Mary

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Mary stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, wide awake.

She had tried to sleep. Really, she had.

She’d turned off the lights, buried herself under the covers, and willed herself to pass out. But her brain wasn’t cooperating.

Because her sleep schedule?

Completely. Fucked.

Too many night shifts. Too many close calls. Too many nights of sitting in a dark office, listening to the hum of old machinery and wondering if she’d make it to sunrise.

Now that she was off duty she was just lying here, staring at the ceiling like some kind of insomniac zombie.

She groaned, rubbing her eyes.

It wasn’t even that late. Barely past eleven.

But for her?

It was prime working hours.

Her body still expected the dull glow of security cameras. The distant whir of animatronics. The cold hum of a dying power supply.

But instead, there was just silence.

And Mary hated it.

She sat up, tossing her blanket aside.

No way in hell I’m staying here all night.

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Mary threw on a jacket and grabbed her Walkman, stepping out into the cool autumn night.

The streets of Hurricane, Utah, were quiet. Most of the city had long since settled in for the night, but Mary had spent too much time awake to ever feel comfortable in that silence.

She shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed.

I need a drink.

Unfortunately, she was only eighteen.

And thanks to the National Minimum Drinking Age Act, she couldn’t legally drink until she was twenty-one. Not that it changed much in Utah. It always had that drinking age. The only change was that she and her dad moved back.

Still, it was:

“Bullshit,” Mary muttered under her breath.

Seriously. She could vote, she could work herself to death, but God forbid she have a damn drink.

She kicked a loose rock down the sidewalk, scowling.

Then—

A memory surfaced.

Kelly Something.

A girl from her school. Someone who threw parties constantly.

And, most importantly—

Someone who had very strongly implied that said parties involved alcohol and weed.

Mary stopped walking.

Considered.

Technically, she could go.

She wasn’t working. She wasn’t sleeping. And she really needed a distraction.

Then again what if cops busted it?

It wouldn't be the first time she got arrested.

But what about—

The factory.

Blood on concrete.

Screams in the dark.

Her fault.

Mary swallowed hard.

Then—quietly—she muttered, “Fuck it.”

She turned on her heel and headed toward Kelly’s house.

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Kelly lived in one of the richer parts of town—big houses, manicured lawns, the kind of places that made you wonder how the hell anyone in this city had money.

When Mary arrived, she could already hear music blasting through the walls.

She knocked. Hard so they would hear her.

After a few seconds, the door swung open.

Kelly stood there, wearing an oversized sweater, a drink in one hand, and a very surprised expression on her face.

“…Mary Schmidt?”

Mary smirked. “Hey, Kelly.”

Kelly blinked, then laughed. “Did not expect you to show up.”

Mary shrugged. “Yeah, well. I had the night off.”

Kelly grinned, stepping aside. “Well, come in! You’re just in time.”

Mary stepped inside, the warmth and noise of the party swallowing her whole.

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Mary was hammered.

Like, absolutely, completely, falling off the wagon, hammered.

She hadn’t meant to get this drunk. Really.

She’d just been pacing herself, sipping on the party punch like a responsible adult (even though she wasn’t technically an adult yet, thanks to the stupid National Minimum Drinking Age Act).

But somehow—somewhere along the way—things had gotten fuzzy.

Kelly was talking. Or maybe someone else was talking?

Whatever.

Mary was so warm.

She turned to Kelly and hugged her.

Like, full-body, arms-wrapped-tight, clinging-to-her-like-a-koala hug.

Kelly froze.

Like, completely froze.

Mary sighed against her shoulder. “You are so nice, Kelly.”

Kelly made a weird choking noise.

Mary didn’t notice.

She just swayed in place, squeezing tighter. “Like, so nice. I’m really glad you invited me.”

Kelly made another strangled sound.

Somewhere behind her, someone muttered, “Uh… was Schmidt always a hugger?”

Another voice: “Didn’t think she was a drinker either.”

Kelly, still stiff as a board, finally managed to pry Mary off her.

“You, uh—you okay there, Schmidt?”

Mary giggled. “Yeaaah. I’m so fine.”

Kelly gave her a look. “I don’t think you are.”

Mary waved a hand. “Pshhh. I’m great.”

Kelly did not look convinced.

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Somehow, Mary got roped into Truth or Dare.

She wasn’t sure how.

One second, she was hugging Kelly.

The next, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at some guy who just asked her a question.

“…Huh?”

The guy sighed. “I said—how’s your job?”

Mary groaned dramatically.

“Ohhh my GOD,” she said, throwing her hands up. “Let me tell you about my stupid boss.”

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Kelly sitting next to her muttered, “Oh no.”

Mary ignored her.

“He benched me,” she slurred, gesturing wildly. “Just one panic attack, and BAM! No work for you, Mary!”

There was a pause.

“…Wait,” someone said. “Your boss benched you for a panic attack?”

Mary huffed. “Yup.”

More silence.

Kelly shifted uncomfortably (why?). “…Uh. Are you okay?”

“No, no, no, see—see—” Mary hiccupped. “It’s fine. I deserved it.”

Kelly frowned. “That’s—”

“Because, like—” Mary squinted. “Because. Y’know. The factory.”

“…What?”

Mary nodded very seriously.

“The factory,” she repeated.

More silence.

“The hell does that mean?” someone whispered.

Mary took another sip of her drink—except she had no drink, so she just air-sipped before continuing.

“It was so bad,” she muttered. “Blood everywhere. Screaming. My fault.”

The room shifted.

The mood shifted.

Mary just kept rambling.

“Should’ve stayed awake,” she slurred. “Could’ve stopped it.”

Kelly stared.

“…What the fuck?” someone whispered.

Kelly clapped her hands together. “OKAY! Next question!”

“Hot boys,” one girl declared cueing the many groans from the guys. “That’s what we need to talk about.”

Mary perked up.

“Oh! I know a hot boy.”

Kelly sighed in relief—until Mary kept going.

“Michael Afton.”

Kelly stared.

“Seriously?” someone muttered while others coughed into their hands or started to drink their beers or whatever...

Mary pointed at Kelly. “No, listen! He’s—he’s all like mysterious and broody and he wears a leather jacket—”

Kelly groaned louder. “Oh my God—”

“—and like, he’s actually really nice?” Mary continued, oblivious. “But like, he doesn’t know it.”

Some bitch snorted. “Sounds like an emo loser.”

Mary gasps.

“NO.”

Everyone stared.

Mary wobbled. “He’s—he’s like, actually really cool. And he listens to me.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush, Schmidt.”

Mary scoffed. “Nooo.”

Kelly raised an eyebrow.

Mary wobbled harder. “He’s just—he’s just nice, okay?”

Kelly smirked. “Right. And I think Winona Ryder is nice.”

Mary squinted.

“…But she’s not a man.”

Kelly blinked.

The entire room went silent.

Kelly stared at Mary.

Mary stared back.

“…Holy shit your wasted,” Kelly muttered.

Then—

She yanked Mary’s bottle out of her hands.

Kelly examined the bottle.

Then her expression shifted.

“…Wait.”

She sniffed it.

Frowned.

Then—realization.

Her head snapped up.

“GODDAMMIT, FRANK! AGAIN?!”

Across the room, a guilty-looking dude flinched.

“What?” he said weakly.

Kelly stormed toward him. “You spiked the punch AGAIN?!”

Frank raised his hands. “I thought it’d be funny!”

Kelly threw the bottle at his head.

Frank ducked. “JESUS, WOMAN—”

Kelly turned back to Mary, exasperated. “Okay. Okay. Schmidt? Listen to me.”

Mary wobbled.

Kelly grabbed her shoulders.

“You are so drunk.”

Mary blinked slowly. “Noooooo.”

Kelly sighed.

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Michael.

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Michael was having a perfectly good night off when his phone rang.

He considered ignoring it.

He didn’t owe anyone his free time, and if Ralph was calling to ask him to cover his shift, he was going to tell him to go to hell. It would be a suicide to go inside Freddys anyway. It was 2 AM!

But then he saw the number.

Kelly.

Michael frowned and picked up. “Yeah?”

“Oh, thank God.” Kelly’s voice sounded relieved. “Mike, I need a favor.”

Michael sighed. “What did you do?”

“It’s not me, it’s your new little bestie,” Kelly said. “Mary Schmidt.”

Michael blinked. “Wait. What?”

Kelly groaned. “Long story short, she got completely wasted, and I need to get her home. But I don’t have her dad’s number, and you were the only person she wouldn’t shut the hell up about.”

Michael processed that.

Slowly.

Mary had gotten drunk—which, okay, that was new but then again they only knew each other for a few weeks—and apparently, she’d been talking about him.

A lot.

Michael sighed, rubbing his temple. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

Kelly sighed. “Thank god.”

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When Michael arrived at the party, he and Kelly immediately pretended things were awkward as hell.

It was routine at this point.

After all, as far as everyone here was concerned, they were exes.

Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes as a few people shot him pitying looks, while others glared like he’d personally wronged them though that might not have been related.

Some just coughed awkwardly, muttering, “This must be weird for you guys.”

Michael bit back a smirk.

If only they knew.

Kelly, for all her dramatics, was one of his oldest friends.

And, once upon a time, he’d been her beard.

Before he’d started working night shifts. Before she’d moved on to Tom, one of their mutual friends.

Tom, who—like Kelly—had also been there at Fredbear’s Family Diner in 1983 where they made the worst mistake in their lives.

Michael didn’t think about that.

Instead, he just played along, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Where is she?”

Kelly sighed. “Living room.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Kelly snorted. “See for yourself.”

Michael found Mary in the living room, watching The Transformers on Kelly’s old TV.

She was slumped against the couch, still hammered, surrounded by a group of girls who looked like they’d seen God and He was horrifying.

One of them caught sight of Michael and immediately said, “Oh, thank God. Take her.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What did she do?”

“She—she started talking about what would actually happen if you were inside a Transformer when it transformed,” one girl said, looking haunted.

Another girl shuddered. “It was horrific.”

A third girl whimpered. “I can’t watch Optimus Prime the same way again.”

Michael sighed.

Yep.

That sounded like Mary.

She noticed him then, blinking slowly.

“Miiiiike!” she slurred.

Michael sighed. “Yeah, yeah, come on, let’s get you home.”

Mary pouted. “But—movie—”

Michael grabbed her arm and pulled her up.

She wobbled immediately.

Kelly watched in amusement. “You got this?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

Kelly smirked. “I’ll drop your bike to your place tomorrow.”

Michael frowned. “You don’t have a license.”

Kelly grinned. “I won’t give the cops a reason to stop me.”

Michael sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

Kelly winked and shoved them out the door.

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They walked down the quiet streets of Hurricane, Utah, the party’s noise fading behind them.

Mary stumbled a few times, and Michael had to grab her by the arm to keep her from face-planting into the pavement.

“You’re a disaster,” Michael muttered.

Mary giggled. “You looove it.”

Michael ignored that.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Mary suddenly said, “I saw a double murder when I was six.”

Michael froze.

“…What?”

Mary nodded sagely. “Mmmhm.”

Michael stared.

Then—very quickly—he changed the subject.

“Hey, didn’t your car get stolen?”

Mary perked up. “YES.”

Michael exhaled. Crisis averted.

“My car,” Mary slurred, gesturing dramatically, “was named Rusty.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Mary grinned. “Because he was red and old and a piece of shit.”

Michael snorted. “Fitting.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “Did you name your bike?”

Michael shrugged. “No.”

Mary gasped.

“Mike,” she said, grabbing his arm. “That’s not fun.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s a bike, Mary.”

Mary huffed. “You should name it.”

Michael ignored her.

Mary poked his arm. “C’moooon.”

Michael sighed. “You name it, then.”

Mary squinted in deep concentration.

Then—very seriously—she said, “Bob.”

Michael stared at her.

“…Bob?”

Mary nodded proudly.

Michael groaned. “That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard.”

Mary giggled.

Michael kept walking.

Mary babbled the whole way.

Most of it was nonsense.

At one point, she giggled and said, “Y’know, Mike, you’ve got really nice arms.”

Michael blinked.

“…Uh. Thanks?”

Mary smirked. “I bet all the girls love them.”

Michael snorted. “Sure, Mary.”

Mary grinned. “I mean, I love them.”

Michael froze.

“…What?”

Mary giggled and stumbled forward, grabbing onto his arm.

Michael sighed. “Jesus, you’re gonna fall—”

Mary leaned into him.

Michael immediately panicked.

But before he could say anything, Mary yawned.

Then—softly—she murmured, “This is nice.”

And then she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Michael short-circuited.

She was leaning on him.

Like it was natural.

Like it was normal.

Like it wasn’t sending his brain into a full system crash.

Michael sat there, stiff as a board, completely frozen.

His brain was screaming at him.

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING???

Mary, meanwhile, was just relaxing, totally unaware of the absolute chaos she had just caused in his head.

He could only continue dragging Mary to her home.

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For the record, Michael had never walked a drunk person home before.

So, when he finally made it to Mary’s house, half-carrying her up the front steps, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.

He knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately.

And standing there, looking half-exhausted, half-worried, was Mary’s dad.

His eyes immediately landed on his barely conscious daughter.

Then on Michael.

Then back to Mary.

“…Huh,” Tom said, crossing his arms. “Didn’t expect you to bring her home.”

Michael sighed. “Yeah, well. A friend of mine called me to pick her up since she didn't know your number or where she lived.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

Michael adjusted his grip on Mary. “She was hugging people.”

Tom’s expression immediately shifted into alarm.

“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered. “Alright, get her inside.”

Michael nodded and helped maneuver Mary through the doorway.

She laughed as they nearly bumped into a table.

“I love you guys,” she slurred.

Tom sighed. “Yep. She’s gone.”

Michael couldn’t argue with that.

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Getting Mary to her room was a struggle.

She was not helping.

At one point, she tried to high-five a lamp.

At another, she mumbled something about Optimus Prime.

Eventually, somehow, they got her onto her bed.

Tom adjusted her pillow and sighed. “Y’know, I can’t exactly ground her anymore.”

Michael nodded. “Probably wouldn't work.”

Tom glanced at Mary, who was now muttering to herself about robots.

Then he said, “But her hangover tomorrow? Oh, she’s gonna wish she was grounded instead.”

Mary giggled.

Michael just shook his head. “Yeah. She’s screwed.”

Tom patted Mary’s blanket once, then motioned for Michael to follow him out into the hallway.

Once he closed the door to Mary´s room, Tom gave Michael a look.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Tom folded his arms. “Did she kiss you?”

Michael stared.

“…What?!”

“I’m just saying,” Tom said, raising his hands, “sometimes, when people get that drunk, they do stupid things.”

Michael blinked slowly. “Uh. No.”

Tom studied him for a moment.

Then—nodding—he said, “Okay. I believe you.”

Michael frowned. “You were that worried?”

Tom chuckled. “Nah. Just asking because, y’know. It happened to me.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Tom grinned. “Oh, yeah. Back when I was about your age. A girl got hammered at my going away party, and next thing I know, bam—sudden kiss.”

Michael snorted. “And?”

Tom shrugged. “And I married her.”

Michael stared.

Tom grinned wider. “Guess it worked out.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Sounds like it.”

Tom just patted his shoulder.

“Anyways do you need a ride home?” Tom asked.

Michael shook his head. “Nah. I’ll walk.”

Tom frowned. “This late?”

Michael shrugged. “Not like my parents care if I’m home or not.”

Tom’s expression shifted.

He didn’t say anything.

But something in the way he looked at Michael made Michael pause.

“…What?” Michael asked.

Tom sighed.

Then—casually, but not really—he said, “How about you stay here tonight?”

Michael blinked. “Huh?”

“Couch is open,” Tom said. “Or my bed, if you want something more comfortable.”

Michael hesitated.

It wasn’t a bad offer.

And honestly? He was exhausted.

“…Alright,” he finally said. “Thanks.”

Tom nodded. “No problem.”

They made their way to Tom’s room, and Tom pushed open the door.

Michael stepped inside.

Then Tom, almost absentmindedly, added, “Would’ve had you stay in my son’s room, but, uh—” He shrugged. “It’s locked. He took the key to collage for some reason.”

Tom clapped his hands. “Anyway! Get some sleep.”

And with that, he headed to the couch.

Michael watched him go.

Then—quietly—he climbed into bed.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—

He actually fell asleep.