Tom Petty
••• I Won't Back Down •••

in a world that keeps on pushin' me around

but i'll stand my ground

and i won't back down

•••••

Fanart!!!!

Artist: Salix

Artist: paoslurs

Artist: ghosted_ari

Artist: Olive

Artist: zekudoge

TW: not smut but close to it teehee

••• thirteen years ago •••

"What is that you want to show me?" I asked curiously as Michael pulled me across the back lawn. "You know I hate surprises."

"Just a second, superstar," Michael chuckled with an amused glance over his shoulder. His smooth, brown hair bounced with each eager, hurried step of his. It sat in contrast to the bags that had taken permanent residence under his exhausted eyes. "A little patience never hurt nobody."

I released a breath through my nose as he dropped my hand and begun unbolting the shed that had, over the past couple of months, become his workshop. He spent hours inside, doors thrown open to air out the mustiness in favour for the equally humid Hurricane heat while I was at work. Then he'd go off to do his shift at Freddy's and almost die. A rinse and repeat routine.

"Okay," Michael said as he pulled the groaning door back with a grunt. His arms bulged from the effort, perfectly exposed and sculpted by his work shirt's sleeves folded into the crook of his elbow. "You know the robots that try to kill me-?"

"You mean the things that keep me up at night?" I interrupted. "Yes, Mikey, I'm extremely aware of them."

He shot me a dry look accompanied by a flick to the forehead. I flinched under the gentle tap and sent him a halfhearted scowl in response. The shed stretched open in darkness with no windows to illuminate the shadows - it looked like a giant, gaping maw, about to swallow Michael whole. Even the bright desert sun beating down on us couldn't alleviate the dark.

"I had this idea and..." Michael stepped back and offered me the first step into the beast's mouth. "Well, take a look."

I gave him a suspicious look before bravely stepping forward into the shed I never really did cross into before. Michael pulled a cord and a weak light audibly flickered to life overhead, spreading a subtle glow across the tool-scattered bench tops and the old couch that we'd just replaced.

And then, standing in the back and reaching roughy my waist, was-

"Bonnie?" I questioned in surprise. It was Bonnie, about a third of the original's size, all periwinkle blue and red cheeks and eyelashes. His green eyes were offline and dim. His long ears were flopped over. He even had his little red bow tie sitting neatly over his pastel stomach. "What the hell."

"Right?" Michael laughed as he bounded over to pat the robot's head like he were his child just coming back from a successful game of soccer. "A perfect replica, don't you think? Henry gave me the blueprints. I'm gonna build Chica next."

"Cool," I said as I stared owlishly at the bunny. "Fucking why?"

"Coping," was Michael's proud reply.

"Fair enough."

"I'm kidding," Michael chuckled as he stepped forward and pulled me closer to the bot by my hands. I reluctantly allowed him. "I'm kidding. He's kind of like a practise dummy while we figure out what to do with the possessed robots. You know, weak points 'n stuff. Henry thought it was a good idea."

And it was also definitely a coping mechanism.

"He's kinda cute," I conceded as I patted the top of the bunny's head. "Does he work?"

"No," Michael replied as he tweaked one of Bonnie's folded ears with a soft smile. He watched me kneel before the robot and explore its joints, testing the fluidity with curious fingers. It moved with ease. "Not yet. And he's not so cute when he's eight foot tall and gunning for your life."

"I can imagine," I mumbled as I traced the glossy shell of his cheek. My eyes jumped to Michael as he leant against the bench behind him, arms crossed over his rumpled, purple uniform. I tried my best to ignore the way he had rolled the sleeves up past his elbows. "So, this is what you've been doing out here instead of taking care of yourself, hm? I oughta lock this place up and hide the key just so you can finally get a decent night's sleep."

Michael rolled his hazel eyes. I picked up a discard wrench from the floor beside me and held it out towards him.

"I should knock you out for a good eight hours."

"At this point, I'd let you," Michael remarked with a dry half-smile. I dropped the wrench back to the concrete floor with a sympathetic grin and he nodded to the bot. "You wanna know how it works?"

My amusement faded as I sent the offline mini-Bonnie an unsure look. "I... dunno. I've never really done anything with robots before."

"First time for everything," Michael said as he pinched the tops of his tight slacks to kneel beside me. I watched, enraptured, as he expertly unlatched the arm's panels and exposed the endoskeleton that sat behind the robot's shell with deft, attractive fingers (how could fingers be attractive? I had no idea, but his just were). "Each joint has an encoder, which is this bit here-" he pointed to what would be Bonnie's elbow. "Sitting up tight in the modular joint. The encoder sends information to his CPU - the central processing unit, which is where all their programming is kept." Michael tapped the side of Bonnie's head. "Kind of like their brain. You with me?"

I nodded. He smiled down at me, a crooked little twist of the ends of his kissable, peach lips. I couldn't tell whether he was amused or appreciative from the wide-eyed look I was watching his lithe movements with. Michael just had a way with robots, I decided, running his fingers over the intricate parts like second nature. I always knew he had a knack for them and as he should, being an Afton (they may as well have invented robots with the way they were naturally attuned to them), but I hadn't realised just how good he'd gotten at it from over the years.

It was like he was a god, creating his little metal child like building man from dirt, like brushing paint over canvas, crafting life from nothing. The archangel Michael had replaced his father. And while William was in no way holy, I knew that I was prepared to worship at Michael's shrine from the second he stepped into god's shoes and devote my entire being to him. Benevolent, beautiful, kind Michael. My Michael. My angel.

"These guys run on a hydraulic system," Michael explained, pointing one sacred, tanned finger at a pair of interconnected poles along Bonnie's elbow, one thinner than the other. "See here? There's oil inside that helps lubricate the pipes so it can slide more easily."

Michael paused. His eyelids fluttered as he stared at the pipes beneath his hand, which had begun hovering over the metal as though he couldn't bear to touch it. It seemed that he had caught his breath for some reason or another. His pupils had slowly blown wide, spreading over the kaleidoscope of hazel like spilled ink.

I sent him a worried look. "You okay?"

Michael cleared his throat and nodded. His gaze remained on the endo's arm as he removed his hand to link them over his knees. His cheeks were pinched pink.

"... the modular joints on the elbows can rotate one-eighty degrees, and the shoulders ninety - same as humans," he murmured. I tore my concerned gaze from his face to focus back on the robot. "Uh... the, uh... motor is in his chassis, up towards his head. That... controls stuff."

Michael winced at his own botched elaboration as he stared at Bonnie. I tried my best to keep up, but his stunted speech and reddening cheeks had caught my attention in a vice grip that refused to let go. He looked incredibly frazzled - flustered, even - with his glossed-over hazel eyes and his unruly hickory hair... but he was just fine before.

"Michael, seriously." I turned on my knees to send him a look that showed he wasn't fooling me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine." He waved me off before stiffening when I snatched his chin to haul him back around to face me. His blown eyes flickered overhead, staring at parts of the wall.

"Don't lie to me. Are you sick?" I asked as I peered closely, trying to look for signs of ailment. The colour of his cheeks eased into a number of darker shades. "You look it. Do you need a couple of shifts off?"

"No, I- I just saw, uh... a cute girl!" Michael blurted. "I saw a cute girl earlier today and I thought of her."

I felt my heart sink, dropping like a heavy stone through water - slow, unyielding, weighty. It settled at the base of my stomach and it sat there, steadfast, hollowing me from the inside out like a tiny black hole. My hand slowly dropped to my lap and yet my brain screamed for my fingers to rest along the warmth of his chin again, to hold him. For just a semblance of comfort from Michael's physicality before me despite the harrowing words he'd just spoken. I gripped my fingers into my thigh to keep from following the instinctive desire.

"Oh... that's nice," I said as I tried and thoroughly failed at forcing an upbeat response.

I could hear it, I could taste it; the disappointment coating my voice like something bitter and thick, ensnaring each syllable and consonant in its gluey, miserable mess. It was cumbersome on my tongue, pushing it to the roof of my mouth when I swallowed back the tightening of my throat.

Again. It was happening again. And Matt's words from just a month before corralled itself around my brain, chanting, leering, scorning; 'what if he marries the next one?'

A tingling, overwhelming pressure began to build beneath my sternum and fog my head - the buzzing sensation, the slow overtake of uncontrollable emotional torment like a fucking tidal wave. And, as if sensing my emerging, festering distress, Michael's eyes shot down to me in a look of absolute dread behind the prismatic blue-brown-green of his eyes.

"I mean- no, that's not-!" he began in a fit of panic. He grabbed my shoulders; gentle, always gentle, but still fast enough to make me flinch, and fixed me with a desperate, wild look. "Fuck, I didn't actually- oh, shit, uh- forget what I said, it was a lie, I didn't actually see-" he peeled his hands off of me only to hide his face in his palms. "Oh, fuck me, why did I say that?"

I squinted my eyes at him, having trouble processing what was happening behind the murky, muddled emotions that had staked their claim in my head. "What?"

Michael dragged his hands down his face, pulling at the skin in a look of downright exasperation. He released his face and stared at me with a collected sigh through his nose.

"I'm tired," he said.

"Jesus, Michael, why didn't you just say so?" I chastised while still riding the waves of bewilderment. The last mere minute was filled with such emotional whiplash that I felt dizzy, like my head was spinning like a damn park ride. I stood with a scoff and a brush of my pants. "Go to bed, you idiot. I'll call you in sick for tonight's shift."

"I don't-"

"I'm calling you in sick," I snapped decidedly.

He stared up at me from his curled-up seat on the concrete floor, cheeks beyond the point of red, gaze roused and confused. I turned my head away so he couldn't see my own cheeks brush pink at the perfectly depraved look his celestial, archangel of a face had unintentionally twisted into. How could he share both the look of sin and innocence? How could he look so perfectly wrecked just by being tired?

I had a horrible feeling that I'd be seeing that exact expression in my dreams later that night. And I had a feeling that I'd have my hand between my thighs because of it, too.

Blushing furiously at my lewd thoughts, I fled back to the house in guise of calling up Michael's boss. I could feel his stare, latching onto me like a target, following me as I scurried away while inticingly vulgar, inviting images crowded my brain and caused my fingers to twitch with a need to do something, touch someone - most appealing, of course, being Michael.

I swept into the doorway of the kitchen and leant against the wall, cradling my face as ideas and visualisations that made me hot and wanting invaded my entirety and overwhelmed my reality. Just the thought of Michael staring up at me with that look on his face, with his hair so unruly and tangled and near-on sex mussed - it had me boneless, shaking against the wall upon which I cowered against. It had my soul tearing itself apart in rage at just how out of reach it was.

"Get ahold of yourself," I seethed in a whisper. I slid to the floor and hauled my knees against my chest with a certain kind of ferociousness - as though holding myself in a tight enough ball would eradicate these sinful desires for my best friend who I was convinced was an angel from my head. As if I could squeeze out the want for him to pin me to any surface and do as he pleased.

But it didn't work, oh, did it not work. Instead, my clenched eyes, my distorted vision, it just gave more precedence for the movie in my mind; of delicately running my fingertips down the curves and shallows and ridges of Michael's tanned torso. Of brushing the hip bone beneath taut, hot skin, following the line of his V of which I'd been oh-so-lucky enough to have caught sight of before. Of running my palms down the solid rolls of his muscular arms, of mapping the scars of his lifetime. Of his hands doing the same to me, blessing my skin where his fingers would touch, dragging lines of blessed fire down my nerves and sending me ablaze.

I wanted to do so much. I wanted to sit above him while this archangel of a man saw heaven - I wanted to be the reason he saw it. I craved for the look on his face as he did so, head dug into the pillow, or my desk, or his workbench; I wasn't fussed of the where, my only desire was to watch his eyes roll back to his head, to see him crumble beneath my touch, to reduce his vocabulary to nothing but crude, needy swears and my name. To help him forget. To soothe his fears and worries. To love him.

It was becoming so much.

I was going fucking crazy.

The backdoor swung open and I stood so fast that I saw stars. I all but bolted for the phone and pretended to be busy punching in the number for Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. I heard his footsteps falter at the entrance to the kitchen before, finally, moving on down the hallway.

I held the phone to my chest and released a shaky sigh. I had to stop thinking of him the way I was. I had to come to terms with the fact that he was destined for someone else, just as much as I was.

Fuck. I needed to move on. Who was I compared to an archangel?

⚡️🧸🤖🧸⚡️

It'd been a week since Michael revealed mini-Bonnie to me and, aside from the first botched lesson, he'd successfully taught me how to dismantle and rebuild his arm.

More often than not, however, I would find myself falling asleep on the old couch while Michael tinkered and tested. He brought out a blanket for me once, and now it just lived there.

I'd nap on that couch frequently. As soon as I got home from work, I'd shower and change into something comfy before hauling my ass out to the shed where Michael was more often than not doing something with all these robotic pieces he'd either built himself, nicked from Freddy's or taken from the scrap yard. He'd offer a greeting and I'd mumble something back before falling face first onto the pillow.

I found myself enjoying learning robotics. Or, more specifically, I found myself enjoying learning something that Michael was invested in. He'd get this intense look in his eyes whenever he spoke or directed my hands through the labyrinth structure of Bonnie's endoskeleton and we'd yell in triumph together whenever I got something right. He loved teaching me, and I loved learning from him.

And... then I landed a date with a guy I had met at one of my work's functions. He was in a different sector altogether, somewhere where I never traversed while lugging reports for my superiors, and he was... nice. Polite, certainly. Sweet and forward. He had a cute face, I supposed, if you were into that young-dad look. And I would've been, if I didn't go home to Michael as my unattainable second half every afternoon.

But this was a good thing, I was sure of it. I'd been on a handful of dates with other people from over the six years that I was hopelessly in love with Michael, and while none of them stuck, I was willing to try again. I couldn't keep living like this; waiting for a change that would never come, wanting things that I'd never get a chance to pursue. He didn't want morning kisses from me. He didn't want romantic evenings with me. It was time to find someone that did - it was what I deserved, right?

So, I agreed to the date when he, Caleb, asked me. He was fast at organising it to his credit, as it wasn't a day after he asked that I found myself getting ready for said date. Maybe the universe was on my side for once, because it came around so fast that I didn't get a chance to talk myself out of it. The only downside was that it was on a night where Michael wasn't working his shift at Freddy's. Those were nights that I usually cherished - we'd cook dinner or order take-out and watch movies and pretend that our lives were normal before he had to return to the place filled with haunted robots.

It also meant that I couldn't hide it from Michael. I didn't know why I was reluctant to tell him - it was only a date to test the waters, it could be the first of no more - but there was something inherently shameful about the chance of telling my crush that I was going on a date that could go miserably. I'd rather have the option to tell him retrospectively.

But, I didn't get that chance.

"You're dolled up," Michael noted from where he was laying on the couch with his ankles crossed and a book in hand. The sun had set and my anxiety rose with each tick of the clock. Michael dropped the book to his stomach and tucked one arm behind his head as he stared at me while I tried to clip a bracelet onto my wrist with one hand. "Where you off to?"

I licked my bottom lip. I was fully aware that I couldn't bluff my way out of this one; Caleb was going to be there any minute.

"A date," I murmured.

A rumple of fabric made me glance up and find Michael sitting upright on the couch, languid nature long gone. He stared at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"A date," I repeated. I successfully latched the bracelet and retuned my gaze to Michael. "You know, where two people are mutually attracted to one another and go out together to see how-"

"I know what a date is," Michael shot as he tossed the book to the coffee table with more power than he probably intended. It careened right across the surface and fell to the other side, but we didn't pay attention to the thump it made on the thick rug. "Why are you going on a date?"

I stared at him, baffled. "... because he asked me. And because I said yes."

Michael's head tilted with a truly confused expression, brows folded over his eyes and mouth slightly gaping. The doorbell rang and he leapt to his feet. His face twisted.

"Mike- Michael," I hissed warningly as I gave chase to the door. "Stop! What are you-"

But he'd already yanked open the door so suddenly that Caleb, with his pale skin and neatly combed blond hair, jumped. I squeezed under Michael's arm on the doorframe and sent Caleb a strained smile.

"Hey," I squeaked.

Caleb's blue eyes darted between me and the man-shaped ball of frustration behind me. He even had an expensive-looking bouquet in his hands. "Hi, Y/n,"

Michael's arm slid over my shoulder and he leant close to Caleb. I stiffened under his warm weight, enclosed fully by his presence. The silent tension was palpable, so thick that I was sure I could see the pretty flowers in Caleb's grasp wilting in real time. I went to reach for them in the middle of this silent gathering but the lion behind me spoke before I could.

"I'm Michael," he finally said, words chilly and clipped. I had to suppress a shiver from the piercing lilt to his tone. I could only imagine the look on his face if Caleb's shit-scared expression was anything to go by.

"... hi, Michael," Caleb said after an awkward clear of his throat.

"Why don't you come inside for a bit?" Michael suggested, except that it wasn't really a suggestion but more of a demand. I pursed my lips at his audacity. "Put the flowers in some water."

He didn't wait for an answer, instead tightening his arm around me into something firm so he could pull me around and lead me back inside. I wrangled my way out from his hold and sent a pissed look his way.

"What's your problem?" I hissed. He was usually protective whenever I'd go on dates, always wanting to talk to the guy and agreeing on a set time to get home before he could justifiably start to worry, but this was going into territory I'd never seen from him before. His dark gaze found me and I had to stop myself from finding it attractive - I was going on a date, and I was meant to be angry at him.

"I just want to make sure he's a nice guy!" Michael defended as he pulled a vase that we rarely used from the cupboard in the kitchen and began to fill it with water. "What, I can't make sure he's a nice guy?"

"You're freaking him out!"

"God, Y/n," he scoffed. He snatched the flowers from poor Caleb's grasp and shoved them into the vase. "If he can't handle me looking at him weirdly, then maybe he's just not worth it."

I raised my eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. He was behaving like a damn child and I couldn't figure out why. Caleb unsurely hovered in the entrance to the living room.

"You're being a dickhead," I scorned.

"I'm being a dickhead?" he echoed in disbelief.

"Yes, you are!"

"You know who's a dickhead?" Michael shot before pointing at Caleb without giving the respect to look at him as he did so. "That guy, for even thinking he's close to being in the same league as you. He's being a dickhead."

"I- I'm right here," Caleb spoke up.

"Shut up," Michael and I snapped at him in tandem before resuming our bicker.

"Well, at least Caleb's favourite show isn't about a stupid vampire that won't pay for child support!" I exclaimed.

"The Immortal and The Restless is a quality piece of entertainment and you watch it with me every Friday night without fail so your point is invalid!" Michael shot back with a finger to my chest. "Do you even know what his favourite show is? Do you know anything about him at all?"

I faltered. Fuck - he caught me on that one. I sent Caleb a look. He was leaning against the living room wall with a tired expression on his face as he stared at the hardwood floor while waiting for our spat to be over. He didn't look pleased. I couldn't blame him.

"Hey, Caleb," I began, catching his attention. He raised an annoyed gaze to me. "Real quick; what's your favourite show?"

"Uh," he began in flustered weariness. "Cheers, I guess."

"See." I pointed at Caleb as I gave Michael a look. "At least he has taste."

"I have better taste than him!"

"I- I can just go," Caleb suggested with a thumb over his shoulder. "We can rain check."

"Good idea," Michael agreed as he shot him a sadistic smile. "Rain check for never and don't speak to Y/n again."

"Oh, my god, you're being ridiculous!" I burst. "No, Caleb, we're leaving right now."

"Fine!" Michael snapped.

"Fine!" I shrieked before spinning on my heel and grabbing Caleb by the arm. "Let's go."

Michael watched as I dragged Caleb towards the door and pulled it open hard enough for it to rebound against the wall. I sent Michael one last shitty glare over my shoulder before faltering at the sudden change in expression on his face.

He looked somber. Disappointed. Sad. I felt my heart give a sudden ache at the look of him, standing alone in the entrance to the kitchen. But I reminded myself that I was angry with him and his attitude and shut the door behind us.

"Well, he's an asshole," Caleb muttered as soon as we stepped outside and headed towards his car.

I couldn't give a response. And while the date went alright (a simple dinner and chat at one of Hurricane's better restaurants) I couldn't shake the downcast look on Michael's face as he watched me go. He pissed me off to no extreme, behaved completely dickish and like that of a child getting his favourite toy taken away, but that one look had me distracted and sullen.

What the hell was his problem? Ever since we moved back to Hurricane he'd been acting strange, but this one took the fucking cake.

Caleb wisely stayed away from any topic of conversation pertaining to my irate roommate. And it... it was dull. After the excitement of the evening with Michael acting like a rabid dog whose territory had been invaded, the rest of the evening just went by slowly. Caleb, while nice, wasn't really into anything that interested me. Our chats went no further than talking about people we didn't like at work or how Hurricane was surely getting smaller or how house prices were rising.

It was mundane. I was bored out of my mind.

It got worse when Caleb walked me back to my front door after dropping me off at home. Clearly, Michael must've heard the car pull up, as he yanked open the door as soon as we stepped onto the porch.

He also must've been in the middle of a shower, because all he had on was a fucking towel. Water still dripped down his hot skin, tracing wet lines over the same ridges and curves of his abs that I wanted to run my fingers down, collecting at the fabric that hung loosely around his waist. Just one easy little tug and he'd be buck-ass naked. He stared at us, unabashed in his exposed body, eyes darting from Caleb to I.

"Oh, my god." I dropped my head into my hands in a fucked combination of desire and embarrassment. "Michael-"

"I'm gonna go," Caleb abruptly decided. "It was a... nice night, Y/n. I'll see you around."

I sent him a defeated smile. "Bye, Caleb."

When Caleb's car pulled away from the curb, I shoved past the quiet Michael. He shut the door behind me and followed me down the hallway. I split off to the bathroom to begin taking off my makeup and get ready for bed. He turned into his room to get changed.

Michael, dressed now in only grey sweatpants, leant against the doorframe of the bathroom while I scrubbed my skin clean.

"How was your date?" he asked. I glanced at him in the reflection, mentally slapped myself for almost drooling over his bare torso, and tore my eyes back to my face.

"... it was fine," I murmured. It was boring. I wish it was you. "How was your night?"  

"I'm sorry."

My eyes drifted back to his reflection at his outburst. Michael shifted awkwardly, staring at the floor with a guilty frown. I sighed and finished cleaning my skin.

"You're special to me, y'know?" he continued, sounding genuinely apologetic. My heart fluttered. "When I saw you with him, I... fuck, Y/n, I just want you to be happy. I want you to... date someone that you'll fit well with."

My eyes jumped to Michael. His cheeks were pink as he stared reprehensibly down at the tiled floors of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. He was right, though, in his own way - Caleb and I didn't gel well together. If I was already bored then it wouldn't be fair to lead him on by asking for another date.

"I know you do," I murmured. I turned around to face him properly and leant back on the sink. My hands found the ceramic and I soaked into the chill - my clammy skin was uncomfortable. "But I have to make these kinds of decisions for myself, too. I can't just wait for someone who ticks all my boxes to arrive on the doorstep one day. That person doesn't exist."

He does exist. He's you.

Michael exhaled through his nose. "I know."

"I appreciate you looking out for me," I said with a small smile. "But seriously, don't do that again. You have a bad habit of protecting me too much."

He sighed. "I do."

I stared at his face as we stood in silence, waiting for the other to break it and speak. I didn't realise that I was watching his biceps flex with each unsure shift of his crossed arms until I felt the growing tension burst and pour over us like sand. I snapped my gaze to his face which still staring at the floor in guilt.

"Wanna watch the Immortal reruns?" I asked. His hazel eyes jumped to me and, finding my forgiving expression, a small grin tugged at his lips.

"I'll make the popcorn," he brightly agreed. I huffed in gentle amusement at his turn of mood - his happiness was contagious.

"Alright," I nodded. "I'll get changed into my pyjamas."

Michael eagerly darted off down the hallway in all his bare-torso glory, overjoyed by the idea of watching our favourite show together - even if it was of episodes that we'd seen a hundred times before. I listened to him slam the microwave door shut for the popcorn and the television click on.

I closed my eyes. Hopeless. I didn't know if I was calling myself that, or Michael, or the both of us combined.

⚡️🧸🤖🧸⚡️

"I don't know if I wanna do this," I said nervously as I stared at the pizzeria.

"You don't have to go in," Michael reassured as he turned off the car. "Henry just wants to do a quick check of the animatronics and discuss some theories. We won't be too long."

"Uh, no, thank you," I said. I sent the Freddy's logo of a smiling bear a disgruntled look. "I'm not letting you go in there alone when you don't have to."

Michael released an amused huff and swiped a hand over my hair. I gave a dramatic grimace.

"Let's go then, superstar."

Henry was already inside the closed pizzeria with Charlie. The young teen had her nose stuck in a book as she lounged at a booth while her father had his head stuck inside Freddy's stomach as he adjusted his endoskeleton. Both Emily's glanced up at the sound of us entering.

"Mike!" Charlie dropped her book without care and bounded in for a hug. Michael oof'd under her strength and playfully wrapped his arms around her so tightly that she squeaked in his shirt. Charlie pulled back and sent me a bright grin before barreling into me like the damn cannonball she was.

"Hey, Char," I giggled. She stepped back when her father approached, sending us that warm, genial smile of his as he wiped his dirty hands on the rag tucked into his belt.

"Hey, kids," Henry greeted with a tired kind of disposition. He gestured to the booth that Charlie was sitting at from before. "Would you like some pizza?"

"Yes!" Charlie said. "I'm hungry! You've been making me wait for ageees!"

"You're always hungry, stinker," Michael snickered as he pinched her cheek. She swiped him away with a loud howl and a swish of her brown ponytail. Henry chuckled.

"Okay, Charlie," he soothed his daughter with a grin. "Go get the pizza from the kitchen. You know how to make it."

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, already halfway out the door.

"I'm surprised the new owners let you in here during closing hours," Michael remarked once Charlie had disappeared and begun making a ruckus in the diner's kitchen. Michael shrugged off his old leather jacket and dropped it on a seat.

"Nobody knows these bots like I do," Henry chuckled. "We have an agreement. It's how I got you the job. Let's sit."

While Henry and Michael took a seat in the booth Charlie had chosen,  I stayed in my spot in the middle of the diner's main floor, staring at the animatronics. I hadn't visited Freddy's often - only a number of times that I could count on one hand from my entire lifetime, but this was the first time visiting the place after finding out about the possessions. And staring at the animatronics, watching them watching us with their dead, glassy eyes as they stood offline on their little stage...

It was unnerving, to say the least.

At least mini-Bonnie was small.

But I noticed that the longer I stared at them, the more solemn I felt, the bigger this ball of sadness bloomed in my chest. There was this kind of gloominess, an agony, that hung around the robots like a cloud of fog. Those kids didn't ask for this; they didn't want their souls to be trapped in these robotic prisons. If it was up to them, if they were strong enough and old enough to fight William off, they'd be finishing off their last couple of years at middle school or beginning high school. They'd be doing sports, extracurricular activities, investing in art skills. They'd have friends, birthdays, Christmases.

They'd have a chance at a future that was so cruelly stolen from them by a man with a deranged smile and a murder weapon. But seeing the bots in person, seeing the possessed entities that those kids were trapped in - it just made everything so much more harrowing.

I hadn't realised that I'd stepped up and onto the stage until Michael worriedly called my name. I ignored his call and instead held Freddy's cheek, his red cheek, and stared at his unmoving, dimmed blue eyes that towered above me like a despairing statue. And it hurt. My chest ached for the youth inside of him, for the soul that found no solace. They were barely kids when declared missing and then dead. Only just breaching childhood from their toddler years. They were wronged so horrifically.

"Y/n, please." It was Michael, watching me from the floor before the stage. "They're dangerous."

"They're just kids," I whispered. I turned back to Michael with an expression that I was sure was a window straight to my broken heart. "How could he..?"

"I don't- I don't know," he breathed with an equal amount of sorrow. He held out a hand for me. "But you gotta get down from there, please."

I spared Freddy one last look before pulling my hand off of his cheek and slipping it into Michael's. He steadied me as I hopped down, hands lingering a touch too long on my waist for me to ignore, before turning back to Henry.

The old man quickly glanced away. But when we slid into the booth, Henry shot me a look with raised brows, something that told me he also noticed the waist hold or the way Michael spoke to me so softly, or the way I looked at him like he was the only thing worth seeing.

I tucked my chin into my shirt and avoided his gaze. Charlie returned with a steaming hot pizza and toppings decorated to look like a bunny. She always did have a soft spot for bunnies.

I tuned out most of the conversation as Henry, Charlie and Michael shared theories as to why the children's souls found themselves trapped inside the animatronics and ideas on how to release them. Charlie had taken to listening to a radio station all about ghost hunting. Henry had all but wiped the local bookstores of books on ghosts and the paranormal. Michael was looking into the mechanic side of things, finding out what could possibly release them from the robot bodies.

I was too busy glancing at the band of robots, or flicking my eyes to the Pirate Cove area where I knew a white and pink fox was hiding from sight.

My head whipped back around to the group, eyes wide.

"Why don't you just ask them?" I said, cutting off conversation. Three pairs of eyes held their attention on me. "Ask them how they died or where their bodies are. It might give us a clue as to how they're possessing the robots."

"These robots have pre-recorded sentences only," Henry explained with a shake of his head. "It doesn't matter what they want to say. Their bodies can't do it."

"Yeah, but what if you gave them a selection of words to choose from, so they can build their own sentences?" I suggested as I eagerly leant in. "Surely they're sentient enough to do that, right? I mean, that's what I'm getting from you guys. You'd just have to put it on a chip or something."

"Like a voice bank?" Charlie piped up through a mouthful of pizza.

"Yeah!" I nodded. "Maybe then we could... try and hold a conversation? Let them know that we're just trying to help them out. Make sure they know that Michael isn't William."

Henry reclined back into his seat with a thoughtful look on his face. Michael tapped his finger on the table as he contemplated the idea. Charlie chewed on her pizza.

"... that could work," Michael realised. His eyes jumped to Henry's. "A removable chip. It would be difficult to calibrate it to their pre-existing CPU but it's doable."

"It's worth a shot," Henry agreed. "I'll draw up some plans tonight."

When we left the pizzeria some time later, Michael held the door for me. I glanced back at Freddy, centre stage, mic in hand, and it seemed as though the dimmed eyes of the band stared back at me.

Michael's hand found the small of my back and I pleasantly shivered under the ghost of his barely-there touch. He gave me a somber smile when I glanced up at him.

"Let's go home, sweetheart."

So the doors closed behind us, shutting Freddy and his band inside.