Chapter Text
Michael, for once in his life, managed to keep a level head.
He'd takened a deep breath once the fact was undeniable, then mentally went over any possible reasons for William's ubrupt disappearance.
Maybe William had somehow managed to sneak out past both Evan and Michael in the kitchen. He'd climbed out the window. He'd been thrown out the window.
Michael entertained the wonderful image of William being defenestrated for a moment. Perhaps William had discovered the secret of invisibility. He'd been abducted by aliens. Some higher being had taken pity on Michael and decided to give him a break for the first time in his life, and poofed William out of existence.
Ha.
As if Michael would ever be that lucky.
If he couldn't figure out how William had disappeared, he needed to figure out where to. He couldn't be anywhere in the house. If he was downstairs, Michael and Evan would have noticed. If he was upstairs, he wouldn't be in either one of their rooms, leaving only his own bedroom and his office.
Michael left the office, shutting the door behind him. He walked over to William's room, and knocked.
William's bedroom was a slightly less forbidden place than his office. When Michael was very young, he'd beg William to be allowed to sleep beside him. When Michael was a toddler, he, foolish as it may be, had felt safe around William. And, every so often, William would grudgingly allow him.
That had stopped as soon as Elizabeth was born. William would lock his room, to get his 'well-deserved rest', and left young Michael, who'd only just begun school, to take care of a newborn.
Once, Michael had gone to William again, and asked, no begged, to sleep in his bed. Elizabeth was fast asleep in her cot, and he felt lonely. School was strange, and he didn't understand how to make friends with the other children. It was all overwhelming for him. Michael had just wanted some comfort from his father. Instead, William had struck him for disturbing him, casually pushing his sobbing son out and warning him with soft, gentle words, calmly spoken as if he didn't just strike Michael across the face with enough force to knock him back, a stinging red mark left behind. William told him in no certain circ*mstances was he to bother William unless an emergency occured.
Michael's wails had awoken Elizabeth, and when she started up with him, William's face had gone blank. His calm smile slipped. Michael took it as his cue to get away fast, stuffing his fist into his mouth to stifle his own sobs.
This rule had relaxed somewhat once Evan was born and Michael needed to speak to William more often because he couldn't take care of both Elizabeth, and a baby. But he always made sure only to bother William when it was absolutely needed. Or when Elizabeth wanted something. It was easier to convince William to let them do something if he posed it as Elizabeth's question, a fact Michael used to his advantage numerous times while growing up.
Michael gave it a few seconds longer, then tried the door. Unlocked. Lucky. He opened it and peaked his head inside. No William. Michael ran a hand through his hair again. It felt soft, clearly conditioned. He remembered how vain he used to be, growing it out and taking the best care of it. And the stupid mullet he kept it in. Michael came across a glob of dried blood and remembered he hadn't washed his hair, just cleaned himself off a bit in the aftermath. He took his hand out of his hair.
Michael knew William couldn't just disappear. This was a problem. However, William had no reason to go after Evan just yet. And Elizabeth was safe.
So, like hell he'd pass up an opportunity like this.
Who knew when he'd have a chance to snoop about again? The plush was out of commission. William probably would build something to spy on them again, and Michael would have to tiptoe around it. He and Evan could only destroy to many before things became a little suspicious.
Michael headed back to William's office.
Now was his chance.
-
After a long half hour, Michael was forced to admit maybe William wouldn't have anything incriminating things. Yet. Michael's half-baked plan to turn him in to Hurricane's dismal police services quickly disolved. He'd searched the desk, read an open file on it. Budget plans for Fredbear's and Freddy's respectively. A fat stack of employee performance reviews lying on the desk. Michael leafed through it. Nothing interesting, other than the fact that William was considering someone for employee of the month.
He'd gone through the drawers, found a almost-complete crossword, and did it in his head. A six letter word for a female member of a religious order was sister, and a flower that means affection or absent was the zinnia, which were the only two missing terms. He didn't bother with the phone book. The addresses of everyone in Hurricane wasn't exactly something he could use. Michael lived with the only person who's whereabouts he'd be worried about.
Michael hadn't touched the mountain of cups, the scent of stale coffee lingering around them, and William would know instantly if he opened the letters. A few employee performace reveiws later, Michael was ready to tear his hair out. It was all decidably dull and boring, and not helpful in any way.
Michael jabbed himself on a letter opener laying under a sketch. It hadn't pierced his skin- thank god for small mercies- but still. Ow.
This wouldn't have happened if William wasn't such a pretentious arse. A letter opener, really? Couldn't he just use a butter knife or his fingers like everyone else? Honestly, it was such an old fashioned- Michael paused. It was the eighties. Letter openers were still in use. Michael blinked. He hadn't thought he'd experience a time-culture shock. Most of his life he'd barely been aware of the changing and ever adapting world around him, focusing on a past that refused to die. He knew some of what was happening, but forgive him if he didn't keep track of the lastest technology. But it was 1983, letter openers were still in use, and Michael was out of place.
Michael rubbed his hand, throwing the letter opener a dirty look despite the fact that it was an inanimate object. But Michael figured he'd earned the right to complain about superficial injuries. He wasn't even complaining about the big ones. And his whole body throbbed from earlier.
Michael was so ready for this day to be over.
Michael had memorized how everything was layed out and put it all perfectly back into place. William had sharp eyes, and Michael knew not to tempt fate. Fate already was clearly not on his side.
The was a filling cabinet just begging to be rooted through, but Michael was a little too wary. If William suddenly reappeared from god knows where, Michael would not have enough time to pack away all the files, in order, and close everything up.
Michael picked up a blue box, curiosity rising. He fiddled with the locks, sighing. He'd didn't have hope he'd be able to open it without the key, so he put it back down in the corner of the office it had been shoved into.
Michael sighed. What had he been expecting, anyway? A detained plan, writting in William's handwriting, explaining exactly how he planned to kill the children and step by step instructions on how to stop him? Michael scoffed.
He left the pile of mechanical objects alone for now, and stepped closer to the bulletin board on the wall where different sketches were pinned. None of full animatronics, but of various parts. A detailed drawing that explained how the walking mechanisms for the animatronics at Freddy's. One of Springbonnie's ears, and random ideas on how to improve them scribbled down. Apparently, William wanted to make them able to move, like an actual bunny's ears, to appeal to younger kids more. They were always asking to touch them, and being suprised when they didn't move, so William wanted to fix that. Michael imaging handing in that sketch to Officer Dunn. Here's proof my father is a child murdering manic! Lock him away, boys.
Michael would be laughed out of the station.
He then had another thought- was Dunn even an officer yet? Michael remembered dealing with his initially disbelieving and bored nature, which quickly turned into suspicious eyes and Michael nearly being arrested when after he set Freddy's alight for the first of many times. He'd explained that someone had broken in and done it, and that he, Mike Schmidt, was completely innocent. The only reason he was anywhere near Freddy's was to protest his termination, honest. Burning it down wouldn't get him his job back. His manager had called him a sh*te security guard. Granted of course, he wasn't wrong, but Michael didn't mention that to Dunn. Nor did he mention that he had been fired for tampering with the animatronics and odor. Odor.
Dunn would have to be in the police force now, he was on the younger side when Michael was forced to deal with him- Dunn was only a handfull of years older than him. In around... Five years time? Was that when he was scooped? He was fourteen now, and he was sure he'd been an older teenager when William had reached out to him to send him merrily to his death. But an adult. Nineteen, he thinks. Young.
Michael was busy closely examining a sketch of a fail-safe for the springlocks- finally something helpful, why hadn't he known this before?- when a metallic whine pierced the air. Droning, but soft. But Michael was on high alert.
Michael whipped around, heart thundering, eyes flickering around the room. He couldn't get caught in here. He couldn't. A faint creak, barely noticeable. Then the wall began to open.
Michael almost tripped in his haste to get out. He prayed to a god he didn't believe in that everything was in place, and shut the door without a sound. He placed his ear to it, listening intently, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Trying to bite down on his panic.
Michael risked looking through the keyhole.
The wall was open. Open. It wasn't a wall, he realized. A door. A smooth, flat door, pained the same pale periwinkle as the walls. Seamless. Michael could have been locked in the office for a year, and he would have never found it. A chill ran down his spine.
William stepped out of an elevator. His left hand were clenched tight around a red pen, turning white with strain. His right held a long rolled up sheet of paper. He had ditched the bloody, ripped shirt and equally bloody suit jacket for a more comfortable mauve bedrobe. It would be funny if it were anyone else. William slid the doors together behind him, and walked over to his desk. He dropped the pen there, stood still. William then went to the bulletin board, and ripped down everything stuck there.
Michael flinched at the sudden action, then remembered William didn't know he was here. Hopefully.
William spread out the paper, sticking it up to the wall with mintue pins, with the methodical approach of a butterfly collector pining their lastest prize to be examined. He stepped back, allowing Michael to get a good look at it.
A large working drawing of Fredbear, head circled. Inner workings exposed. Springlocks. Hurriedly scribbled words, in dark colour that didn't quite match the ink used to draw Fredbear. It was too small and untidy for Michael to read from where he was.
William grabbed a pencil, and began to draw over it. Michael stood up straight, pressed himself to the wall. He slowly slid down it, ending up on the floor, hugging his knees to himself.
His mind and heart seemed to be competing for a race, each going faster and faster. Michael struggled to make sense of what he just saw.
William had exited from the wall, which was not a wall, because it was a secret door.
William had a secret door in his office.
Michael's head felt like cotton. Was there such a thing as a delayed concussion? Had he been hit a little to hard during the party? That would explain everything he just witnessed. All a too vivid hallucination. A dream, just a dream, because there was no way any of this was real.
Michael hadn't been in William's office much. Just twice in his life.
The first time- he'd not had much chance to look around. He'd been... Preoccupied. It had been right after the party. Michael remembered not even being curious about anything inside. He hadn't payed attention. And it's not like he had much chance to.
William hadn't called him into his office for a chat.
The second time- he'd dragged himself home, hollow and empty, gaping holes in his flesh. A bloody, broken mess, some wires still remaining. Body screaming in pain, throat too damaged to vocalize it in anything more than choking, groaning gasps. Questions on his lips, answers nowhere to be found. Michael had sewn himself back together, fingers dripping with blood and a purple-orange substance. He'd placed a call. The man on the other end didn't pick up. Michael left an message, and went to find his own answers, in the one place he'd never stepped foot inside.
He had found many things. Learnt many things. Discovered his tear ducts still worked. But he hadn't found a door.
Michael saw Elizabeth peak her head out of her room. She caught his eye with a silent question. Michael hurriedly composed himself. He shook his head, ever so slightly. She bit her lip. Michael tried to smile to placate her. She gestured towards the office, then shook her head, beckoning him. Michael stood. It's okay, he wanted to say. Elizabeth wanted William, so he would at least try. Michael waved her away. Elizabeth looked worried, but took the hint and disappeared back into her room.
Michael turned back to the door. He pressed his hanfs to the smooth wood to stabilize himself, and peaked through the keyhole once more.
William had completely defaced the diagram of Fredbear. Overlaying designs and notes, messy and chaotic scribbles everywhere. Michael counted at least four different drawings of the head on top of the other. He couldn't make heads or tails of it- it was a mess. But William apparently could, hands pressed against the paper, pen trailing words that resembled hieroglyphics more than English. As Michael watched, he tried to piece together everything he'd just witnessed.
William had a secret door, which meant there was most likely a secret room in his office. Michael had found horrible things when he'd gone through the office after losing his internal organs. He couldn't imagine what could be worse, what would warrant being hidden in a secret room. What else might be in there. What else William might have done.
His eyes drifted back to the unassuming patch of wall where William had stepped through. Michael needed to get behind it. Michael needed to see what else William was hiding. Michael also still needed to ask William if he'd eat with them.
Michael tried to imagine acting normal around a dinner table with William after what he just saw. He failed. Dismally.
William sighed, almost frustrated. He dropped the pen on the ground, uncaring, and settled into his chair. He picked up the phone, and began to dial a number. Michael waited with bated breath, only for William to stop half-way through. He put down the receiver, and stared ahead of him, fingers tapping an uneven beat.
Michael gathered his courage. Snooping for much longer would only get him caught- William had always had an uncanny sense of knowing when he was being watched- and he wasn't learning anything more, after the bombshell that was a goddamn secret door. Michael raised his hand for a final time, and knocked. Short, sharp. Light.
"Coming, Michael."
Moments later, the door opened. Michael took a step back. Father stood before Michael, perfectly composed, for someone who was rapidly redesigning his unsafe robot in chicken scratch minutes ago, like a mad scientist, but with double the craziness and a pinch of child murder. His stupid robe only added to it. Michael's lips twitched. God, he needed to get a grip.
"What is it?" Father's dry, almost bored voice asked.
"Elizabeth wants to know if you'll be joining us for dinner."
"Oh? Pray tell me, Michael. Do you think I'll be joining you today?"
"Well-"
Before Michael could utter another word, Father cut him off. "An accident happened at the diner. Two children are in the hospital. You and my other son are covered in ugly bruises. Everyone saw you fighting those children. Saw what happened to that child. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Father paused. Michael didn't speak, knowing he'd be cut off again. "I have to make sure nothing bad comes of this... Incident. You wouldn't want the diner to close down, would you?"
"No, I wouldn't."
"Then, you'll have to excuse me, Michael. I'm trying to clean up the mess you made."
"But I didn't-"
Father cut him off again. "Was it not you that initiated the fight?"
"No, it wasn't."
"I find that hard to believe." Father stared down at Michael. Michael felt as through he was a butterfly, pinned down by Father's gaze. He wet his lips, and resisted the urge to clench his fists. Father wouldn't take kindly to that. And if Michael did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from decking Father in the face, which would only lead to bad things. Very bad things. "Are you telling the truth, Michael?"
"I am, Father. They approached us first. I did my best. I didn't want to fight them, and I definitely didn't want that kid to get their arm bitten off!"
"Are you really raising your voice right now, Michael?"
"Sorry," he bit out. "But I didn't start it."
"Nevertheless, you still participated. Are you telling the truth?"
Michael hated dealing with Father. "Yes."
Father was still. "I see," he said. Michael knew that tone of voice and took a hasty step back. He knew he'd said something wrong, done something wrong. Michael just didn't know what. Father crossed his arms. "Then tell me why, Michael, that I've heard you threw the first punch?"
Oh.
Michael did, didn't he? He was the one to stike first. To hit the teen who wore the Chica mask. By all rights, he had started this fight. He was the one to start the fight that resulted in Evan getting hurt. In a child losing their arm. In what may be loss of life.
They'd bled so much. How much blood did the human body hold? Michael didn't know. He did know that it was supposed to be on the inside. And that they'd lost more than enough to kill them.
Michael saved Evan.
But he also may have killed another child.
Michael could barely hear that William was saying. "I do wonder why you felt the need to lie to me, Michael. Do you regret it?"
"No." The short syllable slipped out, falling from his lips. It lay between them. Michael shouldn't have said that. He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. But it was true, he realized. He spoke the truth. He didn't regret the fight. He regret that Evan got hurt- of course he did. He regret that one of the teens had lost a limb, that two of them were hospitalized. That the Bite had happened.
He just didn't regret the fight.
Because if he hadn't, well. He'd come so close to losing Evan. And Michael may have thrown the first punch, but they had antagonized both Evan and himself. They'd lifted him, been about to bring him to Fredbear. They may not have struck first, but they started this.
Michael would do anything for Evan.
He didn't want to be a murderer- he didn't want to become like his father, hands dripping in blood, both red and human, and the molten orange lifeblood that led to the worst discovery a person could make. Michael didn't want to be indiscriminately killing, playing with the lives of others like they were toys, in great need of a goddamn straitjacket.
But he'd failed Evan once. It won't happen again. No matter what was thrown at him. Michael was going to be a good brother. If that came at the cost of him being a good person, so be it.
"Oh?" William reached forward with his hand half-raised and Michael backed further away. William stopped. "You don't regret it?" He sounded almost curious.
Michael swallowed. His shoulders tensed. "I mean-" he tried to backtrack. "If I hadn't then they'd might have, have- then it could have been Evan, or... S-someone might have died, or..." He tripped over his words, stuttering and stammering left and right. Which Father hated. Way to go, Michael.
"Might. Might have, might have not. I'm sure you can see why your actions weren't the smartest thing to do, right Michael?"
"Yeah."
"So why did you do it?"
It occurred to Michael that this was the interrogation he had been expecting earlier. Father had just been waiting. To spring it at him. Michael's lips felt dry again. "I had to, Evan..." He trailed off, fixtating on a piece of wall behind Father, not meeting his piercing eyes.
"Use your words. I am not a mind reader."
"I just wanted to protect Evan, okay?" Michael muttered miserably. "I just..."
"You know, if you'd done as I'd asked, then we wouldn't be having this conversation, Michael."
Michael shifted his gaze to the floor, silent.
"If you'd watched your brother as instructed, then your friends wouldn't have a chance to get to him. If you'd obeyed me, and not sought out those children as friends, then they wouldn't even be at Evan's birthday, Michael. If only you'd calmed yourself and acted accordingly. Then you wouldn't have fought those children. Then none of this would have happened. Doesn't that make this all your fault?"
"Yeah." Michael inhaled and exhaled, steady and slow, eyes flickering up to William for a split-second, before dropping back to the ground.
Father set his hand on Michael's shoulder. Michael jumped, not expecting it. He shrunk back, and stopped breathing. It was just resting, light. Not moving. But the proximity made his heart leap to his throat. "You keep speaking of protecting Evan. Why is that?"
"I don't want him to get hurt."
"What makes you so sure he'll get hurt? You seem awfully convinced."
Michael couldn't well say the actual reason. 'I'm from the future where I accidentally killed Evan in the exact same way the kid in the Bonnie mask lost an arm,' wouldn't go down that well. "I... I had a nightmare." Michael managed not to make it sound like a question, but just barely.
"You're too old to concern yourself with nightmares."
"Well, I did." Michael mumbled. Father's hand shot up and Michael gave a pathetic squeak when he gripped Michael's chin, lightly. Michael was blaming that on shock.
"Look at me." Michael made himself meet Father's eyes, faltering as he did so. "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, Michael, you will regret it."
Michael let his gaze fall to the floor. Father sighed as through Michael was an unreasonable irritation he had to deal with. His grip tightened around Michael's chin, raising it sharply, forcing him to look directly into Father's eyes. "Are you listening to me, Michael?"
"Yes." He breathed.
"Don't disturb me again today." Father released him, turned, and went back into his office, shutting the door behind him.
Michael stared at the white door.
He swallowed. Wiped his eyes, rubbed his aching jaw. Then turned, left.
He had to break the news to Elizabeth.
