug. He shied away from physical affection for obvious reasons, but his brother’s doppelgänger just seemed to coax that base nature out of him.

“Thanks again—for everything,” he murmured, resting his chin atop Gregory’s now clean, slightly damp hair. “I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to figure all this shit out if you hadn’t shown up… And you got Charlie talking to me again, so that’s definitely a big improvement.”

There was a little smile in those words. He’d missed his best friend dearly.

...

......

Okay, well... Maybe Gregory wasn't just some kid to all of them.

He relaxed under Michael’s embrace and willed his heavy arms to reach around and hug him back. The well-deserved thanks felt nice in that moment, and the hope that Charlie was still around had put a little light in Gregory's eyes.

“Yeah—” he agreed, finding it hard to accept that thank you in the moment for whatever reason. “—she's gotta be around somewhere. We’ll find her tonight and get her back here, safe and sound.”

Gregory didn't feel the need to let go. He was just content to rest up against his dad while filling the space with positive affirmations about how their next task would go. He wondered if the others had moved on. Could they, if William was still potentially on the prowl? 

Despite the unease that lingered deep in Michael’s core, for a few moments he was content. There was no rotting corpse-robot beating at his door, and his future protégé was safe and sound in his arms. He’d learned long ago in his horrible life to bask in little nuggets of comfort like these whenever he could.

“You hungry?” Michael asked when he felt Gregory start to shift. He let go, leaning back to look at the kid with a raised eyebrow and a grin. “Still want those pizza rolls?”

Gregory held on, mulling the question over briefly. He might as well eat. His appetite felt spoiled on the car ride over, but now that the nausea from gasoline fumes had subsided, he could probably scarf down a whole bag. 

“Yeah!” he replied eventually, leaning away to give Michael the space to move off the old sofa. He’d let Mike in on his worries later; for now, they’d relax. While there were many possibilities racing on Gregory’s mind, he couldn’t put that caliber of mental strain on the guy he was supposed to be protecting. There could be so many things happening if William escaped the fire. He could be loose and running amuck in the streets of Hurricane. Kidnapping people, setting traps…

Heading right for them…

Surely someone would see it—that zombified rabbit dragging itself down the streets. Were the police so useless in this town that no one would show up if anyone reported a rogue animatronic?

…It was a sad fact that Gregory sort if expected it to be one of the many weird things about this town that might get ignored.

***

Unbeknownst to him and Michael, a familiar face was heading towards the burned-down shell of Fazbear Frights as they spoke.

With a clenched jaw and a tight grip on the steering wheel, Henry Emily drove his car through the streets as fast as he could afford to go. As soon as he'd heard news of the fire, he'd nearly dropped his morning coffee in his haste to check out the scene. The building had been another one of the franchises lost to the Afton name, bought out by some random person looking to make a quick buck with no compassion for the terrible events that occurred at that cursed place.

Honestly, the very idea of a horror attraction themed around the murders made Henry sick. He'd chosen to ignore it for the most part, though of course he couldn't keep this particular location out of his mind entirely. There'd been so much pain and heartache in those decaying walls...

Whatever went down to cause the fire, Henry just knew it had something to do with William. He felt it in his bones. He had no doubt the horrid man was still around, though his whereabouts were a total mystery. Same for Michael...

Perhaps once the crowds cleared away and Henry was able to get a closer look at the wreckage, he could get some clues as to what the hell went down.

While Henry played investigator, forces unseen were conspiring against him. The rubble and piles of still-warm ash spun in the October wind, its chilling blows throwing dust this way and that.

Inside the unsupervised building, some things seemed to have survived. The old metal desk fan William and Henry both kept in their offices made it, despite all odds of just melting—frankly, it looked as though the motor might still function, despite its scorched skeleton. A replacement part for Foxy's hook remained, as did the now-smoldered mask of the Marionette, half-buried under the pieces of the security desk.

And, in the pocket of a once-fortified room with a door hanging on by twisted hinges, the strangest thing of all: an eerie residue that stuck to the walls, catching the early morning light from ceiling cracks in its highly saturated, eye-grabbing purple.

***

At the apartment, Gregory was resigned to finding something on TV. Everything in the morning was news stations, all local and covering the big fire that nearly spread to other businesses. Talking about Fazbear Frights, and the history of unsolved kidnappings around the former diner. Gregory had to turn down the volume, unable to handle the weird nauseous feeling it gave him.

Michael was peering closely at the packaging to make sure he didn't nuke the pizza rolls too long and set off the smoke alarm. It'd been so long since he prepared food of any kind, he was sad to admit how out of touch he was with the simple functionality of a microwave. Eventually he pressed a few buttons and set the tray of frozen rolls spinning slowly around. “...I think I got it. Should be ready in three to five minutes.”

“Thanks, Mike! And all the channels just are playing news reels now about the fire,” Gregory replied, updating him about the state of their entertainment.

“Ugh, every one?” Leaning back against the counter as he waited for the food to cook, Mike shook his head. “Well, this is probably the biggest thing to happen in this shitty town in years, so I guess I don't blame them...”

Too bad Michael didn't even have a basic CD player. Man, when he really put it in perspective, his life was pretty depressing. Depending on the state of things after their own check of Fazbear Frights, he might start thinking about gathering a few more possessions so any potential guests weren't bored as hell. He snorted to himself, though the noise was covered up by the microwave timer going off.

Who was he kidding? The only “guests” he'd ever have over were either from the future—and temporary—or dead.

(Well, unless he managed to locate his uncle or Sammy...)

“Ooh, these look pretty good!” Michael remarked, taking out the plate. It was pretty hot, but his bandaged hands didn't seem to register this as he brought it to the couch. He could see the rolls smoking though, leaking cheesy goodness onto the plate. “Watch your fingers until they cool, but they're all yours."

“Thanks, Mike!” Gregory carefully it in his lap, watching steam curl into the air and waft the cheesy, slightly spicy scent around the room. Maybe Gregory really was hungrier than he thought; distracted briefly from the news program, he nearly missed it—

An older, bespectacled man was skulking around the burned property. Anyone watching at that moment may infer something different about the man on screen, as it was wholly unclear whether he was sneaking or walking with purpose in the background. Perhaps one might assume he was a crime scene detective or off-duty officer. But to someone who recognized him immediately, his identity was all too clear.

“Mike!” Gregory gasped, nearly spitting out the too-heated snack food as he snagged Michael's shirt, repeatedly tugging on the fabric and pointing at the TV. “Do you know that guy?! That’s—I-I mean, I think I do!”

“What? What?!” Michael yelped as Gregory suddenly pulled at him, his simmering anxiety spiking at the loud tone. However, he quickly realized that the kid wasn't distressed, but more so... excited?

Moving closer to the screen, Michael peered closely at the figures wandering around. It took a moment for him to pinpoint who Gregory was referring to, but when he did he let out a loud gasp and smacked a palm onto the TV as if he could reach in and grab the man.

“T-That's... that's my Uncle Henry!” Michael exclaimed, watching with wide eyes as Mr. Emily meandered through the rubble. At one point a police officer stepped up to shoo him away, but after some muted conversation and Henry presumably showing off his ID, the policeman hurriedly backed off with what appeared to be a bow of some kind. For all the pain and strife Fazbear Entertainment caused, no one could deny their reign over the children's entertainment industry.

“Holy shit...” Michael's mouth hung open almost comically, and it was only when the news feed switched away from the on-site coverage did he pull his gaze away to look at Gregory. “He was so much closer than I thought...”

There was a wide grin on Gregory's face. Henry was here the entire time?! And now he was right there, in the ruins of the crumbling diner!

...

Right in the same spot where William could be. Shit.

Gregory, without much thought, shoveled hot pockets of sauce and cheese into his mouth and started chewing. He hopped up from the couch and started to get his shoes back on. They could no longer wait until tonight to find William.

“—Henry needs us!” Gregory spouted, trying his best to keep the molten snacks in his mouth while hurrying to get his shoes tied. He swallowed, running back over to Michael and grasping both of his hands. After successfully pulling the guard to his feet, he began jabbing a frenzied hand at the door. “We have to go! If William's still alive he's going to try and kill Henry in front of all those guys!”

“Whoa—hey, hey, chill!” Michael attempted to soothe, planting his feet so Gregory couldn't also pull him out the door. “It's dayshift, remember? The Bonnie suit’s disabled until... midnight... oh.”

The suit's time and response interfacing was connected to the building. With over half of it in an ashen heap, it was unlikely “Bonnie” would obey the rules of the old diner anymore.

If William was indeed still alive and kicking, he was going to be pissed. Michael wouldn't put it past him to act out in broad daylight now—what did he have to lose? He'd already suffered a fate worse than death, and he'd been humiliated by his wayward child and previous victims. With Michael currently MIA, Henry was the next target.

“Scratch that—you're totally right. Come on, come on, get in the car!” It was Michael's turn to rush, grabbing a medical mask and hooking it over his face, nearly forgetting his keys as he ushered them both out the door. He didn't even bother turning off the TV, simply letting the news echo through the empty apartment as they sped to the scene as fast as they could.

***

With the newscast now choosing to pack up after the police warned them of interfering too much with the investigations, the van slowly rolled out. It left the few cops following a few unsubstantiated claims, some from witnesses saying they’d seen the arsonist, some from little clues left at the scene. But for now, they mostly left the original owner of the diner to grieve his legacy alone. One of them dropped off mask from an old character, charred and cracked. There hadn't been any prints on it that matched anything remotely similar in their records, though such patterns were now recorded and kept as evidence.

Henry couldn’t bring himself to let go of the mask, as much as it ripped open the wound in his heart to even look at the thing. It was a symbol of everything he’d lost, and a reminder that he would likely never get to see his daughter again. He’d realized too late that her spirit still lingered in the robot sworn to protect her. By the time he figured it out, Puppet had already gone to one of the countless locations run by William, and Henry lost track of her whereabouts. He just hoped that receiving only a piece of her meant that Charlie’s soul was finally put to rest after all these years...

The windy silence was suddenly broken by a car revving into the parking lot. Henry whipped around as a vehicle skidded to a halt in-between two spots, watching with mild concern and confusion as two figures hopped out. “Hey, I’m sorry, but this place is off-limits for the investigation—”

“Uncle Henry!” The taller, strange-looking man cut him off. He stopped at the edge of the rubble, holding out a hand towards him as if afraid to step foot inside the “building.” “Please, you’ve got to get out of there right now!”

…

That voice.

There was no mistaking that voice…

“M-Michael?!” Henry exclaimed, blinking rapidly. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as they shifted to the young boy at his presumed nephew’s side. “Evan?! What… what the hell’s going on?!”

“Henry!” Gregory responded, despite being called the wrong name. He was latched on tight to Michael’s hand, waving furiously with the other as the police kept them back by their cars. Soon, he broke free and zoomed past the officers; they shouted after him, but Gregory moved far too fast for them to catch up. He practically threw himself at Henry, hugging the old man tight around the waist.

“Henry! Come on—we can’t stay here!” he beckoned, hoping to explain who he was somewhere they were less likely to be attacked. As he looked up at the man, Henry might be able to tell something was off by appearance alone. Evan’s eyes were similar to Gregory's old ones—little pools of honey usually surrounded by irritated, pink sclera had been replaced by shocking silver eyes.

“Oh, Christ…” Henry’s voice broke as his face crumpled into an expression of heart-wrenching sadness. Like he knew Michael’s voice without question, so too did he know those incandescent eyes. Whatever was happening was far out of his immediate league of understanding, and it’d serve him best to listen to the pair’s plaintive cries.

With Puppet’s mask still in one hand, Henry bent and scooped Gregory up with practiced ease. Even after all these years, he still hadn’t lost his kind touch. Once the boy was secured on his hip he fast-walked out of the ashen diner with eyes locked onto Michael.

“Thank god you’re okay…,” Mike wheezed like he’d been holding baited breath. “We’ve got to get out of here; let’s go to my apartment. It’s not too far. We’ll explain everything there.”

“Mike, I—”

“Hey!” A shout from one of the policeman cut off Henry’s worry. The man stepped up to the pair, hands on his hips and a glare on his face. “This is an active crime scene—the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Excuse me—” Henry’s tone was clipped and cold as he handed Gregory off to Michael. “—this is my family. I don’t appreciate you speaking to them that way. Also…” His brow pinched as he cast his gaze to the building. “Can you please not let anyone else in until tomorrow? I’ve got to talk to my insurance agents about all this before things get too wild…”

“O-Oh, sorry Mr. Emily.” The officer gave the group a nervous smile, his face red with embarrassment. “But, uh… this area is under investigation, so…”

“And I’m the CEO of the company that’s keeping this whole damn town alive.” Henry hated talking like this—the brusque nature reminded him far too much of someone else who used to be in his life. However, there was a reason the Aftons always got things done. “So I’d suggest unless you want more problems, you block off this area until I say go. Understand?”

He didn’t even wait for the stunned officer to respond before walking off. Hopping in the passenger seat of Mike’s car, Henry tried not to completely break down on the spot. As they pulled out of the parking lot with the Puppet’s tear-streaked mask in his lap, he couldn’t help the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

***

If William hadn't ducked in time behind the smoke-damaged glass of Fredbear's diner, the old man would have caught the deranged rabbit glaring right into him.

Oh, if looks could kill, William would’ve gone to explode Henry's mind with a simple glance. Shaking behind the partially destroyed wall of their shared brain-child, the corpse was seething. The two little shits that tricked him, and their ring-leader, conspiring anew…

They were always against him from the start.

Henry NEVER wanted to see him succeed. Had to jail him behind reinforced concrete with those spare parts he defiled so long ago. Then, he was going to take the rest of his family and some weird little kid and dance on his fucking grave!

He was going to get them. William promised to make them hurt as much as he did constantly.

***

Down the road, Gregory laid across the backseat, totally disregarding the seatbelts in favor of glancing up to the grey fabric lining of the car's ceiling. The ride seemed pretty tense, his own mind racing as to when Gregory was going to see Charlie again. She hadn't come out yet, and he was starting to worry. He looked between the equally-strained men in the front seat.

“Uh... We have pizza rolls back at the apartment. You know, if you're hungry,” Gregory tentatively pointed out. He could feel the guilt radiating off of Henry in waves; he’d forgotten that this was probably before Charlie forgave him, just like Mike. All of that must still be weighing so greatly over his soul…

Henry's eyes flickered up to the rear-view mirror to glance at the child. He wanted to tell him to put a seatbelt on, but... did it really matter at this point? For god knows what reason, the kid had Remnant in him—the horrible substance that was a major cause of William's psychotic murder spree.

And then there was Michael, all discolored, bandaged, and waif-thin... What the fuck happened to him?

“I... I'm not hungry.” Henry's voice was soft and ragged, as if his throat didn't quite work correctly. He hadn't felt this out of touch with what was happening in a long, long time. Even though he'd essentially been running blind these past few years looking for William and Mike, he at least had a goal and somewhat of a path forward. Now that he'd found at least one of the Aftons, the situation only left him with an overabundance of questions.

“...Look—” The older man let out a huff, scrunching his face as he took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “—I don't need the whole story right here in the car, but just tell me one thing.”

After replacing his glasses, those deep amber eyes lifted to the rear-view again. “Are you Evan Afton, or not?”

Gregory felt like he was going to disappoint Henry severely. At the end of the day, Henry didn’t know him; he was literally just some kid. And with the way he stared at him through the rearview, Henry may not fully trust him.

“No… I’m sorry. People tell me I look a lot like him, though.” Gregory trailed off self-consciously. People always really wanted him to be Evan, and he always had to give them the disappointing truth.

Sorry, I’m not your dead relative. Just no one…

Trying to ease the dismay Henry may be feeling, he added: “I know you though, and I’m here to help.”

Honestly, in a strange way Henry was almost relieved this wasn't Evan. Of course he'd jump at any chance for those poor kids to have a semblance of a “normal” life again, but if Michael had somehow found a way to bring back his brother, it would make all Henry's work on those android prototypes seem like child's play...

But then, if this wasn't Evan, how was he related to Michael?

The car slowed easily into Michael’s normal parking spot and Gregory was the first to pop out, keeping an eye peeled for danger. As he led the way towards the apartment, Henry sidled up to his nephew at a slow pace. He glanced at the man—bad idea, Michael looked rough and it made Henry want to burst into tears from the stress of it all—then back to the kid. In a quiet voice that Gregory couldn't hear, he asked: “So, uh... is he yours?”

That would certainly make sense as far as the looks went—those Afton genes were strong.

“Oh, well...” Michael laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head, which only raised Henry's stress level. “Kinda? I mean... yes and no.”

The Emily patriarch simply blinked at him. “Michael... what the fuck does that mean?”

“I'll explain inside; come on.” Mike shifted ahead to get to the door that Gregory was already waiting by, quickly unlocking it and ushering the others into his abode.

Gregory didn't know what to do with the tense atmosphere. They were talking about him, that much he could tell. Still, he rushed in and went right to the couch. He found the Pizza Rolls, now lukewarm; he’d been in too much of a rush previously to finish the entire plate, only shoving into his mouth whatever greedy amount could fit. Gregory threw his legs up, half laying back into the old couch and relaxing. They were safe here. From the looks of how William was moving last night, he couldn't imagine that scrap heap getting far. Only the anxiety and microwaved food still gave him a latent, twisting feeling in his gut, he was determined to set the record straight.

“So are you going to tell him, or should I?” he asked Michael with a cocked eyebrow, knowing that eventually someone was going to have to start giving Henry some tangible answers.

“Just give me a sec,” Michael said after locking the door behind them. He needed to think very carefully about what to tell Henry and when. The last thing he wanted to do was give the guy a stress-induced heart attack. “First, do you want some water or—oof!”

The zombie was blindsided as Henry suddenly pulled him into a tight bear hug. He could feel the smooth edge of Charlie's mask digging into his back, but it was a small price to pay for getting his first dose of true familial affection after twenty-odd years.

“Jesus Christ, Mike,” Henry mumbled into his shoulder. “I thought you were dead!” He pulled back to hold his nephew by a shoulder, looking him over with a grimace. “No offense, but you don't look far off... My god, what the hell have you been doing all this time?!”

Sure enough Michael had been cursed with the Remnant, too. A few hours ago, Henry had been holed up in his little workshop tinkering with his latest robotics project, and now he was in his missing nephew's apartment with some kid who looked like his other nephew... and they'd both been infected with William's cursed discovery.

“It's a long story,” Michael said, managing a faint smile behind his mask. He gently took Henry's arm and pulled him over to the couch, seating him on the other end. When Gregory shifted to make room, Mike plopped down in the middle. It was a bit crowded with all three, but not uncomfortable.

“Just... lay it on me,” Henry instructed, sitting up straight and gripping the Marionette's face tight. “I can at least guess that Will is not dead, and that he has a big part in this whole Fazbear Frights debacle, right?”

Gregory rubbed his temples at the mere mention of William. Another timeline of being hunted by this guy and Gregory might actually start going nuts. He already knew that he was going to need a lot of therapy after all of this was over, and he could feel another nervous breakdown coming back if something ended up going wrong—

The anticipation of William somehow finding them here wasn't helping put the kid at ease either.

“William's kinda-dead, but stuck in a Bonnie suit and super angry about it. And now the suit's free-roam is broken, so he doesn't have to listen to the audio cues,” Gregory mumbled, rolling his eyes petulantly. “For all we know, he's wandering around trying to find us. I’m sure he’s big mad we tried to set him on fire.”

Huffing, the kid rubbed his hands over his face. “He was supposed to be the main attraction in Fazbear Frights—the guy on the phone found him in a backroom or something.” 

“...Shit.” Henry put his face in his hands, his voice muffled by his palms. “Stupid... I'm so damn stupid!”

Why didn't he try to get rid of William when he'd gotten springlocked all those years ago?! He knew something like this would happen... inevitably, some moron would figure out there was a hidden back room and release that monster into the world again.

Well... Henry knew why he hadn't destroyed his former friend. At the time, he simply couldn't—the wounds were too raw. That's why he sealed William away, planning to come back one day and get rid of him for good.

Apparently, he waited just a bit too long.

“Wait... I'm sorry—" Michael's eyes widened. "Did you put him back there?!”

He wasn't mad at Henry—he was more so annoyed at the whole situation. If Ennard hadn't hijacked his body, he would've been around to find out what happened to his father and not gone on the wild goose chase he'd endured these past few decades.

“I'm sorry, Mike, I... I didn't know what else to do," Henry grimaced, voice low. "When I found Will, I thought he was dead, but... then he started talking to me—screaming nonsense, totally deranged, and I just... We couldn't get him out of the suit, and I had no idea where you were to help me figure something else out!" Henry lifted his gaze with a pleading look. “You just disappeared off the face of the earth—I've been looking for you too, you know!”

“I got really good at changing up my identity.” That tiny, dull smile was back, not quite reaching Michael's eyes. “But this isn't about me—my father’s still a real threat, and we need to do away with him tonight. We tried burning the building like Gregory said, but I doubt that worked... not with the Remnant keeping him going.”

“Ugh... That's what I was worried about.” Henry looked a little queasy thinking about what William looked like right now, his face pale. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to ground himself. “Okay... okay, so William is almost definitely still wandering, and you two are infected with Remnant as well. How?” 

“I'll tell you my story later,” Michael answered quickly. “But Gregory—oh, shit, we never even introduced you... Uh, Uncle Henry, this is Gregory.” The zombie reached around to pull his future son into a side-hug, displaying him to Mr. Emily like some sort of prize.

“Gregory,” Henry repeated, then thrust out a hand towards the kid without hesitation. “Under other circumstances, I'd say it was swell to meet you. However...” He tilted his head, brows pinched together. “You said you know me. What exactly do you mean by that?” 

Gregory was squished in at Michael's side, nearly beaming at the attention. If it wasn't clear the kid admired him from the look he gave the poor, skeletal man, then the returned hug proved it. Henry, being the old-fashioned type, wanted to shake his hand, just as he did when they both met the very first time. Gregory reached out, holding onto this version’s far more corporeal form, firm and respectable the way he’d been upon their real first meeting.

“So... Would you believe me if I said I'm from the future?” Gregory asked, keeping his eye contact to let the older man know he really meant what he was saying. “That's where I'm from. I'm coming back here because I have to save you all. Something worse happens in the future because of William, but I'm going to keep fixing it until everyone gets on a better path...”

Even if that meant eventually saving William himself—though Gregory wasn't ever sure if it would come to that. Some versions of the man, just like the last iteration of Michael he met, simply didn't want to show remorse.

Gregory knew he couldn’t help everyone, but damn it, he was going to try. 

“The future?” Henry repeated in a somewhat deadpan nature. Not disbelieving, but like he was numb to the strangeness of his life by now. Releasing Gregory's hand, he let out a heavy sigh and sagged against the arm of the couch. “You know what, kiddo? Sure; I believe it. Wouldn't be the craziest thing I've heard...”

In Henry's book, the spirit of his dead business partner possessing a giant animatronic bunny and seeking revenge was a little more concerning than a time-traveling kid.

Michael was impressed, what was left of his eyebrows raising high to the sky. “Damn. I… honestly didn't expect you to accept that so easily.”

“I thought you were trying to get better with the cursing, Mike—and in front of a kid?” Half of Henry's mouth quirked up in a teasing grin. Though the explanation was insane, at least it was something. Michael blanched for a second, thinking he was serious, then let out a huffing laugh when he caught the smile.

“Shit, my bad.” Mike held his palms up in mock deference, and Henry rolled his eyes.

“Okay, so—you're a time-traveling kid from the future trying to save our messed-up lives. Got it.” Henry nodded to Gregory, his thumb tracing idle circles over one of the tearstains on Charlie's mask. “And if we don't stop Will now, something worse will happen?”

“Well... It will. Er—it did. Kinda. It’s all really confusing,” Gregory said, looking down at the ground. He knew there was one, ultimate goal: figuring out the full story and how to stop William's eventual and complete mental breakdown, to lead to that first timeline. Gregory's eyes soon flicked to Charlie's mask. She'd know how to help him explain everything; Charlie was good at stuff like that. “It started with her and Evan—but I have to go back slowly, fix the little pieces first. Eventually, there's a future where we're all just... Fine. It's not perfect, but we're all okay.”

Suddenly, Gregory felt a serious rush of rage go through his body. He couldn't change his own future to the point where any normalcy would be surrendered unto him. Pointing to his face, his silver eyes snapped back to Henry.

“This will keep happening to me over and over again if I don't help. Just more versions of me that keep suffering because one or more people decided to fuck with everyone I care about.” He felt bad for cursing in front of Henry; the look on the man's face when he let one rip reminded him that he cussed in front of an elder he actually respected, causing him to bite his tongue and curb his anger just a little.

“...But—” He heaved a deep sigh. “—if I fix everything, I'll get to keep the rest of you all safe. Then I get my family back, and maybe everyone lives for once in another universe...”

For a moment, all Henry could do was sit in empathetic silence. This poor, poor kid... Gregory didn't have to say it aloud for Henry to know William got him with the Remnant. There was no other explanation as to how an Evan look-alike would end up with those silver eyes. Will probably thought he was his damn son.

“…You’re a brave kid,” he remarked eventually, eyes falling into that soft kindness Gregory and Michael knew. “That’s a lot to ask of anyone, and I’m sure no version of us can ever thank you enough.” His gaze lifted to Michael, who nodded in agreement.

“He’s already helped me so much,” the eldest Afton confessed, then glanced at the static mask in Henry’s hands. “He got Charlie talking to me again. She’s still around, you know. And… she misses you a lot.”

Henry’s fingers tightened on the hard plastic. He didn’t think Michael would lie to him, but he simply couldn’t fathom a world where his daughter didn’t loathe him after he failed to protect her.

...

The ice was broken about Charlie. Henry said nothing, giving the air that he was fully conscious of the fact that Charlie's soul lingered. Like William, Gregory had a feeling she hadn't disappeared in the fire like he initially assumed. The question now was if she remained at the diner with her killer, or was a bit closer, as Gregory was starting to suspect?

After a short beat, Gregory's eyes hardened into a glare at the mask and he cupped his hands over his mouth.

“Charlie! Your dad's here! Quit being a weirdo and come out already!” he exclaimed, trying to draw her out of hiding. When there was no movement, the boy pressed his lips together and settled back against Michael. “...Charlie? Okay, I didn't mean you're weird. I mean you're acting weird. Come on, dude…”

After amending his statement, movement sparked in the corner of Gregory’s eye. Snapping to look towards the bathroom door, he found it slowly creaking open. Inside the darkness, there were two pinpoints of light staring back. Hands so frail they looked as if they could snap any second grasped the sides as Charlie bashfully peeked into the living room. Silent, she stared at the group, unable to speak even if she wanted to.

(Everyone had left. People she spent years trapped together with had finally moved on.

All gone. She was so, so happy for them… But now only she remained adrift without an anchor.) 

“Oh...” Henry's voice was soft as he stared into the darkness. He wasn't frightened in the slightest—he'd seen far worse in his time than a timid ghost hiding away. Instead, he felt another pang of deep sadness as he stared into those ethereal eyes. “Charlie, sweetheart...”

He sounded pained, like he was liable to burst into tears at any moment. Henry had been staring at a lifeless, robotic copy of the girl he buried decades ago for so long, he'd almost forgotten what she really looked like. He suddenly wanted to see her, even if she was hesitant.

No—he needed to see her.

“Please, come out... I-I'm so sorry for everything...”

Chapter Text

…Was it a trick?

Charlie thought her dad was going to be furious with her. She’d seen how sad he was for so many years; when Mom left and Sammy had to eventually go with her, the lonely days took their toll. Part of her thought that Henry was mad about the way his life went downhill after her untimely demise, or that the ghosts she tethered to this life ruining his business consistently were to blame, but the look on Henry's face when she tried to hide again was just too painful to ignore.

Steeling her nerves, Charlie pulled the door open to fully reveal the state she was in. She was dressed in her birthday outfit that she picked out the day before her very last: an army drab green jacket and dark tights, hair in a loose ponytail and that special, green bracelet Henry made for her over her wrist.

“Dad?” she finally managed to whisper.

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled sort of whimper. Unlike the ghostly Emily patriarch Gregory was familiar with, this version hadn't had those extra years to process the state of his daughter. Seeing her standing before him as if she'd never been brutally ripped from his life, Henry could almost convince himself that maybe all the horrible things had been part of some wretched dream.

Eventually he managed to talk after taking in a shuddering breath. “Hi, sweetheart... I missed you so much.”

Placing the Puppet's mask reverently on the cushion next to him, he held out his arms for a hug... if Charlie deemed to give him one. Could she forgive him for not being there? For not making sure Puppet was unhindered and available to save her when he wasn't able to?

He wouldn't blame her at all if she hated him, too.

It was a moment that required no thought; no hesitation would waylay Charlie from sprinting at full force from the darkness of the bathroom. She nearly knocked back the couch with the force she used to crash into her father's arms. Just when she thought she’d finally gotten out all those ectoplasmic tears she cried for years, more came out to soak her dad's shoulder.

It had been way too long since she felt a good hug like this one. For her, the comforting warm of Henry's embrace made her feel safe and sound. Though it was an opposing effect for Henry—it was like being hugged by a snowman. Fingers like icicles dug into his jacket and freezing cold tears pooled on his shoulder as she sobbed out into the soft, drenched fabric.

“You came back!” Charlie cried, having assumed long ago that he was done with overseeing his repeated failures and reminders of friends and family long gone.

“I never left!” Henry reassured, holding on as tight as he could. “When Will and I split the company, I refused to go to any of his restaurants… but I had no idea you were still there! By the time I realized, Puppet had already been shipped off somewhere; I’ve been searching for you and the others for years, Charlie.”

The icy cold was grounding, a dual reminder that his daughter was far from alive yet still here. He could embrace her again—Charlie, not the Puppet shell she’d been trapped in for far too long.

His daughter was in finally back in his arms. He never wanted to let go of her again.

Michael felt like his heart might burst from all the affection. To give the Emily’s some space, he prompted Gregory off the couch and ushered him to the kitchen. Hoisting him up under the shoulders, Mike let Gregory see into the freezer as he asked quietly: “So what fancy TV dinner do you think Henry would want? Don’t know if he’ll eat anything right now, but I feel like we should offer at some point…”

Charlie didn’t even want to recount the horrible, dark days she spent alone in her box before rejoining the others inside the nightmare that was Fazbear Frights. She hardly recognized some of the others. Fritz and Susie were shells of their former selves, and Cassidy was near-incomprehensibly cruel. Gabriel had stopped talking nearly fifteen years ago to date along with Jeremy—

But she freed them now. None of them had to hold on anymore. No one had to cling on and fight…

But Charlie did. She always would. Someone had to stay and keep going, just in case. Charlie would bear the hardest burden and deny herself whatever was on the other side to help prevent something like this from ever happening again.

Charlie pulled away a little to actually look at her Dad, reaching up to hold his face and examine new wrinkles. She let out a choked-up laugh. “I-I’m here to stay. Promise… I won’t leave again.”

“And neither will I.” Henry smiled at his daughter, his face wet with hot tears underneath her frigid fingertips. 

…

Gregory had been so used to being picked up and placed into other spots during emotional scenes, he felt almost like a cat that kept getting moved because he shouldn’t be in certain places—especially with Michael’s favored way of carrying him throughout timelines, right under his armpits. After making touchdown back in the kitchen, Gregory eyed up the various dinners they acquired and decided to choose something comforting he thought Henry might like.

“Chicken nuggets—a classic,” Michael murmured with a nod, moving it front and center so Henry would see it if he went scrounging around for food.

The reunion in the living room was already calming down—Mike couldn’t hear anymore outright sobbing, but decided to give the pair a moment longer. Leaning back against the counter, he reached out a hand to ruffle Gregory’s hair. He was going to miss the kid when he left… But hopefully, if all things went as planned Michael could find him again in his own future.

“God, I have so much to tell you, Charlie,” Henry was saying in the living room, sitting up a little as the ghost parked herself in his lap. With arms wrapped around her shoulders and his chin resting atop her head while she laid on his chest, Henry could almost forget Charlie wasn’t entirely corporeal anymore. “You know Sammy’s got a few franchises under his belt now? He’s got this lofty plan of opening a huuuge restaurant someday…”

Charlie was thinking the same thing as she leaned into her father. There might have been a time when showing so much outward affection towards Henry would've been embarrassing; now she didn't want him to let go.

In the corner of her blurry eye, she watched Michael giving Gregory's hair the business, scrubbing the already frayed locks further askew. It was funny how much of Evan she saw in the kid, despite knowing for a fact now there was no relation.

“Sammy?! He owns something?” Charlie asked in pure confusion, eyebrows to the sky as she turned back to her dad. He was in charge of kids and franchises? The boy that had executive dysfunction and a not-so-secret sailor's mouth was the current face of franchises—plural?! “—Wow. He's... All grown up too, now.”

And changed. God, Charlie never expected that from him. He must have done something right in his life to get that successful. Man, how old was he now?

Wait—they were twins... How old was she? It made Charlie think, looking off into the space at a smudge mark on Michael's wall as she squeezed her father in closer.

“And Mom? How has Mom been?” She stopped coming around to the diners shortly after her death. Which was fair; Charlie forgave her some years ago, but missed her terribly. Besides, if her mother came in so sad every day, Charlie wasn't sure if she could take any of that.

Henry’s face fell for just a moment at the mention of his ex-wife. He rubbed Charlie’s arm, trying to hide the lingering pain in his voice for his daughter’s sake.

“Oh, she… I actually haven’t talked to her in quite a few years. She moved away some time ago. I’m not sure if Sammy’s spoken to her all that much either.” There was a pause, in which Henry pressed a soft kiss to Charlie’s frigid hair. “Sorry, kiddo.”

The former Mrs. Emily simply couldn’t take it after a while. Not only did she have to deal with the loss of her child, but her husband became distant… and when Henry figured out all of William’s evil deeds, he basically shut himself up in his workshop 24/7 trying to figure out how to undo the Afton’s mess. It wasn’t until Henry emerged from said workshop one morning to find all his wife’s belongings gone, a note on the counter, and Sam sobbing by the door that Henry realized how much further he’d fucked up his life.

From that moment on he resolved to give Sammy all the love he possibly could, and by some miracle it worked and shaped him into a relatively successful member of society. Sure, the kid was as fucked up as the rest of them and needed intensive therapy, but at least he was alive… which was more than could be said for the Aftons.

Henry cast his gaze to the boys in the kitchen, still talking amongst themselves. Mike had clearly been through some major shit… If only Henry had found him sooner.

Charlie did her best to hide the devastation. Mom just left? And didn't talk to Dad, like, ever? Charlie thought everything was fine—

—No, idiot, Charlie thought, interrupting her rapidly moving mind. Of course they weren't fine. They were fried, tired, and going through a worse devastation than she felt comparing to her own.

Charlie sniffed a little, looking away. Her Mom moved, and never came back to the diner; did she even care to visit where her daughter was buried?

Charlie floundered for words, and simply opted to lay her head against Henry’s shoulder and focus on something else. Something that wasn't her being the epicenter of her family's break-up. She felt not only for her father, but her poor brother...

Mom didn't have to be there for her—Charlie was dead. But what about Sam?

“Man... And... My friends? Like Jessica, Carlton... John? Do they keep in touch?” Charlie tried to distract.

“Hmm?” Charlie's question brought Henry out of his musings. At the mention of her old crew he smiled and nodded with a little chuckle. “Yeah, Sam and I made sure to keep tabs on them—they talk to him more than me obviously, but I can safely assure they're all okay.”

It was hard watching them all grow up, but Henry was happy they'd escaped the same fate as Charlie and all those innocent kids William used for his horrendous experiments. The train of thought got him wondering about something he'd been wanting to know since he discovered the existence of spirits lingering after death. Still holding Charlie against him, not quite able to look her in the face, he asked quietly: “Charlie... if this is too hard to talk about, that's totally fine, but I have to ask... Are the other kids still around, too?”

Charlie blinked at the sudden mention of the others. She really should’ve been expecting it, though. Henry probably would have gotten along with them. If they all hadn't lost their minds, then Charlie could have introduced them in a more amiable setting.

“I let all of them go... Only two stayed,” Charlie answered, not including herself in that equation. She leaned in, whispering in her father's ear: “Evan's around. I don't know where he went, though. There's another girl... Do you remember Cassidy?”

If Michael found out Evan still lingered, he'd probably drive himself crazy looking for the kid. Charlie thought that for the time being, especially after such a long while of being frightened and burdened by William’s lingering corpse, he may have needed a well-deserved break.

“Cassidy…,” Henry echoed, brows pinched as he thought over the long list of William’s victims. “Yes, I remember her. Poor thing…”

She was one of the first, so she was likely one of the most vengeful. Henry sighed wearily, maneuvering his arms around Charlie to take off his glasses and run a hand down his face.

“Alright—” he began, speaking as softly as she did. “—once we take care of William, we can find those two and see what their deal is.” His eyes flickered to the pair in the kitchen, reading Charlie’s thoughts. “…Let’s keep that from Michael though. Just for now.”

…

At least with Gregory and his family around, Michael didn't appear to be in any more dour of a mood than the rest of them. Though Mike hadn't technically said much to her, it was clear that life hadn’t been kind on him. It wasn't a hard stretch to say that he probably wasn't happy either.

Gregory seemed to captivate his attention, though. It was hard to feel sad with that kid entertaining him all day. As he helped himself to some of his snack piles, Gregory was showing him the various apps that Michael could play with on his watch. Something about how you touched the screen affected characters, slid things around and the like.

“If you just press Balloon Boy, he floats. You can't let him float down the screen though, or Moon comes out and makes him take a nap,” Gregory explained, hushed slightly as he poked the device on Michael's wrist. He didn't want to be so loud as to interrupt any moments the Emilys may be undergoing.

Mike was totally mesmerized, feeling like a kid seeing an arcade for the first time. As Gregory finished his explanation, he experimentally tried the game, though of course his skills weren't nearly up to par and Balloon Boy soon fell in a pit, thus summoning the terrifying Moon. “Dude... this is fucking rad!”

Gregory could see more bits of the Michael he knew coming out with showing him the little toy. A little break from the serious tone, and without immediate worry of William coming after them; Michael could let loose a little and melt his brain with a mind-numbing game for a moment or two.

“They're going to be everywhere in the future. Every kid with money in Utah has one in 2022,” Gregory told him, smiling broadly as he watched Mike try and fail at escaping Moon's strict bedtime schedule. For now, he was content to let Michael toy with the new features on his Fazwatch. Catching Henry glancing over at them, he waved from the kitchen and asked him: “Are you hungry, Henry? We're gonna make some food soon.” He grabbed the TV dinner from the counter and showed it off, trying his hand at enticing an appetite in his friend.

“You know what? I think I could use something to eat right now.” Henry smiled at Gregory, then replaced his glasses to squint at the box in his hands. “…Is that a pudding cup?”

“A chocolate pudding cup,” Michael clarified, giving Gregory a low-five behind his back. Perfect guess.

“Well then, let’s eat!” the older man laughed, shifting off the couch. He lifted Charlie onto his hip like he’d done to Gregory earlier—this was Henry Emily’s default pose for child-carrying, unlike Michael’s more reckless tendency to dangle them like a cat—and carried her to the kitchen to join the boys. It was a little awkward due to Charlie not being a small child, but her ghostly-light form made up for the long limbs.

“Gregory, you still full on pizza rolls or do you need something else?” Michael asked as he busied himself setting up Henry’s dish in the microwave.

Gregory smirked to himself as their hands collided, stealthy except for the hearty smack that followed. He knew Henry would be won over by the sweets inside the meal. As Henry brought Charlie over on his hip, awkwardly trying not to flap about with her longer set of teenaged limbs, Gregory couldn’t help but giggle until he was distracted by Michael’s question.

“Can I have Froot by the Foot for dinner?” he asked, much preferring to just snack for tonight’s meal instead of having any sort of staple for his dinner. To the Emilys watching, Gregory was independent, certainly—though he had a penchant for following Michael around, obviously attached to the eldest Afton despite his appearance.

“Sure,” Michael replied without hesitation, pulling the box out of the cabinet. He felt a pair of eyes on his back and he quickly added: “Uh, for now. You should try to eat something more substantial later, if you can.”

Henry huffed a light chuckle and shook his head. Typical Michael—that kid clearly had him wrapped around his finger already.

“Greg had a big breakfast,” Michael tried to explain, feeling the paternal judgement even though Henry didn’t say a word. “And he had some solid meals yesterday.”

(No need to mention his diet currently consisted of fast food and pizza rolls.)

“Hey, do you hear me getting on your case, Mike?” Henry lightly patted his bony shoulder. “As long as you’re not just feeding him pure sugar and artificial flavor, I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Mr. Emily owned a children’s entertainment pizzeria chain for god’s sake—he certainly wasn’t in a position to lecture anyone on healthy dieting.

Little did Henry know that Gregory’s diet wasn’t the best before showing up at Fazbear Fright’s, either. He figured he'd keep that little secret to himself for now as he rummaged through the sparse pantry to grab two of his artificially flavored fruit treats.

“You’re so lucky; my Dad wouldn’t let me eat candy as lunch,” Charlie lamented with a good-faith laugh.

“Oh, Dad cares,” Gregory replied without thinking, laughing along with her as he lackadaisically referred to Michael as his father. “He just hates saying no to me.”

Which Gregory tried his best not to take advantage of… But the privilege that came with Michael’s kindness—the want to make up for his wrongdoings in the past, as well as trying to give Gregory a chance at a nice life—was hard not to use to his benefit, considering he scarcely knew familial love before knowing Michael Afton or Charlie Emily.

“‘Dad,’ huh?” Henry couldn’t help but smile as Michael ripped open the packaging and handed Gregory back his snack before aggressively ruffling his hair.

“Uh… heh, yeah,” Michael said with a small laugh, as if he couldn’t believe it either. He reached up to run the back of his neck, glancing to the ceiling. “Apparently future me adopts Gregory? Er, well, one of me, I should say—there’s apparently infinite futures depending on what happens in the past.”

Michael’s brow creased as he thought about the small pieces Gregory had told him so far. Then he laughed again, more incredulously. “Get this—in this Greg’s future, Freddy’s his dad. But… it’s kinda because of me? But oh my god, how insane is that?”

“Freddy?” Henry’s eyebrows were almost in the stratosphere, and he gently set Charlie down as the microwave beeped. “As in Freddy Fazbear?!”

What in the world happened in this kid’s timeline?

“That doesn’t make any sense! Freddy’s a bear!” Charlie said with a cocked eyebrow and a laugh she was trying to smother in her throat. She looked at Gregory with hands on her hips as she eyed him skeptically.

“Seriously, Charlie—it is Freddy! But Michael was… Uh… possessing him,” he said, figuring that the future could potentially be changed already by their encounter with William earlier. There should be any harm in telling everyone who happened to be curious about his strange web of family ties.

“Michael possessing Freddy…?” Charlie seemed slightly distressed by this, glancing to her friend. “I always figured you’d go for Foxy.” In a way, she found it ironic that he would take the vessel of the very animatronic that munched on Evan.

“By the way!” Gregory interjected, poking Charlie’s arm. “Freddy’s more than a bear! He’s my best friend.”

After a moment of retrospection, Gregory took a therapeutic bite of his candy and conceded through the mouthful: “It’s… Man, that does sound insane…”

“Guess I didn't have many options,” Michael muttered under his breath, echoing Charlie's unspoken sentiment. At this point in his life, the little he had to do with that damn bear the better. Future him must've been desperate to hitch a ride in that vessel. At Gregory's last comment, Michael laughed and shook his head. “Kid, Charlie here's a ghost and I'm a literal zombie—Freddy being a nice bear is the least insane thing I've heard in years.”

Henry's gaze snapped to Michael at the blatant admission of his current state. As he contemplatively chewed a chicken nugget, Henry took a good, hard look at his nephew. Those sunken, silver eyes and gaunt features spoke volumes, but it was the purplish, bruised pallor of his skin that really drove the point home.

He was a zombie. A prime example of what Remnant could do to someone who'd met a terrible fate. Surely William would be much worse off...

“...Uncle Henry, no offense but you're making me nervous,” Michael remarked with an awkward chuckle.

“Hmm? Oh—sorry, Mike.” Henry blinked back to the present, offering a smile. “Just trying to wrap my head around things.”

“You don't want to know what happened to me right now—trust me.” Michael knew exactly what “things” Henry was struggling to understand. The man grimaced at this, looking back down to his TV tray. He was morbidly curious, but also terrified of the explanation.

“It’s gross,” Gregory assured, coming around to bump Henry with his shoulder lightly as the older man ate his lunch. “Like… Not the kind of story you tell when someone’s eating.”

He shrugged, figuring the easy-going Emily would understand. They eventually would have to fill him in, maybe after they tied up their loose ends. For now, he’d downplay the severity of the trauma that Michael went through to save his friend’s appetite.

Meanwhile, Charlie began wandering the kitchen, coming behind Michael before ambushing him with a hug. Being dead was hard—especially hard for Mike, considering he was still expected to live like a normal person throughout all of this. Despite his mottled skin and open wounds, or his psychotic father running amuck and ruining lives around them, he was expected to hold it all down.

“Look at us now, though! It’s going to be alright,” Charlie said with familiar optimism. “We’ve got each other again and that’s all we need.”

“Yup,” Mike agreed, feeding off his best friend's good spirits just like he used to. “Without jinxing anything—” He quickly rapped his knuckles against one of the low, wooden kitchen cabinets. “—I'd say things are finally looking up.”

“That's for sure,” Henry muttered, his shoulders sinking with relief to see the pair of them smiling again. He never thought he'd get to see that expression unless he physically lifted the facial muscles of those fancy androids he'd been toiling over for the better part of three decades—

“OH!” The Emily patriarch perked up with a gasp, nearly dropping the tray in his excitement. With bright, shinning eyes, he announced: “Boy do I have a surprise for you two once all this is said and done with...”

Given that Charlie was already out of her Puppet, hopefully she’d be able to enter the new vessel with no problems, although Henry wasn't privy to the workings of her soul-transference. Either way, they'd cross that bridge when they got to it.

“Surprise?” Charlie asked, already frothing at the mouth along with Gregory. Where Charlie was left in the dark, Gregory had a somewhat muddy inclination as to what it might be... Though it wasn't his place here and now to spill the beans.

“I love surprises!” Charlie clearly couldn't wait, but it was simply what she would have to do before all this blew over. Maybe this could serve as further motivation. Not that trying to get rid of an aggressive serial killer now set loose in the neighborhood because of them wasn't cause enough.

“Well, you're going to love this one especially,” Henry remarked, only amping up the suspense. Soon, if everything went as planned, he'd be able to have part of his family back in an even more tangible way then now. Peeling back the lid of the pudding cup, Henry dug into the dessert while glancing to Michael. He took a few thoughtful bites, then spoke up again in a calm tone. “So... not to ruin the good mood, but we need to talk about what we're going to do about you-know-who.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Michael said with a grimace. “I just hope he's still in the building...”

“From what the police told me, the investigation should close down for the day once it starts to get dark.” Henry's lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, then he went back to the last few bites of pudding, mumbling in annoyance. “Knowing our lovely police force and their tendency to not help, they'll be gone before 5 pm... Still, the less witnesses we have for whatever we have to do, the better.”

Gregory fretted, playing with the sleeves of his sweatshirt nervously as he brought up a point. “What if he's not there…? The building was all fire damaged; I doubt the security protocols that keep the animatronics inside kept working through that...”

The thought of William still managing to scrounge not only the will to live, but the energy to leave and take off somewhere else turned Charlie from a happy-go-lucky mood into one that boiled her blood.

“No. No way.” She denied it outright, despite the good point Gregory made. “Absolutely not. He can't leave under any circumstances. If he did... I'll find him.”

“We'll find them,” Michael corrected, his voice just as firm. He appreciated her heroism, but this simply wasn't the time. He could feel her gearing up to argue, so he held up a palm and tried to explain: “Look, we've tried going after him alone for years, and he just keeps coming back. Fighting him separately isn't working—we need to team up.”

“...I think Mike has a point,” Henry relented. It pained him to say such things, the ache in his heart reopening that age-old wound, but they had to work together. Setting his empty food containers down on the counter, Henry wiped his hands off on his pants and looked between the trio.

“William is absolutely insane,” he continued, and no one was going to fight him on that. “I don't even want to think about what state he's in now, but he's going to be pissed beyond belief. We should go the distract and destroy route—someone keeps his attention while the rest of us take him down.”

Little did he know they'd just tried that... although perhaps with all four of them on the same page, things would go better this time.

“But what are we going to do?” Gregory worried. “Unless you happen to have a hydraulic press and a way to lure William in there, we're only going to be able to trap him until we find a better way to kill him off...”

“I'm not sure—” Charlie murmured, waving the thought away with a physical, lazy flourish of her hand. “—we could run him over a few times? Mike, do you think your car could kill your dad?”

“I mean, I'd be willing to try...,” Michael muttered, looking to the floor.

The room fell silent as the group mulled things over. Eventually Henry gave a weary sigh, scratching his beard as he thought aloud.

“Well—the issue with your last try was that you didn't have a controlled area to torch him in, right? He could just... wander the building, avoiding the worst of it.” He glanced at Michael again, who gave a little shrug, unsure where he was going with this. “Depending on what state he's in, burning him to ashes could still work... it's just a matter of making sure he stays put until he gets there.”

“That's... basically our plan from earlier,” Michael said, not entirely discounting his uncle's idea but needing to point out that they'd already done that to an extent. “I see your point and I agree, Henry, but... we don't even have audio cues to lure him anymore. He's in permanent free-roam now, which makes this whole thing worse. Plus, I don't know where we could put him.”

This was where Gregory felt sort of useless in the conversation as they tried to make plans around William's eventual death. Charlie blinked between them and raised a finger to speak.

“What if... we trick him? Dad—you know William better than most people,” She observed; the two were inseparable for years according to her mother. Coming closer to her Dad, she asked: “He wants to bring back his family—what if you all pretend to be on his side?”

“I can do it,” Henry agreed quickly. The very idea of being friendly with the man—creature—made his skin crawled, but he'd do whatever it took to save what was left of his family.... not to mention the countless others who could be lost to William's madness should they fail.

“I'll play my part, too,” Michael added, though he sounded more hesitant. “Though I'm not sure how much he'll believe me at this point; last time I talked to him, he quite firmly said he was going to kill me again, so... the burden might be on you, Uncle Henry.”

The older man winced, but nodded resolutely. “That's fine. Like I said, I can do it. Whatever you need, I'll help.”

(Besides, if Henry was the one closest to Will, the others would be more out of danger.)

“I'll stick close at all times,” Michael reassured, making sure the whole group understood the gravity behind this plan.

Henry was still human.

So was Gregory, but the unfortunate boy was technically immortal.

If things went wrong, Henry was the only one that could truly die.

“W-Wait,” Gregory interjected, unsure if he really should. When all eyes turned onto him and his rebuttal, Gregory swallowed a lump forming in his throat. “It's not like any of us have guns or whatever to defend ourselves. If William sees through us, then we have to be able to get away.”

“We'll be keeping watch. Don't worry, little guy...,” Charlie assured, coming to the worrisome child's side to throw a caring arm over his shoulder. Hugging the boy closer, Charlie wanted to make sure Gregory understood that they knew what they were doing to some extent. There was a safety in numbers. With all of them watching each other's backs, surely nothing worse than what had already transpired would happen now.

“I've got a taser in my car.” All eyes snapped to the kind-faced Henry Emily at such a confession. He shrugged with a raised eyebrow. “What? I didn't know what the hell I was going to find when I got here, so I figured I should be prepared.”

Without a gun, as Gregory suggested, a heavy-duty, animatronic-stunning taser was the next best thing.

“It's... in your car?” Michael asked slowly, and Henry nodded. “...The car we left at Fazbear Frights?”

A collective groan echoed through the kitchen. There was always something...

“Well, we'll just have to pick that up first,” Henry said resolutely. “As for where to lure Will... you know, from what the police told me that back room he was originally sealed in missed most of the fire. If we can find some way to put him back there, maybe we can just focus on torching that room to a crisp instead?”

He grimaced, knowing that plan was rough, to say the least. “Just an idea.”

Gregory's concerned grimace turned to hopeful optimism with the realization that Henry was normally the most prepared person around. Of course he wouldn't leave himself so open to attack, especially when he had no idea what to expect when coming back to the place that started it all; the epicenter of ruined lives throughout Hurricane. Henry's old diner had leached a poison in to the community, and it certainly wasn't safe no matter how much rebranding it went through.

“I like it better than sending you in defenseless,” Gregory said with crossed arms. Despite not knowing Henry in this timeline, it was clear that he showed a lot of concern for the older gentleman right off the bat. This warmed Charlie up as she watched Gregory surrender to the idea a little more warmly.

“Of course I won't be defenseless, kiddo,” Henry reassured with a smile, bending to ruffle Gregory's shaggy hair. “Besides, I've been dealing with this old bastard for the better part of my life—he's got no chance.”

Never mind the fact that William hadn't been a rotting corpse stuck in an animatronic for most of their interactions... but that was just a minor detail, really.

“Okay, so the tentative plan is to use Henry as a distraction to lead my father back to that safe room and keep him there,” Michael began, spelling out what they had so far to make sure everyone was on the same page. “Then... we burn him again. Yeah?”

“Yes.” Henry nodded, his eyes hardening despite the smile he kept plastered on his face. “And I'll make sure not to get stuck with him, don't worry. Do you have more fuel, or did you use it all up?”

“Unfortunately, we need to take another shopping trip,” Michael replied with a sigh. Just what they needed on top of everything else... “We've still got a few hours of daylight anyway though, so it's not going to cut into our time to get rid of William.”

That clock would start as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“I hope they don't recognize you from earlier.” Gregory voiced his concern aloud, though he doubted the tired shop keep probably wouldn't think about putting two and two together. The recent arson committed against the town's biggest cash cow and this heavily bandaged man couldn't possibly be related at all...

“I'll be alright,” Michael responded with a little smile, running a hand through Gregory's hair. It was much easier now that it was free of what was probably pounds of hairspray. Afterwards he turned his smile the others before reaching for his keys. “Guess I'll be off, then; might as well prep early so we can head straight to the attraction later. This shouldn't take more than thirty minutes, tops.”

“Be safe, Michael,” Henry stressed, pulling the man in for a hug and trying to ignore how it felt like his nephew might crumble in his arms should he squeeze too hard.

“Will do,” the eldest Afton responded, returning the squeeze before offering Charlie the same treatment and adding with a smirk: “Don't start the party without me.”

Then he headed for the door, giving them one last wave before slipping out. Henry quickly locked all the deadbolts, just in case a rotting rabbit somehow tracked them and decided to pay a visit. Turning back to the kids, he suggested: “So... want to numb our brains with TV? Last one to the couch is a rotten egg!”

Despite it all, the old man could still be young at heart sometimes. It was a rarity, but he never quite lost that spark.

Sparing one last glance to the door with a nervous look, Gregory decided to follow Henry. A light jog was all it took to get past him, but right before the finish line, Gregory felt a rough tug to the back of his shirt. Charlie swung him, switching their places and beating him successfully to the couch and sprawling against the cushions.

Laughing so damn hard at her own prank, she even had her eyes closed in joy. It’d been a while since she could interact with (fairly) sane and alive people. Though she stopped her laughing when Gregory full on flung himself to sit on her, pinning Charlie and making her sink further into the couch, as Gregory refused to be a rotten egg.

“You're a ghost—” he said, face twisting in discomfort. “—how are you so boney?!”

Charlie reached around and playfully shoved Gregory to scoot over and make room for her and her father. As he giggled and escaped her reach, she retorted with mock offense. “I am not boney! I'm skinny; big difference!"

***

Michael returned a bit later than predicted, arriving exactly thirty-four minutes after he walked out the door. The gas canisters were piled in the trunk of his car, and he had four matchbooks shoved in his pockets to dole out—one for each of them, just in case.

“Hey—mind letting me in someday?” he griped from outside the apartment door upon finding it dead-bolted shut.

No one made a sound when the knob jiggled. Only when Michael’s distinct accent fluttered past the door and several locks did Gregory pop up from the couch. He’d been helping Henry sandwich a rather rowdy Charlie between them as they all watched TV. Gregory had been happy with the playful banter, but there was a noticeable perk when Michael returned safe and sound.

“About time!” Gregory remarked playfully, taking a look behind Michael. Just a little more wary of danger than the average thirteen year old—eyes always searching for something that may threaten them collectively. It helped that people on this town seemed to mind their business. If a heavily shrouded and bandaged man carrying four canisters of gasoline around didn’t scream suspicious, then they would probably be fine getting away with worse…

“Mike! Come watch TV!” Charlie beckoned, her head leaning on Henry’s shoulder.

Michael grinned down at his future kid as he shuffled inside, securing the place back up before depositing his keys and the matchbooks on the counter. Some random cartoon was playing on TV—unfortunately not Fredbear and Friends, but some other show meant to entertain the tired minds of children after a long day of school. The atmosphere in the apartment was one of amiable safety. Just the thing they needed for the night ahead.

“Uh, not exactly sure when I'm supposed to sit,” Michael remarked as he went to the couch, noting that there was only one spot left and two people vying for it. When he felt a light push to his legs he shrugged and plopped down, upon which Gregory quickly crawled into his lap. “Oh—okay, that works.”

He chuckled softly, letting Gregory get settled before leaning back against the cushions. Henry peered at him over Charlie's head with a questioning gaze. “Success, Mike?”

In response, a bandaged thumbs-up was given to the room. “Success—we're good to go.”

Gregory wasn’t shy at being the catalyst in letting Michael fall into the well-worn fabric with the obligation of helping his son have a place to sit. Gregory had settled from the light play-fighting that took place and now sought the comfort of Michael’s presence to fall asleep. Call it what you will, but at some point during his wild journey, he’d developed a sort of dependency—he had a hard time dozing off when Mike wasn’t nearby (or Freddy, but the sweet bear Gregory called Dad had been hard to reach in recent times).

It was obvious why; Gregory didn’t like to think on it. Using Michael as an emotional crutch wasn’t good as he was just one man. But for now, it was Gregory’s only means of survival. He laid back, content in letting his eyes droop.

Charlie already had her eyes closed. However, sleep would always evade her. There was no physical form to replenish with slumber, but the act of snuggling with her father was something that her soul needed to feel nourished.

“Five more minutes…,” Charlie murmured, quiet and soothing. She didn’t want to fight William just yet. Not when there was so many years of snuggles to catch up on.

Michael’s shriveled heart was aching from all the affection crammed onto that little couch. Thank goodness he couldn’t really cry anymore, or he might’ve started sobbing right then and there. Instead he held Gregory close against his stitched-together chest, curling around the boy like he was the most precious thing in existence.

Henry was having similar feelings of soul-wrenching joy to Michael, though he did feel the prick of tears before he quickly wiped them away. Gently carding a hand through Charlie’s cool, dark hair, Henry Emily could finally say that, for the moment, he was at peace.

Snuggled up together on the couch, the little family enjoyed a blissful few hours together without worrying about the horrors that awaited them when the sun went down.

***

Unfortunately, the good times never lasted—not while William Afton still prowled the streets of Hurricane. As the outside light faded, Michael stirred from his half-slumber with a little groan. He stretched his arms up to the sky, then wrapped them right back around Gregory and mumbled blearily with his chin propped on the boy’s head. “Time to get up…”

“Mph.” There was a responding grunt from Henry, though otherwise he didn’t move. Like Gregory, the old man had passed out pretty hard from the stress of the day.

Gregory had been in the throes of a very deep sleep, mouth open and drool running down his chin. He would be hard to wake from the tranquility of domestic slumber. Charlie however, never had a need for sleep since her demise. She slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the sights before leaning up and stretching her limbs above her head. Then it was a matter of waking her father.

“Dad…? Dad, we're waking up now,” she said, gentle and calm enough for right after a nap. Gregory was going to be a little more difficult as he rolled his face into Michael's shirt. There he felt the divot made into his chest via scooper, and hid himself from the light of the television.

“You said five more minutes…,” Henry grumbled, blinking slowly as he tried to rouse himself from dreamland. He took off his glasses to rub at his eyes, taking stock of where he was and who he was with. “…It’s been more than five minutes already?”

“Try a couple hours,” Michael said with a quiet laugh, checking the time on his fancy Fazwatch. Glancing down at Gregory, he saw a line of spit running from the corner of his mouth down his chin. Making a face, Michael brought up his shirtsleeve and tried to wipe it away. “Aw, gross, kid…”

As Charlie took the time to keep snuggling in closer to her father, she regarded the others with a warmness that had been long-reserved inside her. The ghost children were somewhat hard to warm up to. Evan and Cassidy were a little different—though Cas had her share of issues she was yet to work through, like the rest of them.

The other's humanities were long-since watered down. Without someone to care for them, Charlie believed that they would’ve been lost to the cruelty of time. Being here with people she loved and a living human child that didn't fear her felt safe. It was a nicety which the afterlife could scarcely afford her.

Meanwhile, that kid was grumpy.

“Nooo...,” Gregory bemoaned, trying to get closer to Michael yet again, though the gentle push to his shoulders commanded him to rise.

“Oh boy,” Henry laughed. “Good luck with that one, Mike.”

“Thanks for the help.” Michael rolled his eyes, a grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. It took a bit of finagling, but he managed to get Gregory into a different hold so he could stand and cart him off to the kitchen. “Greg, you’ve gotta get up. I’ll make you more pizza rolls.”

Henry stared after them, his head tilted in consideration. “I wonder how long it’s been since that kid’s seen a vegetable…”

Not that he had any right to chastise Michael on Gregory’s diet. At least the kid was getting fed—one of the key difference between him and Evan was that Greg looked just a bit too thin for his age. Besides, Henry owned a pizzeria.

As if reading Henry's mind, Charlie would say quietly: “He does look little thin... Maybe he just has a fast metabolism?”

It wasn't unheard of—Michael himself was pretty thing in high school before he joined track. Gregory probably just needed some discipline with the things he ate and a little exercise to be right as rain.

“Pizza rolls…” Gregory struggled half-heartedly, smacking his lips to clear them of drool as he forced his eyes open. Good lord, he was being carried like a cat again. Gregory could feel his feet gently touch down on the ground, Michael holding him just underneath his armpits until he was certain the kid wouldn't fall over when no support was being offered.

“I’d offer you coffee but one, I don’t have any; and two, I think you’re a little too young for a caffeine addiction,” Michael said with a smirk as he pulled out the half-empty bag of pizza rolls from the freezer.

“I’m not,” Henry piped up, rousing himself off the couch after a couple more stretches. “God, what I wouldn’t give for one of those triple-espresso-shot things right now…”

“I don’t think those are good for anyone, Uncle Henry.” Michael shot him a raised eyebrow over his shoulder, to which Henry just shrugged.

“Eh, I’ve survived this long—I think I’ll be okay.”

Behind his smile, there was a look of wistfulness in the old man’s eyes. He recalled many long nights with his former business partner when they were just getting things off the ground, taking turns heating up pots of coffee and tea to keep themselves awake. William absolutely refused to touch Henry’s drink of choice, and just to rile him up Henry did the same, to the stubborn Brit’s great annoyance.

How he wished he could go back to those days… Everything was so wonderful and exciting before it all went horrendously wrong.

***

It was funny how far removed and distant two friends could be. When William moved to Hurricane, Utah, he had nothing but the farm his parents bought and the clothes on his back, plus a limited knowledge of mechanics.

Then, before long, all he had was Henry.

No one except the friendliest guy in town wanted anything to do with the foreigner. The two of them were supposed to be an unstoppable duo, learning and teaching each other the things they learned going into college. Oh, what the neighbors thought when they said that they were going to put this town on the map with their inventions...

Now, neither one wanted anything to do with each other. Two men who were close as brothers now sworn to hate the other until their very last breath felt worse to William than the day his father kicked him out. Worse than the day his mother passed, and even rivaling the death of his wife, or his precious children. William wouldn't be satisfied until Henry was dead, just like all the others.

They would go down together, or not at all.

Chapter Text

Gregory slowly came to when he smelled the fuming cheese and sauce heating in the microwave. Several popping sounds fired off inside to let him know they were becoming way too hot for human consumption, though a little thing like second degree burns wouldn't stop the kid from stuffing his face.

“What’s espresso taste like?” he murmured. If Henry liked it, the coffee-based drink must be good. Charlie made a face.

“Bitter; it'll make you really jittery,” she grumbled, remembering a particular moment in time where William convinced Charlie to take a sip from Henry's coffee mug. He always had a triple shot in the morning. She'd never forget the muscle spasms and heart palpitations after swallowing the hot liquid, or Will's jeering laughter.

“Oh yeah, it's disgusting,” Henry agreed, coming to rest against the counter while Michael tried to stop the pizza rolls from starting a small fire. He grinned down at Gregory, arms crossed over his chest. “Wouldn't recommend it at all.”

“What a great review for something you drink all the time,” Michael quipped with a snort, finally managing to get the microwave off. A sizzling of cheese, sauce, and pieces of questionable meat could be heard when he opened the door, and like before he grabbed the plate with absolutely no hesitation.

“Mike!” Henry exclaimed, eyes wide as his nephew handled the literally burning dish without a care in the world. “Your hand—”

“Huh?” Michael glanced down, setting the plate on the counter while simultaneously pushing Gregory back before the boy snatched a deadly roll. “Oh. I'm fine; I can't really feel it, so...”

He shrugged, much to the elder Emily's horror. The confession simultaneously made Henry more curious to know what happened, yet even more terrified to know the details.

“Dude—your hand's steaming!” Gregory tried to warn, both grossed-out and fascinated at the same time. Just as a teenage boy would be, especially one so desensitized to carnage.

As soon as the plate was on the counter, it was a little more noticeable. Michael's cold skin coming to contact with the hot plate would make steam, of course, but thankfully little damage was done through the bandages. Gregory wanted to put one of the piping hot pockets of pizza in his stomach as soon as possible, though Charlie's caging hands came to his shoulders to hold him back.

“You're gonna end up teaching Gregory bad habits—look at him! He's trying to eat them when they're literally boiling!” Charlie said mostly as a joke.

“Well excuse me for my nerves being fried,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. Even so, he pushed the plate out of Gregory's reach. “Chill, kid. If you burn your throat, you won't be able to eat anything solid for weeks.”

Henry was wiping his glasses off on his shirt again, trying to process what the hell just happened. He knew Michael was dead... Technically. But it was one thing to be aware of the fact versus it being shoved in his face by something so weird.

“Give them two minutes, Greg,” Henry told the over-eager boy once he got his bearings. “Then they'll be perfect.” His gaze shifted to the food, then back to Gregory. “...Mind if I steal one, by the way?”

Gregory hung his head with a begrudging sigh. With the way he snapped his gaze back up to Henry, one might expect him to tell him no. Unsurprising to someone as empathetic as Charlie, Gregory’s eyes softened and he nodded. “Yeah totally—we can share.”

Meanwhile, Charlie had taken to looking out the window. The sun was beginning to go down and the streetlights were coming on one by one. Such things reminded her of childhood, hanging in places she wasn’t supposed to be and hurrying home with Michael in tow as the warm, electric glow lit their way.

Gone were those days of innocence. Charlie had come to terms with it all fairly quickly: that there’d be no more long naps in the back of cars. No more tie-dying shirts with Mom and Sammy, or eating popsicles until the sugar inside hurt her teeth. For a moment, she was wistful, reminding herself that now there were other things to think about.

(But it was hard when you miss something that was left long before it was meant to.)

True to his word Henry only took one pizza roll, still leaving a heaping amount for Gregory to dive into once the two minutes were up. As the two living humans bonded over their love of melted, partially-charred cheese, Michael wandered over to his old friend.

“Hey,” he said quietly, slipping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders and pressing the sides of their heads together. “You’re thinking so loud I can hear it from the kitchen.”

“My bad,” Charlie replied softly, her head leaning almost of its own accord to touch gently against Michael's. At least this never changed, this bond that only lasting friends like they could share.

—And like lasting friends, Michael was acutely aware of when she was getting into a funk, her “loud” thinking distracting him enough to pull his attention from the other side of the room.

“…It’s almost over,” Michael muttered after a moment, hard-set determination in his gaze as he stared out the window too. “I can just feel it this time. After tonight… I think we’ll finally be free.”

From the physical threat of William, at least. The memories would never leave them, no matter how many immortal years they lived.

“While I agree—” Charlie said, not meaning to quash and optimism that her normally doomy pal had. “—killing him will just prevent more deaths. It won't change anything he already did. I'm dead. You're dead. My mom hates my dad... Now my brother's a business major and running his own diner? Guess I'm just having a hard time with it all...”

She let out an unneeded sigh to push her point. Then, her chilly arm snaked around Michael’s shoulders and squeezed him tightly. “At least you and Dad are here. I thought you both were gone for good...”

“I’m glad we’re here, too. And yeah, I know it’s not gonna fix anything that happened in the past, but like you said—we’ll be preventing so much heartbreak in the future.” Mike frowned, gaze faraway and no longer seeing the street outside. “Besides, if we can help Gregory now and make the future for him better in any way, we have to do it. I have to… I owe it to him.”

It was a twisted web, their tangled timelines. All Michael was sure of was that he couldn’t let the Gregory he was destined to meet suffer the same Remnant fate as the kid in his kitchen. He’d save him—whatever it took.

Charlie took a sparing glance behind them, where Gregory and Henry seemed to be bonding over a mutual love of pizza and junk food. To her, the Remnant eyes came off as untrustworthy from the get-go. However, she did trust Michael. And Gregory was one of the farthest things from being like William to remind her too heavily of him. The poor kid only deserved her deepest sympathies for whatever had happened to him.

“You won't be doing it alone. Now you have me and Dad! Whenever we meet your son, we'll be ready,” she assured him.

Strangely enough, Charlie never believed in the whole destiny business until today. According to the mysterious kid from the future, their stories didn't just end here. “We can even help out. Being a dad looks like it's really hard...”

When her gaze drifted back over to Gregory, he’d apparently bit down into a particularly hot roll, fanning his face and huffing as he cooled himself down with watery eyes and sauce on his mouth.

“... Good luck, buddy,” Charlie murmured, patting Mike’s back and failing to hide a grin.

Michael winced, knowing the sting of a burned mouth all too well even after so many years without eating. He let out a short laugh, giving Charlie’s shoulders one last squeeze. “Thanks; I’m definitely gonna need it with that little troublemaker...”

“I told you the ones in the middle were still nuclear,” Henry sighed, handing Gregory a glass of water as the other two meandered their way back to the kitchen. He looked up at their approach, offering a smile. “You alright?”

“For now, yes,” Michael replied honestly. He glanced back over his shoulder to the window, where by now the sun was over halfway to the horizon. “We should get a move on soon…” He raised an eyebrow at Gregory while he gulped down the last of the water. “You almost done with dinner?”

Gregory was a menace… But at least he was a cute enough kid that his goofy behavior could be forgiven. A few more heavy gulps of water later and he was wiping his mouth free of sauce still left there.

“Yeah! I'm saving the rest for later,” he answered, setting the cup back down with a muted clink. Reinvigorated, Gregory reached over and shook Henry's arm. “We're gonna kick ass tonight guys!”

Keeping a positive outlook might help, Gregory reasoned. It seemed as though every time his thoughts floated to a more negative world view, things started to get a little harder for them. Maybe, if he went into it with a good attitude and confidence, it wouldn't be so bad.

—Even if William was scary. So damned scary. Especially now that he knew he wasn't Evan; William wouldn't hesitate to kill Gregory if he saw him.

“Maybe Michael and Henry should go first into the parking lot? That way Will doesn't get suspicious if he sees all of us,” he suggested, looking between the others now for confirmation.

“Agreed,” Michael said with a nod. “I’ll park the car a few blocks down—you guys can hide out in the woods until we give the signal. Oh—” He moved to the counter, grabbing the matchbooks and handing them out. “One for each of us. There’s four cans of gasoline in my trunk, too.”

“I hate to point out the negatives,” Henry began, slipping the matchbook in his pocket and glancing between the kids with a worried crease in his brow. “But how are we going to communicate when Will’s in position? If the wall near the safe room is busted, then Charlie and Greg might be able to see us, but if not…”

“Got it covered.” Michael held up his wrist, showing off the Fazwatch. “Gregory has one too—they’re like fancy walkie talkies. Once we’ve locked my father in, I’ll call them through here.”

“Fascinating…,” Henry murmured, eyes bright with the light of an inventor who’d been given a new plaything. Catching that look, Michael pulled his wrist away to curb the distraction and Henry flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Mike. I definitely want to check that out later though, once this is all over.”

“Oooh—make sure you show him the games on there, too!” Gregory exclaimed with a grin. Although they weren't that useful, the little distractions were good at killing time.

***

After everyone took a few collective minutes to gather their nerve, the quartet piled in Michael's car. Henry rode in the front, while Charlie and Gregory sat in the back watching the town pass by. The drive simultaneously seemed to take hours, and yet it barely felt like five minutes before Mike pulled into a little side alley a few blocks down from the burned-out attraction.

“Okay,” he began, hooking an arm over the headrest as he turned in his seat to look at everyone. “Henry and I will get Father in that room as soon as possible. Once we're in, you guys bring over the gas and we'll douse the place again. Don't move until you hear the signal, though; got it?”

“And keep out of sight,” Henry stressed, his eyes roaming between the pair in the backseat. “Especially you, Gregory. He's not going to be happy if he sees you.”

Even if Henry hadn't seen the kid's skull nearly crushed firsthand, he could only imagine how angry his manic former partner was upon learning that this boy was not in fact his reincarnated son.

“Okaaaay...,” Gregory accepted. Despite his optimistic attitude earlier, something didn't feel too great about what they were doing. He’d simply have to chalk it up to a general anxiety, with no other existing proof that something would go wrong...

“Let us know if you need us to intervene!” Charlie said, stopping them both by the baggy sleeves of their jackets. “We’ll figure something out.”

It wasn’t a secret that Charlie was somewhat worried for her father's safety. The old man had already been through so much; she didn't want him to go out dying of smoke inhalation or burning to death with William as his only company. Same with her best friend...

“Of course.” Henry gave her a reassuring smile, though there was a definite hint of age-old weariness in his eyes. And... yes, a bit of genuine fear, too.

He could die tonight.

He could well and truly die.

But it would be worth it to save his family when he couldn't so do all those years ago.

“Alright—” Slapping his palms on his thighs, Henry looked between the group again. “—let's give final hugs, then get this done.”

Everyone agreed, and seconds later they were all embracing and exchanging words of encouragement and promise. Michael caught Gregory first, crouching down to pull him into a tight hug and mumble: “Stay safe, kid. Don't do anything too heroic.”

Aka, don't do anything stupid.

Gregory realized what was being asked. Clearly Michael didn't know him well enough yet—or, this version of Michael was yet to find out just how stup—heroic Gregory could be. Returning the tight embrace, Gregory nodded. There was no other answer he could give that would satisfy the man well enough to walk away.

“Same to you,” Gregory wished, burying his face so his words were a little harder to hear. “Be safe. Love you, Dad...” He muttered, half hoping the embarrassing words couldn't be heard over Charlie and Henry's own well-wishes. “We got this. Just go along with whatever he says until you can get him alone.”

***

Traitors. Bastards.

Did they have any idea what he'd sacrificed?

No. They didn't know. He thought one day Henry of all people would understand the will to revive your loved ones at any means necessary. Men of science and ambition like them should be on the same page with things like this.

But where was his support? Where were they when he was drowning at the bottom of a handle of Gin or Bourbon?

Henry should have known. Part of William liked to assume that he did, and for a long time just let him get away with it all. It wasn't until he found out what happened to Charlie that Henry drew that line. The foundation of their friendship rocked so horribly, the fallout and devastation ruined not just their own, but other innocent lives around them. They themselves were like hurricanes, trapped in the town they called home—the power cell storm they made together resulting in so many deaths, William didn't know whether to feel disgusted or delighted that they accomplished such a feat together.

So, he opted for what he normally felt: totally numb and detached from the circumstances.

Inside the safe room, with no digital markers to distinguish the hidden area from party rooms, William could move about and salvage what was left of his life. Going through these old diaries reminded him of times when wounds were fresh. The musings he wrote on when he was young and foolish, or when he was about to pass out drunk, sad, and alone even with his children screeching in the other room.

Well—what was left of them, anyway. First three, then two, then one.

Stupid. The both of us, William thought, clumsy as he flipped a torn and smoke-damaged page he retrieved from a hidden safe. There, he found the picture he was looking for: him and Henry, both together in a college dorm room. William with a mountain of spare parts surrounding them for their Master's degree project and Henry beside him, taking the picture in a cracked full-length mirror. They had their arms around each other, so proud of what they were doing together. Everything they had might as well be those parts on the ground, blown apart and scattered, unable to make sense of any of it...

William, found another twinge of pain rolling through him as he remembered. Growling and dropping the book, he yanked hard and pulled in vain at the mask. More unsavory maroon liquid gushed slowly from Bonnie's mouth as he struggled, trying to reach for a life that died so long ago.

***

The anguish and rage in the air were palpable as Henry and Mike approached the ruins of the old diner. Just one failure in the mountain of them that made up Henry’s life over the years—though this one represented the worst of all.

When had the hardship and heartache outrun the success and happiness?

One could argue the entire thing started when Evan Afton lost his life in such a brutal way under the guise of a “prank.” While that certainly tainted the Fazbear name for eternity, the child’s death was the result of an angry teen who truly didn’t understand the consequences of his actions—not until it was too late.

But William?

He knew.

He knew what he’d done in that dark alleyway. How he’d let the rage and frustration consume his drink-addled brain until he simply snapped. And what was the result? His best friend’s precious daughter—they girl he’d called “niece” for sixteen years—lay dead on the rain-soaked ground.

Even then, there was a chance to stop even more of the pain. If he owned up to it, then at least it he’d show remorse and no other child would suffer the same fate.

(In another lifetime, William would do just that. He’d confess to the horrendous act and work past the dark cloud in his mind to become somewhat of a real person again.

This was not one of those realities, though.)

As the building came into view, Henry began to shiver violently. He knew William was in there. The last time he’d seen his daughter’s killer was when he’d sealed him away decades ago, forever locked in a spring Bonnie suit dripping with fresh blood. The ichor was surely rancid now, just like the decayed body inside.

“S-Shit…” Henry breathed, stopping at the edge of the parking lot. “God… Mike—”

“I’m here.” The boy looked so much like his father as he grasped his arm, though when he caught Michael’s dull grey eyes, all he could see was determined reassurance. “Let’s get your taser and head in. Okay?”

Henry took a deep, steadying breath. Then, with a final glance to the tree line where the others hid, he nodded and started forward once more.

Inside, the air was oppressive with ash—a falling reminder of William’s hatred. It swirled around them in the claustrophobic halls, smothering if it weren’t for the blown-out windows. A wind blew cold puffs through the diner, gently rustling burned garbage and children’s drawings from times long passed. Henry and Michael were acutely aware of any strange sounds… such as sobs of despair and hopelessness as the half-man, half-animatronic creature spiraled further.

In the backroom, William only had so much Remnant saved in the safe. It was a special batch, preserved for a special occasion. On the front of the bottle, one of Charlie’s baby pictures were pasted. It was old, damaged by his experiments surrounding that lifesaving goop; barely comprehensible, except to those that knew her.

First William needed to get out of the suit. Then, he could use the Remnant to restore himself to something manageable. He had a feeling the paltry sum in the jar might fall short, given the destroyed state of his body.  

This wasn’t a problem, of course; he could always get more.

…

After giving the air an experimental zap to assure it was working correctly, the taser was tucked in Henry’s pocket. Michael’s “weapon” had been hidden in a similar place—though his was fake, William didn’t know that. If needed, hopefully it’d serve as an intimidation tactic… not that they hoped it would come to that point.

Henry jumped violently as William’s piercing shriek cut the air. He’d only heard him scream like that once before, the pure anguish of his voice like acid melting his ears from within. It was the night that Evan was officially pronounced dead. In that moment after the heart monitor flat-lined, for William all hope was lost. Henry had tracked him down to the diner—to the very back room he was currently stumbling around—and just as he reached the door that horrific scream mangled the very air around them. It was a coalition of William’s frustration of losing his family one by one: first his wife, then his youngest boy, then his oldest—Michael might as well be dead to him for killing his brother so ruthlessly. The man barely had anyone left.

And after that one, raw shout?

Nothing more. William had closed himself off harder than before and buried his sorrows in bottles and a clipped, detached attitude.

All these memories came flooding back and Henry had to take another deep, calming breath before moving through the horror attraction. With Michael’s hand on his shoulder he was able to start forward, clearing his throat before calling out in a voice of concerned softness: “Will? It’s Henry… I-I came to see you again, old friend.”

At the familiar, rich sound of Henry’s voice, William stopped screaming. If his heart weren’t completely pierced by loosening springlocks over the years, it might have skipped its beat from being startled. William thought that he would have to find track him down, but it seemed his old pal just saved him a hell of a lot of trouble.

“Henry…” Coughed William, automatically slumping against the wall and playing up his condition. The more sympathy he could wring from the man, the better. Though, something told William he wanted something.

Why else would he be here? Was this just another cycle of using each other again?

…

—No. Tonight it would end on William’s terms for once.

“You’ve picked a bad time to show up, friend… I’m not well…,” he wheezed out, brass animatronic eyes searching the corridor right outside the safe room.

Upon sight of the mangled corpse-infused animatronic, it took all of Henry’s strength not to pass out right then and there. His breath audibly hitched, though this could be chalked up to simply being surprised at the state of things more so than abject fear. William knew Henry helped seal him away… but he didn’t know for sure that Henry knew he was in that suit. Perhaps there was a way to still get on his good side?

Not that he had much of one left…

“W-William?” Henry’s voice was strained and tentative, just like his shuffling steps as he edged a bit closer to the horrid creature. The concern on his face was genuine, though not for the reasons William might think. Michael remained a silent shadow, tucked into the darkness of the hallway and keeping a close eye on his uncle as he tried to work his way into William’s psyche.

“Oh God, Will… is this where you’ve been this whole time?! I-I was looking for you…” He swallowed thickly, pressing a hand over his mouth and muffling a rare genuine lie. “I… I had no idea…”

…He was crying?

GOOD. William deserved the sympathy.

Hacking, the metal bones of the suit rattling as he felt another slice of his lung come up, blackened and decayed as he spit it from his mouth. William shook his head.

“Liar… Oh, you’ve always been so bad at lying, Hen…” He groaned, head rolling against the wall behind him. “You knew I was in this thing the whole time… That’s why you sealed the room, huh? Cover the evidence… Get rid of your best mate… I get it.”

William finally managed eye contact, taking stock of Henry. The years had been kinder to his friend than him; wrinkles framed green eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses that captivated William for a moment.

“I would have done the same thing… Great minds think alike.” After all, there was a reason they'd been such good friends. Always on the same page with most things, and quick to butt heads on other topics. He grumbled, trying to work his own mind games on Henry as well. “So… You come to catch up? I’m upset you didn’t at least bring me any smokes.”

Oh god. Oh god oh god what the fuck—

Seeing pieces of the once-friendly Afton patriarch just fall out like that, casually thrown up from the wretched tomb that was Bonnie’s suit was nothing short of a nightmare. Taking stock of William’s condition as a whole, Henry was legitimately amazed he was still able to speak, let alone move around. He wasn’t falling for that sad pose though—from the stories he’d been told, the rotting rabbit was far more active than he appeared at first glance.

“N-No, I…” Henry shook his head, shifting a little closer while not actually taking a full step.

He was a concerned man, wanting to find what’d become of his former friend and child’s murderer. Nothing more.

“Will, I didn’t know. I just thought it was another employee and they got them out of the suit before I gave the orders to seal it up… you know how horrible at communicating lower-level management is.” He barked out a stilted laugh, high-pitched and short.

Keep it together, Henry, Michael thought, fingers digging into the bandages around his palms.

“Anyway—” Henry shook his head quickly, then roamed his eyes over the suit again with a grimace. “—guess I fucked myself over. Sent myself on a wild goose chase for nothing, looking for you.”

There was a pause, before he added in a quiet tone. “…You and I both had a lot of time to think on things, Will. I… wanted to talk to you again about the… the Remnant.”

Those emerald eyes were sharp and focused now, holding the light of cautious curiosity that William knew oh so well.

Will had leaned back, shocked to say the least. He was normally so good at calling Henry’s bluff. This time it was foggy… Had he actually been searching for him? All these years gone past and he’d been looking in all the wrong places, not realizing he sealed up his old business partner?

“I was always right here… The Remnant? It’s kept me alive,” William revealed. Slowly, he shook his head and got up, using the wall as a brace but not daring to inch another step forward. Henry might be older now, but there was a chance he could still get away should William reach for him.

“I… I hated you for leaving me here,” he replied honestly, eyes darting around in the dark before swallowing what felt like shards of glass into his stomach. A genuine gurgle of pain escaped him before he glanced up to Henry and told him “Despite you all abandoning me after what I did… I… I love you. I missed you all too much. I… Got angry with Michael when he found me. I-I want to tell you everything.”

William was huffing now, it was hard to breathe with all those steel bars poking into his lungs. The more worked up he got, the more stale blood gurgled in his voice. “—I’ll tell you everything… Just… Give me a minute…”

Such sweet sentiments from a murderer. Henry tried to regulate his breathing as William spoke, feeling the telltale signs of lightheadedness coming on. If the rotting corpse didn’t kill him tonight, a stress-induced heart attack might.

While the old Afton confessed his lingering thoughts about the situation, Henry took stock of his appearance as a whole. It’d been so long since he saw those springlock suits in person, he’d almost forgotten how big they were. William’s once-slender frame—now nothing but a husk of its former nature—was surrounded by bulky, rusted metal and wires. Henry could hear the deadly springlocks scraping against emaciated muscle, and between that grinning maw he caught a glimpse of the horror that was Will’s real face. It took all Henry’s strength to stand his ground, and even more not to instinctively shove the taser in that fuzzy torso and let him have it.

“…I missed you, too,” he said after a moment, just when the silence began to stretch on a bit too long. He couldn’t say the other thing—whatever love Henry had for William died right along with Charlie, the emotion choked out of Henry’s soul with his daughter’s dying breaths.

“And I’m sorry for leaving you all those years ago,” Henry went on, using those sickly sweet words of manipulation he’d learned from none other than the man in front of him. “But I’m here now. And… so is Michael.”

His eyes darted into the hallway. “He‘s sorry, too—he was so overwhelmed when he finally found you again his emotions got the better of him. I think he’s ready to talk, too… if you are.”

Michael gritted his teeth, stepping into William’s sightline and hanging his head. It might seem like he was grappling with his regret, but in reality he was resisting the urge to sucker punch his father right in the matted jaw. 

William perked up at that. Two birds with one stone, he supposed.

When Michael rounded the corner, William didn’t know how to react at first. After all, Michael was the cause of all of this in his mind. None of this would even be happening if he didn’t hate his younger brother so much! Grumbling a little, William forced himself to move slowly and come to face his eldest.

“You tricked me, boy…,” he pointed out, stopping just short of his son with a disapproving glare. “You were going to kill me, weren’t you, Michael?”

Traitors. Both of them. The two people he always thought would be in his corner betraying him in the worst way possible. Obviously, he couldn’t see the selfishness he brought to their relationship had deteriorated their bonds much worse than anything they could’ve done intentionally to him.

With a sigh, William’s arms dropped back to his sides, strangely candid. “I’m sure you both have questions. Go ahead. I have nothing to hide anymore…”

Michael kept his lips sealed tight, not wanting to ruin the wary repartee they had by saying the wrong thing. While Henry continued distracting William, Mike cast his gaze around the room, taking stock of what they had to work with.

“So… the Remnant.” Henry’s tone was measured yet curious, letting Mike do his thing while trying to keep William’s main focus on him. “It’s kept you alive, obviously, but… you think it can bring people back?”

There was a hardness to his eyes, one of years-long anguish ready to be over. It sounded like maybe Henry was finally starting to understand William’s original ideals…William looked to him, something like hope shining past that dull, cloudy look in Bonnie’s head.

“Yes!” William wheezed, turning his body to face Henry. “Remnant… It’s only extracted after a traumatic death. It… has to be horrifying. The more gruesome, the more Remnant is yielded.”

William begun to explain, detached like a scientist. Though the more he spoke through it, the more unsettling his cadence became.

“When I discovered souls, it was purely accidental. Hell—I thought I’d gone completely mad! But I realized I could bring them all back, in time… Make them better than they were. Save them.” There was something diabolical in his voice. The way he was moving, looking down at his hands as if remembering every single act of harvesting.

When he took those lives it didn’t just desensitize him; William enjoyed some of those murders. It was clear in the way he flexed his fingers into his palm.

“Evan… Charlotte… Elizabeth…,” he counted, almost giddy now as he glanced between them both. “And now that you’re here! You both can help me… We can fix it together!” 

“You absolute b—”

“Brilliant man!” Henry exclaimed, cutting off Michael's curse before it could fully emerge. The elder Emily chanced a step closer as deflection, trying not to shake with unbridled rage as he put on a faux act of amazement. “Will, that's brilliant... I-I never would've thought of such a thing. Michael, isn't that good news?”

Henry shifted his gaze to the boy—warning, pleading, desperate.

What little composure Michael retained had already begun to slip as he listened to his father prattle on so nonchalantly about all the people he'd killed. All the children... It made Michael sick to hear his siblings' names come out of that disgusting mouth.

Despite the hatred making his fingers itch with the urge to rip that golden suit apart with his bare hands, Michael was an Afton at heart—and he'd (unfortunately) picked up more of his father's talents than he intended to.

“Yes,” he replied to Henry, his mouth widening into a tight smile. It was clearly strained, but then again William couldn't really expect him to be completely happy with anything, could he? The boy was clearly disturbed from a young age. Broken, and now he was crawling back to his dear old dad for help. “That's wonderful to hear, Father. Of course we'll help you.”

William, whose original plan involved killing them both and harvesting the Remnant—

(Could he even extract Remnant from someone who's already dead? Could be worth it to look at.)

—had suddenly and unexpectedly gained back a friend and a son. They didn't have to squabble and waste time killing one another when they could just fix everything! Who cared if it was at the expense of others? He and Henry could be the two most prominent businessmen this state had ever seen again. They'd get away with anything if the money was good enough, and Michael would be happy getting the chance to tinker with animatronics for eternity.

Beaming, a beacon of pride and joy, William reached out to clap both of their shoulders. It was hard to make it out in the dark, but the face trapped inside Bonnie's moldy maw seemed to twitch into a painful smile.

“I knew if I explained everything right that you two would come around! Oh, this is great; here, first order of business—” William turned, unsuspecting of any underlying sabotage, far more agile despite the pained grunts. With every movement, the grinding of steel gnawing at bone and squishing muscle could be heard.

The hidden safe, now revealed by a couple of well-placed punches in the dry wall, was carefully opened by the old rabbit. Inside, a jar of glowing liquid shimmered in the darkness. Its contents were almost magnetic. Hypnotizing in the way its ethereal, glittery elements danced inside an almost gravity-defying space.

“I need... To get out... Of this damned suit...,” William explained. “I use this to heal what I can; you two can help me get more if needed. And then the real work can begin.”

Henry let out a gasp before he could stop himself. He'd never seen Remnant up close, and for that he was grateful. All the knowledge he had came from William's notes, abandoned in his study when he finally decided to try and flee from all the horror he'd created... and now here the man was, holding up a bottle of the shinning substance. The representation of all Henry had lost, and all he'd continue to lose until they put a stop to the monster once and for all.

“Is that...?” he began, brow furrowing as his eyes locked onto the jar. He would've taken another subconscious step forward had Michael not grabbed his arm to hold him back. Henry could feel him trembling, though Michael's face was set in a blank expression.

Except for his eyes—those held an unquantifiable anger, and Henry soon realized why.

“...No.” The elder man shook his head, his face crumpling into a mask of torment as he spotted the faded, ash-covered picture peeling off the glass. “No... That's... that's my girl, Will... Y-You still have... how could you?!”

He was starting to hyperventilate. He knew William had used some unfortunate child's essence to keep himself alive, but for some reason he just couldn't imagine it was Charlie's.

And to think he still had some of it just lying around, waiting to be repurposed for more of his sick games.

“Oh no...,” Michael muttered to himself. Their plan was quickly falling apart—not that he could blame Henry. He put a hand over his mouth, wrapping the other bandaged fingers around his wrist. It was an awkward gesture, but that's because it was a cover-up for something else. Pressing one of the side buttons on the Fazwatch, a near-imperceptible beep sounded from the little device as Michael spoke softly. “F-Father, don't pay Henry any mind; he's still living and doesn't understand the magic this can do. If there was ever a time to act, it would be right now.”

William clapped his hands together, concerned and confused by Henry's reaction. He carried the jar over, presenting it to him and Michael to take.

“I couldn't have said it better, my boy...,” William agreed, turning to Henry he told his friend. “I didn’t plan to use all of this, Henry... But sacrifices had to be made. After all, I couldn't bring her back if I was completely dead, could I?”

There was something about William’s voice that made Henry bristle. Despite the raspy sound, it was the way he spoke that felt too familiar. He'd always speak this way when trying to convince his friend to go along with his ideas. This calm façade was a reoccurring motif without Henry Emily ever even realizing it until it was too late.

***

Outside, in the woods, Gregory nearly missed the call as he begun to doze off. Luckily, Charlie had gathered the gas cans and roughly shoved him awake. "Gregory! It's time to move!” 

“—I'll start dousing the wall! You sneak inside and make sure Henry and Michael are okay,” he said, managing to lift two cans at once. When Charlie disappeared from sight, he took off through unkempt bushes and tall grass behind the property, the chill of the night wind already worsening Gregory's goosebumps.

***

Henry snatched the jar with surprising quickness for his age, cradling it against his chest as he reminded himself to breathe.

This isn't Charlie. Not really.

He'd found his daughter already, cold and pale—and dead—but still present. She wasn't even trapped in her old security bot anymore, free to roam the world like she'd never gotten to in her short life. Henry's grip tightened, clammy palms leaving imprints on the cool glass.

William was never getting ahold of Charlie again, no matter what form she was in.

“Father—” Michael began, redirecting the horrid rabbit's attention again. He swallowed dryly, air wheezing through his shriveled throat and lungs as those eyes rolled towards him. He offered a dull half-smile, reaching out a hand. “Henry will take care of the Remnant; let me help you out of there. Um... how exactly are we supposed to do this?”

William glanced down at Henry. Clearly the man needed a minute… Thankfully, his son was more eager to get some work done. It seemed like Henry’s mind may be slipping with his old age. Though if his theory was correct, William just might be able to restore his mental faculties with his discovery!

“The hand crank… Inserts into the bowtie and pulls back the springlocks,” William explained succinctly, making a motion with his hand like he was reeling in a fish. He gritted his teeth. “I can’t do it myself… Hurts too badly.”

“Right; I remember. You taught me how these things work a long time ago...” The smile that crossed Michael's face was meant to be wistful, but turned out as more of a hard line. He glanced around the office, searching for the mechanism in question. “Just have to find the crank, and you'll be out of there in no time.”

He gave Henry a pointed look as he stepped past him. Stay put; don't let your guard down.

William didn’t see anything wrong. How could he, when he was blinded by pride? Will looked like he was already doing better, honestly. Though getting out of the suit seemed to be his top priority, he did stop to muse: “Oh yes… That’s right. You and that little toolbox I gave you. You were so cute, helping me and Hen tune up the animatronics…”

Before Michael could break from him to look for said hand crank, William stopped him. He gently cupped his face and turned his son’s head, like he was inspecting a show-dog in a competition.

“This… Is my fault. Don’t worry… I’m going to fix you soon. Dad’s going to make it all right again, kid…” he assured, turning his head as a wet cough punctuated his sentence. Then, he clapped Michael’s shoulders a bit too hard before sending him off towards his collection of items in the safe.

The words were perfect. Too perfect, as if he knew that was exactly what Michael needed to hear for so long. Little did he know how much Michael had grown. He'd survived without his father, and the kind reassurances were no longer needed.

The revulsion Michael felt at William’s touch was comparable to when he’d looked in the mirror right after getting scooped. His entire body felt so wrong, and all he wanted to do was rip his skin off to escape the crippling sensation. He kept it together, though his eyes darkened as he was examined.

Michael knew the second he showed his true intent of not doing what his father wanted, it was all over. He’d be cast back out of William’s “good graces” like the useless thing he’d been perceived as for so many years. The zombie grunted as he was shoved forward with the force of William’s amiable pat, taking as deep a breath as his lungs allowed before looking for the hand crank.

Michael would then begin a slow search around the room, looking in every conceivable nook and cranny, muttering his false annoyance all the while. He was trying to take as much time as he could so their companions could drench this place. In less than an hour, hopefully the building and the murderous creature within would be nothing more.

“It’s over there, son,” William remarked, blissfully ignorant as Gregory circled the outside of the building with the second jerry can. 

“Oh—yes, I see it,” Michael responded at his father’s prompting. So far, so good—William seemed none the wiser to their plans, and even appeared content with the way things were progressing. As he bent to fish around in the box on the floor—and out of sight—he activated his watch again and remarked: “If all goes well, we should have you out of that suit in ten minutes, Father.”

The message was obvious: Gregory now had a time limit, and William was actively trying to get out of Spring Bonnie again. There was only so long Michael and Henry could stall without legitimately aiding his freedom. 

***

Hurry up, Gregory—hurry the fuck up!

Gregory was scampering every which way, tracing the outline of the building and splashing the walls. There was a strong smell pouring from the diner and catching with the wind. He smelled like a truck stop yet again, but the kid didn’t have any time to dwell on it. Gregory traced a line of gas in the grass and into the parking lot. God, he was shaking—

Charlie was waiting by the entrance, ready to bolt inside and save her family from the impending inferno. After the match was lit, Gregory tossed the flame into the amber liquid, smelling the lead and fumes pluming into the air. He was forced to take a step back as it spread quickly. Wind whipped around them and the flames greedily sucked up the oxygen.

On cue, Charlie made her move, dashing into the deathtrap in a beeline for Henry and Michael. She caught sight of the formerly-hidden room from down the hall, just as Mike stepped up to his father with a sliver of metal in his hand.

“We’ll have more time to catch up properly once I’m—” William stopped, ears on the top of his mascot head twitching. “What… Is that noise..?”

It was barely discernible from the ambient noise outside, yet William made out the distinct sound of crackling wood and plaster. Michael stood quickly, whipping around as he too heard the telltale sounds. He moved fast, giving the rabbit a hard shove as he rushed past to Henry’s side.

“I said I’d get you out of there, Father,” he remarked, ushering his harried uncle out the door. “I just didn’t promise it was the way you wanted.”

There was a sudden, violent shriek of rage as William realized he’d been set up yet again. Henry stared at the creature with wide eyes, frozen in place and still clutching that damned jar to his chest. He barely registered Michael tugging at him, wanting to say so much more to the dead man who’d ruined their lives. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak—

Until he felt cool fingers grasp his other arm, pulling him into the hallway.

Charlie.

Henry sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, turning his head towards William as he finally allowed himself to be maneuvered. His eyes were hard and cold, the rage of decades of heartache burning deep within.

“I did get better at lying, Will,” he said in a voice quavering with emotion. “I-I never missed you. I fucking hate you, and I hope the darkest pit of hell opens to swallow you whole.”

He sneered, locking eyes with his former friend. Then his fingers unclenched and the hold on the glass jar was released. It fell to the ground, shattering into hundreds of pieces and sending the last bit of glittering Remnant every which way, where was quickly soaked up by the floor—almost as if the building itself had been awaiting its final meal.

“Goodbye, Will,” Henry said, grasping the door. “Don't keep the devil waiting, old friend.”

And with that he slammed the door shut, rushing out of the worsening flames and smoke with his daughter in tow. Michael lingered back a moment longer, jamming a nearby mop against the handle and stacking random props in front of the room. Then he stood back, staring with clenched fists to make sure his father was going to stay put for once.

The springlocks hurt, impaled into bone and sinew… Though somehow, that pain didn’t compare to the repeated betrayal.

Why did William trust them?

Maybe it was the deep desire to be needed—wanted by those who used to love him. A controlling aspect that William lost long ago in the tragedy of his own design. As the springs locked up his muscles, he cried for the two of them.

“You BASTARDS—” William choked out. “How could…”

The words died in his throat, unable to hear them anymore beyond the locked door. Puddles of oil began to smolder and fume around him. For the first time in a long time, he felt the same fear and abandonment that he once felt as a child. A pattern he repeated unaware on the quilt of his life.

So this was how it ended…?

William knew the fire would destroy him this time around. He could sense it in his cracked bones. He was exhausted, hurting, and with the lingering drops of Charlie’s Remnant swallowed up by the oil-slick floor, he wouldn’t be able to salvage the last bits of himself any longer.

Thus, William Afton shut his eyes, unable to think of anyone or anything besides himself, Henry, and the son who’d finally bested him at his own game.

***

Outside, Gregory was making his way over to the entrance, needing to be sure Charlie was guiding them straight and true. When she and Michael reared their faces in the lobby, Gregory held open the door, its metal frame heating and cracking the frosted glass inside.

“Did you do it?! Is he dead?” Gregory demanded to know, still searching the corner for Henry.

“Not yet, but he’s getting there,” Michael replied, gesturing for Gregory to move away from the door. “Greg, you’re gonna burn your hand! Let’s go!”

And yet again the boy was scooped up by the zombie. This time though, instead of being dangled like a grumpy cat he was held in a secure carry, legs wrapped around Michael’s waist and arms around his neck. If Gregory had the brain power to notice such subtle details, he’d realize it was quite similar to how Freddy carried him in his original timeline...

But they were all too distracted—first by looking for Henry, then by yelling for him to move as he came huffing around the corner. There was a faint purple ichor speckled on his shoes, gleaming bright in the firelight. Thankfully, despite his gasping and coughing as the black smoke began rolling into the half-ashen building he seemed otherwise unharmed.

“He’s… he’s not following,” Henry wheezed, falling into Charlie’s arms and using her for support as they rushed away to the woods. “I think… he might finally stay down… this time.”

They wouldn’t know for sure until the smoke cleared. For now, all they could do was hide in the trees and hold each other close, watching the fire burn away the legacy of a friend, father, and ruthless killer.

Gregory felt like Michael winded him with how hard he plucked him from the ground, slapping embers off his back as the building burned around them. Behind them, Charlie kicked the door open further, causing a backdraft and flames licking at her father’s heels while she nearly dragged him from the wreckage. Once he got to his feet, she helped him bolt into a run.

Even over the roaring fire, Gregory could hear William. Muted screams of agony pure and deeply upsetting. Gregory never heard someone burn alive before; it was harrowing and chilled him to the center of his being. He stuffed his face into Michael’s boney shoulder, unable to speak as the screams were cut off, windows blowing out in a deafening boom. Its concussive sound echoed down the lane and made his grip on Michael’s jacket tighter.

Charlie helped Henry lean against a tree, the ample coverage from the brush good to hide inside of while she looked him over. He was wheezing, but he’d live—although the goop on his pants and shoes were cause for wary intrigue.

“…Is that glitter glue?” she asked, cutting the tension as well as asking a genuine question. Among the terror this had brought on, a silly image of William being glued to the floor by Michael and her dad came to mind.

“Huh?” Henry seemed confused by her question at first. Looking down at his dirty clothes, the glimmering purple caught his glassy eyes. “Oh... O-Oh, Charlie...”

Suddenly, it was all too much. Hot tears streamed down his face before he could stop them, and he pulled his daughter into a hug that would have suffocated her were she still alive. Michael didn't hesitate to join in, sandwiching Gregory in the middle of the huddle while he fell heavily onto Henry's shoulder, his own chest heaving with dry, shaking breaths.

It was over. They'd done it.

They'd won.

Chapter Text

It seemed this go-round, the watch was being a little generous with Gregory's time limit. Counteracting how it yanked him from the last world, it allowed him to stay until he made sure William was well and truly vanquished. Any second he expected to hear the telltale chime of an impending jump, but to his cautious relief it never came while they waited things out.

The group stayed in the woods for a good while, watching as the fire department came—not very swiftly, since they figured this place was just destined to go down in flames if another fire was lit so soon after the first. News crews followed, and only when the building was a blackened pile of soot on the ground with a few scorched support beams did Henry venture out to assess the damage. He walked straight past the cameras, his face a mask of concern (and free of tears) as he made a beeline for the policeman frowning at the smoking remains.

Gregory didn’t want to come out yet. Being around that many people after they just murdered William? No thanks; just or not, he needed a minute to decompress. This involved hiding his face in Michael’s shirt and cuddling against an unsure Charlie. Her father didn’t explain a single thing that happened inside, but the grip he held onto her with after the fact would ironically haunt her for the rest of eternity. Somehow, the sadness was more palpable than when he found her earlier that day…

“Sheriff—I ran back as soon as I heard!” Henry explained, finding it much easier to put on an act for the police chief than his former, zombified business partner. “I-I left my car here for not even two hours to go grab some food... what happened?!”

“Issues,” Sheriff Burke said, short and bitter as he read over the report. He didn’t look too happy to be up again, on the same call as earlier without much sleep wearing him thin. “You and your franchisee have some explaining to do… We found someone in there, Henry.”

A solemnness washed across his face, gently guiding Henry away from the crowd of EMTs and firefighters. “We’ve got Chip on his way. We’re pretty certain it’s the night guard. We don’t know when exactly he got in, but it’s looking like he might’ve inhaled a few fumes before they torched the place. He was—” A frown twisted the Sheriff’s mouth. “Well, it… looked like he might’ve climbed in one of those old suits and hid in a backroom. The body’s so torched, though, we’ll be lucky to get any actual ID…”

As Will learned the hard way, Henry was a better actor than he gave him credit for. He'd used those skills before on the murderer himself, and he called on them again in the wake of Officer Burke's wrath.

“W-What?!” Henry took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt in a worried fashion. He grimaced, sparing a look over his shoulder as a crew of EMTs dragged out something big and clearly heavy...

“Oh god...,” Henry breathed, shaking his head as he turned back around. “Yes, I... of course, I'll tell you everything I know.”

***

It was a painstaking few hours more before Henry was released from police interrogation. He'd filled them in on his apparently limited knowledge of this location, given it wasn't directly under his purview, and while some of the things he said were questionable when combined with the dead-eyed stare he'd slip into, there was nothing they could hold him on. With the promise to come to the station tomorrow when they potentially had some DNA information on the victim, Henry was let go.

He wasn't worried about them identifying William Afton, though. After decades of being bonded to that metal suit, any identifying features had long-since been tainted... not to mention whatever the hell Remnant did to his body on top of everything else.

The Fazbear founder made a show of getting in his car and driving away. However, he simply parked it a few blocks down next to Michael's, then backtracked to the woods to grab his family. Huffing quietly with the exertion, Henry made it to the trio and clapped Mike on the shoulder. “Alright, excuse my French, but let's get the fuck out of here.”

Michael didn't move initially, looking to Henry with wide eyes. “Is he...?”

“Gone. There's barely any of him left—just enough to identify that it is a body. The suit's completely melted, too; you couldn't even salvage a bolt. Still, I think I can assure that whatever remains is cremated.” He grimaced, looking away. “For extra security.”

Gregory was the second of their group to speak up. Frazzled and frayed at the edges, he leap from Michael's arms to grasp onto Henry's sweater. “Please tell me they don't think you did anything, right? Right?”

Gregory could deal with many things, like burning buildings and murderous robots hell-bent on ripping him apart... But the police were an entirely different story. Charlie had to pull him back to reality, keeping him from ripping Henry's sweater as she soothed: “Hey! Hey, it's going to be okay. My dad's the most trustworthy guy in town. Sheriff Burke wouldn't peg him as a murderer.”

“I just… I can't...” Gregory gulped. Eyes that seemingly glowed in the moonlight narrowed and then squeezed shut. William's screams stuck with him. Every moment of silence was filled with echoes that spoke louder than any words. He decided he needed to slump down, take a seat as Charlie rubbed his aching shoulder blades. In a croaking voice, he managed to finish: “—It's just a lot.”

“Gregory, I'll be okay,” Henry reassured, crouching down next to him and giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. When the boy lifted that ghost-like silver gaze, it was only to Henry's reassuring smile. “Like Charlie said, people around here trust me... for the most part. Me and Will—” He paused just the quickest second to clench his teeth. “—I helped put this little town on the map. And besides, even if I did happen to be around the scene of the crime for the second fire, I have witnesses to say I was nowhere near the first. They can't pin it on me.”

(And even if someone tried, Henry wouldn't allow anyone to take him from his family ever again.)

“I... can't believe it,” Michael said slowly, casting his eyes towards the ruined diner. Through the bushes and leaves he could still make out some movement, though it was far less urgent than before. A final run-through by police, and then the place would be slotted for cleanup and wiped off the face of the earth as if it were never there... though the memories would still remain, burned into the hearts of those infected by William Afton's ire.

“Gregory—thank you.” Michael was looking at the kid now, smiling softly. This small, feisty little guy truly saved them all from so much more pain and heartbreak than they could've imagined.

Henry's soothing voice was a stable rock in a sea of uncertainty. Gregory had briefly been worried about being taken away by the police if they caught the random, suspicious kid hanging around the scene of a potential arson. Though, for obvious reasons, that custody over him wouldn't last long with his teleporting watch.

But that raised another important question: why wasn't he zapping away?

William was gone. Henry promised that, and Gregory had no reason not to trust him. Was there other unfinished business to attend to, or was it just giving him a second to breathe? For now, he relaxed, gushing out a hoarse sigh and slumping his head down.

“You're right.” Gregory conceded. “Yeah... If he was alive, I don't think the police could stop him.”

When Michael thanked him, Gregory glanced up with watery eyes. Briefly, he felt like an imposter, but it faded quickly. He saved them... Or, at least gave them the resources to save themselves and avenge those who couldn't defend their lives all those years ago.

“Anytime, Dad,” Gregory sniffed. For once he felt steeled, tears that normally would fall from his eyes welded in their spots.

Charlie nudged her friend, nodding back to the car. “We should head back to your place, Mike. Normally, I'd like spending time outside. It's just not relaxing as it should be right now...”

“Agreed; come on, kid—” Michael stood, slipping his hand through Gregory's with a wider grin than before. “—I think there's another fast food stop on the way... if you're up for it, of course.”

Despite Gregory's obvious shakiness, his eyes lit up at the prospect of more greasy food to infuse his systems with. Michael laughed, squeezing his hand tight. “That's what I thought. Henry, you want to take Charlie and meet us at my place?”

“Sure thing,” Henry replied, returning the smile. He got to his feet, groaning with old age and aching knees, then hooked his arm through Charlie's. As the group snuck away from the small, milling crowd, Henry leaned into Michael and told him: “Get me a burger wherever you stop, will you, Mike? All the fixin's—it's that kind of night.”

There was no way they'd moved on from what they just went through so fast, but no one wanted to dwell on it here. Soon enough they'd reached the cars and piled into their respective vehicles. Michael watched Henry and Charlie pull away first, though before turning the key he looked to his passenger with a concerned crease in his brow.

“Hey—I know that was way too much, and I'm sorry you had to deal with our problems on top of everyone else's.” He spoke softly, with the understanding of someone who truly empathized with the sort of trauma Gregory was going through. “If... if you want to talk, I'm always here.”

But how long will you be, Greg?

The unspoken question hung heavily in the air between them.

Gregory had come to terms with the irrefutable fact that he had to suffer to be happy. Without it, his alternate futures would be bleak and dour. It would all be a shade of what could be, and something far too important for Gregory to simply give up. It was clear that he was just a kid, though. In all of this, he was so small in this interconnected web of calamity.

But he couldn't give up. He was the only one who could save them. Yet here he was, soul feeling like it was on fire not for the first time after witnessing the horror of it all.

“It never gets easier,” Gregory murmured in the quiet of Michael’s car. “I... I think I'm just hungry. I'll feel better when I eat.”

Air. He needed air flow. Gregory could still feel the flames licking at the sides of his face, even as he rolled down the passenger window as low as it would go. Although the baptismal of fire had purified the cursed property, he could still feel the wickedness that refused to leave.

Michael didn't speak as he pulled onto the main road. There was really nothing he could say. So he remained quiet and let Gregory work through his feelings—though he did offer a hand to hold onto if needed.

One Burger King drive-through later, Michael's car was sliding into a parking spot next to Henry's. The other two were still sitting in the vehicle, and upon spotting Michael they jumped out and joined the boys on the way up to the apartment.

“Oh, yes!” Henry exclaimed as Michael handed him a paper bag. Grease was already seeping through the bottom courtesy of the fries haphazardly tossed inside, but the sight only made Henry's mouth water. “I'm starving...”

Ending the immortal life of one's former best friend can really work up an appetite.

Gregory didn't know that there was a point in time that Burger King tasted really good. God, the pickles on his burger actually snapped when he bit in to them. Henry himself looked like he was going to cry from how amazing his own meal was. After Gregory was about halfway through his patty and fries, he begun to actually feel like a person again.

The healing begun slowly but surely, his resilience still bouncing back. Gregory was quiet, no longer shaking as he thought to himself. Before he could get too off-track, Charlie reached over and dabbed his nose with ketchup. This surprised him, pulling him out of his stupor to look the ghost dead in the eyes. Then, without a hint of effort, managed to lick the tip of his nose without breaking eye contact. This made Charlie snort, pointing at Gregory in a raucous laughter.

“PLEASE—” Charlie managed to gasp out, chortling as she held her sides. “—tell me you guys saw that? That’s gross!”

“Unforchunately, yesh,” Henry grimaced through a mouthful of fries. All semblance of table manners were gone as he dug into his well-deserved artery-clogger with reckless abandon.

“Greg, that was some talent!” Michael remarked, clearly impressed by the boy’s skill. A kid after his own heart… he could see even more how they’d get along in the future.

(And what a future that would be—a world without his father, where Michael could live his own life free of that evil, rabbit-eared shadow.)

Gregory managed to laugh, feeling emboldened by the reactions of those around him. He stuffed another fry in his mouth to compliment the dab of ketchup on his tongue. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises…”

He chuckled, nearly bumping his full, and frankly flimsy cup of soda. He carefully repositioned himself while Charlie boasted: “I used to be able to wiggle my ears!”

A humble brag to rival Gregory’s little talent. Then, playfully turning smug, she announced: “Now I can go through walls.”

Gregory rolled his eyes, tossing his fry wrapper at Charlie as a way to show his displeasure at her one-upping him. “Um, yeah, I could too if I’m going fast enough. What’s your point?”

All Charlie could do was laugh when the wrapper phased through her. She hadn’t felt truly at peace like this in DECADES. Hanging out with her father, Michael, and Gregory felt like old times. Even if Gregory was technically never around from the start, he fit right in as though he’d always meant to be there. They probably would’ve been great friends back then, she thought. Unable to contain her excitement for when she got to meet this wonderful kid all over again, she leaned into his side and rested her head next to his.

Michael snorted at Gregory’s sass, leaning into his other side and sandwiching the kid between two best friends. Henry watched it all with a gentle smile and glossy, proud eyes.

“Uncle Henry, you okay?” Michael had to ask. He was mildly paranoid the old geezer had suffered some hidden injuries and the fast food would send him over the edge.

“Oh yeah,” Henry reassured, wiping his hands together to get off some crumbles. “This is just the best meal I’ve had in a long time...”

Michael nodded, then without missing a beat said: “Huh… didn’t know you’d betray Sammy’s amazing Fazburgers so easily.”

“Ugh…” Henry made a face, playing along. Henry had told him about Sam’s most recent creation (and many more Faz-things) during their previous bonding time, much to Michael’s chagrin. “That boy might be a wiz at marketing, but a chef he is not…”

This prompted another laugh from Michael, coming from deep within his soul. Yes… right now, just like Charlie and Henry, he could say he was truly at peace.

It seemed like everything gelled now. The tension from before melted into something like domestic, carefree bliss. It was a feeling Gregory cherished, as he too missed what he had before embarking on this lonesome quest of his.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

ALERT: TIMELINE ON COURSE. CALIBRATING NEXT UNIVERSE. PREPARE FOR CONTINUUM JUMP IN 120 SECONDS.

Gregory swallowed, looking down to his watch with shocked eyes. There it was, the preparation countdown.

He… actually wasn’t ready yet. Michael, Charlie, and Henry felt so close to the ones he knew, and he felt torn again about leaving and restarting their friendship all over again. How many times would he have to reset, he wondered?

“Come on; just a little longer!” Gregory whined, knowing he wasn’t going to catch a break. Not now, not until his work was complete. Gregory leaned over and hugged the confused ghost. “Take care Charlie! You’ll fit in eventually, I promise!”

Then, quickly grabbing ahold of a ragged Michael, he pulled him close and rubbed a ketchup stained face against his chest. “Try not to worry so much, Dad! Just know that you’re good enough and I can’t wait to meet you again.”

Then, it was onto Henry. As Gregory stood to clamber over Charlie's lap to get at him, she gasped as he bumped one of the oversized drinks with his arm.

“Gregory, wait—” she exclaimed, eyes practically bulging when the shoddy cup and lid came apart, splashing him with sticky cola.

All Gregory could do was grab his wrist as the electric shock contracted every muscle in his arm up to his shoulder. With gritted teeth, he looked between the group and tossed up a peace sign in a final farewell, unsure of what was going to happen to him as the counter glitched, cycling through endless dates until it bottomed out at zero.

“Gregory!” Michael and Henry reached for him as one, but it was too late. Before their eyes, the boy that’d already cemented himself into their lives before he even existed faded away.

For a moment, all they could do was sit there in shocked silence. Nothing but a slow, steady drip permeated the air as the last dregs of soda fell from the overturned cup onto the floor. Michael regained his composure first, grey eyes swiveling between his family with a sad yet hopeful look deep within.

“We’ll find him again,” he reassured, leaning forward to right the drink and grab a napkin. As his hand fell in his field of vision, he realized he still had the extra Fazwatch strapped to his wrist. Letting out a soft laugh, he held it up for the others to see. “Oh, Sammy’s going to lose his mind when he gets a load of this… You think he’ll give me credit for inventing it?”