Mary.
----------------------------------------
Mary had no idea what happened last night.
Which was not great, considering she had just woken up with the worst hangover of her life.
Her head throbbed, her mouth tasted like she had eaten sand for hours, and she was pretty sure she had a bruise from either falling or existing too hard.
She groaned, rolling over.
Bad idea.
The sudden movement made her stomach lurch, and for a terrifying second, she thought she was going to vomit right then and there.
She swallowed thickly.
Okay. Don’t puke. Just… move slowly.
It took her far too long to sit up.
Her room was a disaster—her shoes were kicked off in two different corners, her jacket was half-on, half-off the bed, and there was a single sock hanging from her lamp.
She had no memory of this.
“…Shit.”
After managing to drag herself out of bed, Mary stumbled to the bathroom.
She got a look at herself in the mirror and immediately regretted it.
Her hair? A mess.
The little makeup she bothered to put on? Absolutely ruined.
Her eyeliner was half-smudged across her face, making her look like a raccoon who had been through a divorce.
She groaned but didn’t bother fixing it.
Instead, she slowly made her way to the kitchen, barely functioning as a human being.
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Her dad was already sitting at the table, sipping his coffee.
Michael was there too, leaning against the counter.
Mary didn’t register either of them.
She zombie-walked straight to the fridge, pulled out a milk carton, and started drinking directly from it.
Then—
A loud choking noise.
She froze mid-sip.
Slowly—very slowly—she turned.
Her dad was red in the face, coughing into his coffee mug.
Michael just raised an eyebrow.
“…What?” Mary croaked.
Tom cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
His tone said otherwise.
Michael smirked. “Good morning to you too, Schmidt.”
Mary blinked at him.
She processed.
Then she realized.
Oh my God, Mike is in my kitchen.
She nearly choked on the milk.
Michael, not noticing her panic, started talking.
“Kelly called me last night,” he explained. “You were completely wasted, and she didn’t have your dad’s number and you were too drunk to give it, so I had to pick you up.”
Mary, still recovering from the shock of seeing him, was only half-listening.
The other half of her brain was going places.
Bad places.
Wait. He took me home. Did he—?
Did we—??
OH GOD DID I SAY ANYTHING STUPID—
Her face went red.
Her dad, not saying a word, just took a very loud sip from his coffee.
Michael blinked at her.
“…You okay?”
Mary, still red, muttered, “Fine.”
Michael frowned. “You sure? You look—uh—kind of—”
Dad took another slow sip.
Michael shrugged. “—red in the face. You still drunk?”
Mary nearly died on the spot.
She needed to leave.
Now.
“I—uh—I need a shower,” she blurted out, practically running out of the kitchen.
As she ran she could hear Micheal ask. “…Did I say something?”
“No, son,” Her dad replied. “She’s just realizing things.”
----------------------------------------
The shower was cold.
Mary needed it to be cold.
She stood under the water, hands braced against the wall, letting it wash over her.
Her face was still warm.
Because Mike.
Mike had taken her home.
Mike had stayed the night.
Mike had—
“NOPE,” she said out loud, shaking her head.
She needed to think about anything else.
Literally. Anything else.
She thought about work.
She thought about her stolen car.
She thought about—
The factory.
Blood.
Screaming.
Her fault.
She sucked in a breath, eyes snapping open.
Her stomach turned.
No.
Not thinking about that.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And, unfortunately, her brain went right back to Mike.
She groaned.
“…Goddamn it.”
Maybe thinking about him wasn’t the worst thing.
At least that didn’t make her want to throw up.
She sighed.
Then—reluctantly—she let herself relax.
Just for a moment.
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Mary had been through a lot in her short life.
She had survived childhood trauma, killer animatronics, and working retail which was somehow worse than the previous two things.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared her for having breakfast with Michael after getting drunk last night.
She sat at the kitchen table, poking at her food, while her dad and Mike had a perfectly normal conversation about motorcycles like this was a normal day for them.
“Runs pretty well,” Mike was saying, taking a bite of toast. “Got it from my boss. It’s an old model, but I keep it in good shape.”
Tom nodded approvingly. “And you got your license, yeah? Or do I need to call the cops?”
It was a joke.
A normal dad joke.
But then—
“Nah,” Mike said casually. “I’m seventeen and I got it before that.”
Mary froze mid-chew.
Her entire brain was short-circuited.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I had bad thoughts about an underage guy.
I am going to jail.
Again.
Mary didn’t hear the rest of the conversation.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
That’s it. I’m done. Game over. It’s over for me. I’ll be a prison cautionary tale.
“This is what happens when you drink, kids. You flirt with a minor and get arrested.”
She was already mentally preparing for court when—
"Yeah, my birthday’s next month.”
Her brain screeched to a halt.
Wait.
So that meant—
In one month, this entire crisis would be irrelevant.
Mary took a deep breath, feeling a weird sense of relief.
Then she immediately panicked about that too.
Why did that stop my panic? Why does that make me feel better? What the hell is wrong with me?
She shoved more eggs into her mouth to distract herself.
“Oh by the way Mary,” Mike continued, completely unaware of Mary’s full-blown existential crisis, “I told the boss about the sabotage theory.”
Mary choked on her eggs.
She coughed violently, grabbing her water. “You what?”
Mike blinked. “Uh. Told Karl.”
Mary groaned, rubbing her face. “Oh my God—I should’ve done that too.”
Mike frowned. “You didn’t?”
Mary scowled. “I had the CEO right there, and I didn’t say a damn thing.”
“Mary.”
She froze.
Dad’s voice was stern.
“You had a panic attack,” he said firmly. “You weren’t in the right headspace to be worrying about sabotage theories.”
Mike’s entire demeanor shifted.
“…Wait,” he said slowly. “You had a panic attack?”
Mary winced.
Shit.
She hadn’t wanted him to know.
She had barely wanted her dad to know but the CEO just had to tattle.
Mike’s brows furrowed, and suddenly, he had this subtle tension in his shoulders.
A quiet shift in his expression.
Like he was mentally re-evaluating everything.
Like he was going to be paying more attention.
Mary didn’t know why, but that made her feel…
…better.
Dad watched the two of them.
He sighed and muttered under his breath, “I need to apologize to dad.”
Mike glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Dad said, sipping his coffee.
Mary just narrowed her eyes.
She did not believe him.
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As the conversation and breakfast wrapped up, Dad casually said, “You know, Freddy’s is closer to our house.”
Mike looked up. “Uh. Yeah?”
Dad nodded. “And since you’ve got a night shift tonight, you’d probably want to avoid running around all day and tiring yourself out.”
Mike frowned slightly, considering it.
Mary realized what her dad was doing.
He was making sure Mike stuck around longer.
And it worked.
Mike sighed. “I mean… yeah, that makes sense.”
Tom grinned.
Mary sighed.
And just like that—
Mike wasn’t going anywhere.
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Mary was very quickly learning that Michael´s animatronics were just as much of a pain in the ass as hers.
They sat in her room, leaning against opposite ends of the bed, talking like Dad and his war buddies comparing battle scars.
“Blank,” Mary said, pointing at Mike for emphasis, “is a menace.”
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Blank?”
Mary groaned. “Big-ass animatronic, kids can draw on him. Every single night, he tries to break my goddamn office window.”
Mike snorted. “What, does he want to file a complaint?”
“Apparently,” Mary muttered. “Every time I hear that banging sound, I want to scream.”
Mike chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah? Well, at least you have a window.”
Mary blinked. “Huh?”
Mike leaned forward, grinning. “My office? No doors. Remember?”
Mary stared. “How are you not dead?”
Mike sighed. “A Flashlight and A Prayer.”
Mary laughed, actually feeling bad for him. “Jesus. What do you do when the animatronics come after you?”
“Freddy mask.”
“…And that works?”
Mike shrugged. “Most of the time.”
Mary narrowed her eyes. “Most?”
Mike sighed dramatically. “Foxy.”
Mary tilted her head. “The pirate?”
“The very same.” Mike rolled his eyes. “He just sprints down the hallway. No mask works. No doors to shut. Only thing that slows him down is flashing my light in his face.”
Mary blinked.
Then she laughed.
“Mike,” she said, wheezing, “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Mike grinned. “You’re telling me.”
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After spending way too long roasting their respective animatronics, Mike asked, “Alright, you got a favorite?”
Mary didn’t even have to think. “The Penguin.”
Mike blinked. “The what?”
“The Penguin!” Mary grinned, sitting up. “Little guy. Serves as a waiter during the day. He just rolls around, carrying trays, looking adorable.”
Mike stared. “…You have a penguin waiter?”
Mary nodded enthusiastically.
Mike sighed. “Man, I got stuck with Balloon Boy.”
Mary chuckled. “Sucks to be you.”
Mike smirked. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Who’s your least favorite?”
Mary didn’t hesitate. “Blank.”
Mike laughed. “Called it.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “What about you?”
Mike leaned back, thinking. “Might sound weird, but… the Marionette.”
Mary’s smile dropped.
Her stomach twisted.
“I know that one,” she muttered.
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Mary swallowed. “Yeah. I was there for the grand reopening.”
Mike tilted his head. “Huh. Small world.”
Mary forced a smile. “Yeah. Small world.”
Her fingers twitched.
Because she wasn’t thinking about Freddy’s anymore.
She was thinking about Vinnie.
Before Mike could ask anything else, he paused.
Then—slowly—he said, “By the way… you mentioned something weird last night.”
Mary froze. “…Did I?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. Said you saw a double murder when you were six.”
Mary cursed.
“Shit.”
Mike smirked. “So that wasn’t just drunk talk?”
Mary sighed, rubbing her temple. “Nope.”
Mike whistled. “Jesus, Schmidt.”
Mary huffed. “You ever heard of the Rat & Cat Theater?”
Mike thought for a moment. “Uh… kind of? Mostly as a footnote in animatronic engineering history. Opened for like, what? A day?”
Mary nodded. “Yeah. That place.”
Mike leaned forward. “What happened there?”
Mary exhaled, staring at her hands.
Then, quietly, she said, “An animatronic hurt my brother.”
Mike blinked.
Mary swallowed. “But I wasn’t talking about that theater.”
Mike tilted his head. “Then what?”
Mary took a deep breath.
Then—softly—she said, “The one before that. No animatronics. Just actors.”
Mike didn’t say anything.
So she kept going.
“The theater was small,” Mary murmured. “Not a big deal. The main actors were the Cat and the Rat.”
Mike nodded along.
Mary clenched her hands into fists.
“But there was one more,” she said. “The Puppeteer.”
Mike frowned. “Puppeteer?”
Mary nodded. “Had a puppet. Vinnie the Puppet.”
Mike froze.
Mary swallowed. “Looked a lot like the Marionette.”
Mike’s expression darkened. “You think Fazbear’s stole the design?”
Mary scoffed. “I’d bet my goddamn life on it.”
Mike hummed thoughtfully.
But Mary wasn’t done.
“I was there every day for a week,” she whispered. “Every show.”
Mike stayed silent.
Mary stared at the floor.
“On the last day,” she said, “we were playing hide and seek. All the good hiding spots were taken.”
Mike already didn’t like where this was going.
“The break room was open,” she continued. “So I hid there.”
Her hands shook.
“The Rat followed me in.”
Mary swallowed.
“But before he could find me,” she whispered, “the Puppeteer actor barged in.”
Mike’s stomach twisted.
“They started arguing,” Mary continued. “Puppeteer was pissed. Said Rat was drunk.”
Mike exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
Mary’s jaw tightened.
“Then they started fighting.”
Mary took a deep breath.
And then, softly, she said, “Rat died in the struggle.”
Mike closed his eyes.
Mary wasn’t done.
“Cats actor walked in.”
“They started arguing again,” she whispered. “Cat wanted to call the cops. Puppeteer didn’t.”
Her voice shook.
“Cat tried to call. Puppeteer strangled him to death.”
Silence.
Just silence.
Mike sat there, expression unreadable.
Mary took a shaky breath.
“…It happened because of me.”
Mike snapped his head up.
And suddenly, just like that—
He was pissed.
Mike glared at her. “That’s bullshit.”
Mary flinched. “No, it’s not—”
“Yes, it is.”
Mary clenched her fists. “If I hadn’t—”
“You were a kid.”
Mary’s jaw tightened.
Mike leaned forward. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
Mary scoffed. “Mike—”
“No,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to blame yourself for shit you had no control over.”
Mary gritted her teeth. “Then who the hell do I blame?”
Mike stood up.
And then, with a quiet, serious voice, he said:
“At least you didn’t kill anyone with your own hands.”
Mary froze.
Mike’s expression was unreadable.
The room felt heavier.
Neither of them spoke.
Then, finally—
Mike sat back down.
Mary had never seen Michael look so tired in the short time she knew him.
Not just physically—he always looked like he needed more sleep—but emotionally.
Like he was about to dig up a grave he had buried long ago.
Mike suddenly exhaled, rubbing his face.
“You ever heard of the Bite of ‘83?”
Mary blinked.
She had.
Not the details—her family hadn’t been living in Hurricane when it happened—but when they moved back, she had heard whispers about an accident at Fredbear’s Family Diner.
She knew a kid had died.
She didn’t know how.
She didn’t know who it was.
“…Yeah,” Mary said slowly. “Not much, though.”
Mike nodded, running a hand through his hair.
Then—quietly—he said, “It was my fault.”
“Back then, Fazbear’s was everywhere,” Mike said. “The diner was booming. My dad was busier than ever.”
Mary nodded. She could imagine.
“My mom wasn’t around much,” he continued. “She was recovering from a car accident, so I had to watch my siblings.”
He sighed.
“Elizabeth was fine,” he muttered. “She was nine. Annoying, but manageable.”
Then his expression shifted.
“But Evan?” He exhaled sharply. “Evan was…”
Mary stayed silent.
“…He was terrified of the animatronics,” Mike finally said. “Fine with the merchandise. Fine with the plushies. But the actual machines?”
Mike shook his head.
“He’d cry every time he saw one.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
Mike huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
“You have no idea.”
“It got on my nerves,” Mike admitted. “Like, all the time.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face.
“I was fourteen,” he muttered. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I was just a stupid kid, stuck babysitting a scared little brother who wouldn’t stop crying over robots.”
Mary stayed quiet.
One thing she had learned in life?
If someone was finally opening up about something painful, you let them talk.
“So, I started…” He hesitated.
Then—softly—he said, “I started wearing a Foxy mask to scare him.”
Mary’s stomach sank.
“Not all the time,” Mike added quickly. “Just—just when he was being especially annoying.”
His hands clenched into fists.
“It was stupid. I thought—I thought it was harmless.”
Mary didn’t move.
She could tell what was coming.
And she knew Michael hated himself for it.
Mike took a shaky breath.
“Then came his birthday.”
Mary’s stomach twisted.
“We were at the diner,” Mike continued. “Evan was already scared as hell.”
His fingers dug into his palms.
“And me? I was being a dick.”
Mary remained silent.
“I kept scaring him,” Mike admitted. “Just—just to mess with him.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Then me and my friends got an idea,” he muttered.
Mary already hated this idea.
“We thought, hey, let’s give the birthday boy a closer look.”
His voice was flat.
Devoid of emotion.
“We grabbed him. Carried him over to the stage.”
Mary’s heart dropped.
“We shoved him towards Fredbear.”
Mary stopped breathing.
And then, Michael said the words that broke her.
“I didn’t know the jaw would slam shut.”
Mike didn’t look up.
Mary didn’t move.
“For ten days,” Mike whispered, “he was on life support.”
Mary’s heart sank.
Mike finally looked at her. His eyes were empty.
“And then he died.”
Mary felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Mike leaned back, expression blank. “My family never forgave me.”
Mary didn’t know what to say.
What could she say?
She wasn’t there.
She couldn’t change anything.
But she could do one thing.
She could be there.
So, without a word, she hugged him.
Mike stiffened.
Then—slowly—he relaxed.
And in a quiet, humorless voice, Mary muttered:
“Well. Both our childhoods were messed up.”
Mike let out a breath of laughter.
A real, genuine laugh.
It was the first one she had heard from him.
They sat there for a while.
Just… existing.
And for the first time in years, Mary felt like someone else actually understood.
Her fingers twitched.
She thought about the factory.
She thought about the blood.
She thought about how easy it would be to just…
Tell him.
But she hesitated.
She wasn’t sure why.
Maybe because it was still hard.
Maybe because it still felt like her burden.
Or maybe because…
Because she was afraid.
Of what, she didn’t know.
But she did know one thing.
She wanted to tell him.
And maybe—
Maybe one day… she would.