wherever you go, wherever you are
i hope it's not too close, i hope it's not too far
i'll leave my window open, just in case you come home

Deal Casino

bangbangbang 

•••••

The canon timeline? NON FUCKING EXISTENT BABEYY THIS TRAIN IS OFF THE RAILS WEEWOOWEEWOO

it's MY lore now scott

  I couldn't explain the pull I felt when I saw the job listing for a management position at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex.

  It was magmatic, electric. The sight of it alone had my world grinding to a halt. It had the whispers of ghosts murmuring blocked memories through my ears. It was my nightmares personified, and yet...

  I wasn't even looking for a new job. I was comfortable being the team manager at a small little firm that handled bigger corporation's accounts. The pay was good, the location was close, the people... bearable, I supposed, if a little copy-paste and mundane. It was coffee with the team on Monday mornings. Drinks after work on Fridays. It was nothing to rave about, but still, as I said, comfortable. 

  And when I was done with work, I'd come home to my asshole cat, eat leftover dinner because I always made far too much for one person, and pretend that I wasn't lonely by reading books or watching movies.

  It was a steady routine. I liked steady routines. It was predictable and nothing could surprise me. I'd grown dull for sure, but at least I wasn't hurting.

  But when my eyes just so happened to land on the listing while lazily scrolling through my LinkedIn profile one thursday evening, I felt myself sit up straight.

  My cat, Mike, wound between my legs as I sat on the couch before biting the flesh of my calf. He was a sign, I would later think, to stop while I was ahead. I paid him no attention as I stared at the listing, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Magmatic. Electric.

  A conundrum of emotions had cycled through my body at that very moment, enough to have me feeling faint and teetering while the sound of the tv in the background slurred into incoherency. I'd tried my hardest from over the years to avoid any mention of the franchise (which was hard when all we had in Hurricane were two tumbleweeds and a Freddy's) but there I was, and there it was, engaged in a staring contest as I tried to keep my mind in the present and my head above the water.

  And then, as soon as the sudden wave of emotions had settled in a murky haze behind my eyes, I felt my hand moving of its own accord - clicking the listing, scrolling through the scarce information and moving to the Apply Now! button at the bottom of the page.

  The mouse hesitated over the cheery font as I did, a small wash of clarity fighting the haze from my eyes. This was silly. This was stupid. 

  You really haven't moved on at all, have you?

  My fingers lifted to rest on the cool metal of the locket around my neck.

  The pay wasn't even that good - a substantial chunk smaller than what I was getting at my current job, and it was an extra twenty minute drive on top of the ten it took to get to my workplace. The hours were worse, too. I'd have to work weekends and the occasional nightshift. I would be a fool to toss the towel in at my current job only to take up this one. A total idiot.

  It wouldn't help me forget what happened.

  In fact, it would do the total opposite - it would throw me right back out for the sharks, and I could already see myself breaking down into tears every night after returning from working in a place that reminded me so much of him, thinking to myself in my too-large of a house for only one person with nobody but my dick of a cat for company; why, why, why?

  No, I was stupid for thinking that I should apply. My therapist would berate me to the moon and back. My friends would call me crazy and say I'd finally lost it. My brother would be so disappointed. My mother would be so worried. 

  And yet, I had already linked my CV and sent it through.

  I pushed the laptop to the coffee table and stared apathetically at the thanks for applying, we'll get back to you soon! that mocked me from the screen. Mike sauntered off to probably ruin another one of my comforters, pissed at the lack of attention.

  I leant back into the couch and ran my hand through my hair with a heavy sigh. I was already regretting my decision and wishing to reverse time. This wasn't healthy. It wasn't good for me. I needed to stay as far away from that place as I could.

  I'd done so well for the past seven years. I ignored the adverts and the billboards that promoted the grand-opening of the Pizzaplex. I didn't spare the massive building a glance as I drove past it. I feigned disinterest when I had my therapy sessions.

  Why did I have to crack now?

  And a job? Really, Y/n, are you a total fool? What of your progress? What of moving on? What of living a normal life?

  I groaned and buried my face into my hands. Cry as I might, what's done was done. If they just so happened to like my application and called me up, I'd just have to backtrack and decline the position. It was simple enough to do.

  Besides, what were the chances that they'd pick my application? Pretty low, in my opinion. I didn't even bother with writing a cover letter. And I was sure that hundreds of people would be climbing overe each other to apply to work at the 'most rock and roll place on earth' that was comparable to friggin' Disneyland.

  I was comfortable with the fact that I didn't have a chance and wouldn't have to worry about it ever again.

  I pushed the Pizzaplex out of my mind and busied myself with my evening routine. I mentally reassured myself as I brushed my teeth that this was okay, it was just a little slip-up that could easily be remedied without even stepping foot on the Pizzaplex's grounds. I wouldn't have to go near it. I didn't even have to tell my therapist about it. 

  I was only human, after all. What was a little mistake? I wasn't regressing. This was not regression. 

  I spat out the toothpaste and rose to my full height before catching sight of the locket around my neck in the reflection. I stiffened as I stared at the offending piece; my most precious object, my most hated gift. I felt rage grow into a tight balloon within my chest and yanked the cord from my neck before tossing it. It hit the wall with a thud and fell to the floor, clasp broken and unthreaded. My neck was burning.

  I didn't need the reminder. I didn't need anything that would make me think of him. I hated him. I loathed the very thought of him. 

  I huffed through my nose and gave a strong look to myself in the mirror. Confident and bold. I can be confident and bold. I would care about him and the Pizzaplex no longer. I would rip them from my life. This was a new leaf for Y/n L/n. 

  But I spent the night tearily repairing the clasp.

•••••

••• twenty-two years ago •••

  Hurricane, Utah, was a small town to live in.

  I didn't know that at ten. To me, it was my entire world. It stretched on forever, it covered my entire earth. To me, everything was Hurricane, and everything in it was home. This hospital was part of my home. The sharp smell of bleach and blood was part of my home. The boy who sat on the other side of the door to my right was part of my home, even though I didn't know who he was. 

  He was crying. Loudly. Even with his head buried in his arms, his sobs echoed down the hospital hallway. Adults in white coats or blue suits passed by with hesitation and a side-long glance. Then they looked away, as if wanting to avoid the expectation to soothe a crying child. They looked away to ignore him.

  My father was in the hospital room beside me but I wasn't allowed in. The brief glance that I did get found him lying in bed and hooked up to a bazillion different machines, and only served to confuse me. They were blaring and loud as people rushed in and out of his room. How could he sleep with all that fuss?

  They weren't as loud as the kid beside me was. He was still being ignored, but I learnt in school that ignoring someone wasn't kind. Maybe that was why he was crying? I searched for something to start a conversation about - his grey shirt and tanned skin was stained and his black sneakers were untied. His brown hair was a tangled mess of curls. I wasn't able to see the colour of his eyes.

  At the boy's feet was a crumpled fox mask that looked like one of the characters from the diner on the other side of town. I'd only been a handful of times, but I recognised the beaming face of the one-eyed pirate. Another dark stain coated its cheek. I found my target. 

  "Hi," I said. His sobbing hitched. "I like your mask."

  The brown-haired boy looked up at me for only a second before glancing down at the mask with weepy-red eyes. With a sudden growl of harrowed rage that had me startled, he jumped to his feet and stomped the mask until it was nothing but a ruined pile of crumpled, stained card. 

  I watched quietly as he fell back into his uncomfortable hospital seat and resumed crying into his hands. The room beside him was quiet. Nobody was rushing in and out. Whoever it was in there must've been getting a better sleep than my dad was, with all the commotion going on.

  "I'm Y/n," I tried again. His crying was beginning to make me feel guilty. Why couldn't he stop? What was wrong? Was he hurt? If he was, why weren't the adults helping him? "What's your name?"

  He ignored me.

  "Why are you here?" I continued as I scooted my chair closer to his with my sneakers. I recalled my mom's words to my older brother as she spoke quietly to him one day when they thought I wasn't close enough to listen. "My dad has something called a liver failure. I don't know what that means."

  "It means he's as good as dead!" the boy snapped at me in fury. His teeth were gnashing and almost as sharp as the fox's, but that could have just been a trick of the hospital's flickering hallway light. 

  Tears immediately welled in my eyes at the shout. I pushed my chair away again with a screech of linoleum and pulled my knees to my chest. My tears soaked into the fabric of my pants.

  We sat in silence, both snivelling and sniffing while adults rushed past with barely a glance our way. The door beside me opened as a man in white hurried in with a sweep of his coat. A long, low beep came from my father's bed and I could hear my mother whimpering before the door slammed behind him.

  The crumpled mask remained on the floor, abandoned.

  "... I'm Michael," the boy finally mumbled. I turned my head and found his dark, teary eyes staring back at me. He looked defeated. 

  The door to the room beside him opened and a man in a mechanic uniform stepped out before I could speak. I just had time to curiously glance inside and find a small kid, younger than Michael and I, in the bed with a bandage wrapped around his head.

  The man slammed the door shut again and the sound made the two of us flinch. His frightening, pale face was twisted into a look of vehement rage as he glared down at Michael. It was as if he were looking at a particularly ugly bug.

  "Useless, stupid child," was all he spat in a poisonous snarl before turning on his steel-capped boot and shoving his way down the hall.

  Michael sunk in his seat with a crumpled frown. I watched him in teary confusion until the door beside me opened once again. My older brother stepped out and my attention was stolen.

  "Hey, squirt," he said with a watery smile as he knelt before me. His voice was thick and I wanted to ask what was wrong, but I was still confused by all this commotion that was going on and distracted by the terrifying face that man had pulled. "Let's get you home."

  He picked me up before I could ask what was happening or why he was crying and his arms around me were tighter than they usually were when he carried me. Over his shoulder, I found Michael staring at his shoes with a new wave of tears trailing down his cheeks. He had freckles. His eyes were coloured something dark.

  "Bye, Michael," I said quietly as my brother began walking us down the hallway.

  Michael didn't look up.

  "Bye, Y/n," he mumbled.