Chapter Text
Not long after his younger brother was born, Michael started to have horrible nightmares. He would wake up screaming, but he was so young and didn't have the words to explain to his worried mother and disgruntled father. All that was clear was that he was waking up terrified and not getting nearly enough sleep. No amount of sleep remedies worked, and his parents didn’t have the patience, either, when there was a new baby in the house.
Michael wouldn't touch a plush Springbonnie anymore. This annoyed William greatly. The plush was a one of a kind prototype, and he was extremely smug when it became a favorite. The boy looking like him and wanting his attention always teetered between being an annoyance and stroking his ego. However, the nightmare business was completely a bother to him.
One day, when Michael had been allowed to hold his baby brother, he suddenly burst into tears, apologizing to the baby over and over. His mother had to take the baby away from him before he scared it into crying too. Michael hadn't been able to provide an explanation when his father questioned him other than saying it was because of a bad dream. Only time would give him the right tools to communicate.
While Michael otherwise didn't cry much anymore, other than around Evan sometimes, he had been very reserved since the nightmares started. By the time he was eight, he stopped waking up screaming. Instead, his father could tell by seeing his eldest looking shell shocked in the morning, if he bothered noticing at all. Elizabeth was still the favorite. The biggest incident had been when Michael became inconsolable at Charlotte Emily's birthday, and he wasn't any better until the birthday girl stuck to him like glue. William took out his frustrations over his failing marriage elsewhere that day.
Nothing actually came of Michael's oddities until William presented his children with designs for a new set of animatronics. They were surface level designs that didn't show the inner workings, not that his kids would notice anything wrong.
William was going on about each one before arriving at Circus Baby, who he was dedicating to a delighted Elizabeth. It was all well and good until Michael started hyperventilating, a shaky fist clenching his shirt over his heart. His eyes seemed glassy and unfocused.
"Michael, what's the meaning of this?" William had long since lost the patience to deal with his eldest child. He had actual small children to deal with, so he expected Michael to toughen up and be an extra set of hands around the home.
"She's going to kill me!" Michael's free hand pointed right at Circus Baby. "She lied to me. I only wanted to help Lizzie like you asked, but, but she scooped me." He looked ill. The color had all drained from his face, and he didn't stop shaking until William flipped over the picture of Circus Baby.
William regarded his son with suspicion. The boy couldn't possibly know of the mechanisms inside of Baby or his other plans for a scooper for taking apart animatronics. Yet, those words had come out of Michael's mouth, phrased in that same way.
"No animatronic is going to kill you, Michael," he said, carefully. "They're perfectly safe. You're scaring your siblings." Elizabeth was pouting over the Michael calling the one for her a murderer, but Evan looked on the verge of tears.Michael winced and patted Evan, so he wouldn’t cry in front of father.
"I– Sorry, father. I think it was just a dream." Michael lowered his head. He didn't really believe it, did he? Still, he had that one all the time, the one where he looked in a mirror and it wasn't really him. For some reason, he was almost always older in his dreams.
With everything William had been experimenting with, his view of the world had expanded accordingly. Michael's dreams had gone from a nuisance to something to investigate. He needed to know exactly what was happening here, so he got something for his eldest.
"This is a journal where I will be expecting you to log your dreams. This nonsense has continued for long enough, and you're old enough now to explain these nightmares of yours. You will put down the date followed by as much information about the dream as you remember upon waking. If you lie to me, I will know."
At ten years old, Michael was put off by the assignment. His father didn't pay him much mind most days and often left him to care for his siblings while he worked long hours. Still, refusing out loud was the worst option. "Yes, father."
___
March 18th
Springbonnie is on a camera feed. He looks gross and broken, and he walks funny. Then, he's in the vents. He wants to hurt me.
March 30th
Evan is older. It's his birthday. I only wanted to scare him, but he died, and I killed him.
April 5th
I'm older. I can't move, but I'm moving. Something is under my skin. My skin is rotting.
April 11th
I'm older, and I turned a bunch of trash into animatronics. They perform at a restaurant I can't remember. Uncle Henry is there, but we act like we don't know each other. I can't buy the pickles.
April 24th
Circus Baby tells me I won't die, but it hurts a lot, and then I wake up on a sidewalk. There's too much empty space in me. My skin is purple, and there's a lot of holes in me.
May 1st
Evan dies. I keep hearing the crunch even though I'm awake now. Fredbear is dripping blood
May 4
Evan dies.
May 10th
Evan dies. It's still my fault
May 29th
There's Freddy and everyone outside the door of some office. I think they're ghosts for some reason. I look too much like someone else, and they don't like it, but I'm trying to help them.
June 7th
Evan dies.
June 12th
The busted Springbonnie is there and even more busted. I hit him with electricity, and he said my name.
I said go to hell father.
I said a bad word and called him father. The stuff on the inside were pink purple and looked like bones.
June 20th
There's a fire, and I'm burning too. I can hear you screaming at me, but older me just laughs.
July 2nd
I'm older but not purple and father is there. He said it's my fault my siblings are gone. I said Lizzie wasn't my fault
and he hit me
.
July 15th
My friends cheered the whole time. I put Evan in Fredbear’s mouth. I thought Fredbear was safe. Why did it crush Evan’s head?
___
William made no secret of looking through Michael's dream journal. He also believed his son wasn't documenting everything, but Michael always said he just didn't remember his nightmare. What was logged, though, was unsettling. Almost all of it seemed to have something to do with his business and the animatronics. However, some of it was extremely interesting to him, given all of the experiments he was doing.
While Michael always bristled, always shied away, always regarded him with suspicion, that wasn't what had William's attention. The boy could be as scared and weary of him as he wanted. What filled William with a terrible glee was the story these dreams told. Michael was still too young to write eloquently, but it was clear to see that there was a story of remnant here, and of William's inventions working. That was priceless. He had no idea why his son was having prophetic dreams, and he barely cared that the deaths of all of his children were implied. It would be simple to save his children and then keep Michael on his side instead of turning the boy against him. Michael was still so young, easily molded, and his dreams predicted that he would grow up cunning enough to be a threat. Like father, like son. All he had to do was redirect that. His own implied fate was more concerning, but that, too, could now be avoided.
Michael was young, too young to be anything but confused. The dreams still scared him, even if he was growing numb to them. He didn't know why his father grinned that chilling grin when he read about the awful dreams. Writing them down had felt nice, like he was getting them out of his head, but he didn't think that's why his father liked it. Michael always sat with a dictionary to make sure he spelled all his words right, and he was careful to cross things out very sparingly. Otherwise, he thought father might become irritated.
One night, Michael woke up, or maybe he didn't. There wasn't any light in the room or coming in from the halls. It felt like there was a buzzing in his ears, and he heard clanking in the hallway that sent a shiver up his spine. It was a sound that he had only ever heard in nightmares. This was one, wasn’t it? He pushed himself out of bed and crept to the door, grabbing a flashlight on the way. The door cracked open, and he pointed his flashlight into the hall. It was Springbonnie, broken down, not quite how he remembered but close enough. His tired mind was more than happy to fill in the gaps. Michael shut the door and pressed his back against it to hold it closed.
"A door won't stop me, Michael." It was like Michael's brain short circuited for a second. That was his father's voice, but that made it worse. Something inside of him was thrown into a tizzy, while the rest of him was just plain scared. Just like in the bad dreams, he felt like he had to stop this thing, like he was the only one who could.
"Springtrap," Michael hissed, eyes unfocused. Where did that name come from? The door was forced open, and he hit the ground. Quickly, like a reflex, he rolled to his feet. "Stop coming back."
"I'll always come back for you." The boy scrambled away, but he was caught by the collar of his shirt and lifted off of his feet. Michael hissed and kicked. His flashlight fell to the ground with a dull thud.. "Silly boy, I own you. You're just like me, so give in, and you won't have to rot."
Michael still squirmed, but he was tired and confused. Blinking his eyes harshly, he wasn't sure if he was looking at the springtrap or his father. Was there a difference? A little niggling in the back of his head said no. Then, Michael was dropped down onto his bed, grunting at the impact.
"Go back to bed." He was so tired. "I'll take care of you." Wasn't that what fathers were supposed to do? The monster tucked him in. "That's it. You don't have to fight me." That'd be nice, not having to fight. The urge was there, but he didn't understand it. All that young Michael Afton wanted was to close his eyes and sleep.
So he did.
Blue eyes rolled back into his little head. His heart thudded in his chest even as he fell back to sleep. The monster stood over him from several moments, taking in how soft and pliant the boy had become with a little guidance.
In the morning, Michael wrote about it in his journal as though it were another nightmare. It didn't feel like his other nightmares did. He dutifully wrote down what he remembered anyway. Although, he couldn't help but notice his flashlight in the middle of the carpet.
The morning continued. Michael was buttering toast for Evan when his father bothered to stop in the kitchen on his way out. "Take care of your siblings." Michael bit back a reply– that was what he was doing – but he stopped short of anything when his father ruffled his hair.
"Yes, father." He stood frozen for a moment before he furrowed his brow and dropped the toast onto Evan's plate. What was that about?