Jeremy walked along a sidewalk with his head down, hands buried in his pockets. His feet dragged against the pavement, each step heavier than the last. His mind wouldn't stop tormenting him—no matter how hard he tried, the image always came back: Michael's limp body hanging from Fredbear's jaws.
It ripped out of him before he could stop it.
"AHHHHH! I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON!"
People nearby stopped and stared. Jeremy wiped his eyes with his sleeve, turning away.
"S-sorry... I'm just — having a really bad day..."
He started moving again, but a familiar voice stopped him.
"Jeremy?"
He froze and turned to him. "U-Uncle Henry? What are you doing here?"
Henry stepped closer, concern etched on his face. "I was on my way back to the store. Then I heard you... yelling. Jeremy, what happened? Why would you call yourself a 'terrible person'?"
"I... I don't wanna talk about it here..." Jeremy whispered, his voice cracking.
Henry knelt beside him, one knee in the gravel. His hand rested gently on Jeremy's shoulder. "It's okay. You can tell me at my house, alright?"
Jeremy sniffled and nodded. "Okay..."
Henry stood and walked toward his truck before glancing back. "Come on, Jeremy."
Jeremy followed without another word.
Henry's living room was small and worn, nothing fancy. He settled onto the old couch and patted the seat beside him.
"So... what happened?" Henry asked quietly. "Something's obviously wrong."
Jeremy sat down, shaking. "I... Michael is dead. He's dead... I killed him. I put him in the mouth! I did!" The words spilled out in sobs.
"Jeremy, calm down—what do you mean 'Michael's dead'?" Henry said, alarmed.
Jeremy sucked in a shaky breath. "I... I treated him so horribly these past few months. I kept trying to 'make him braver.' I scared him under his bed, behind the couch... locked him in the parts and service room. I kept telling myself I was helping him face his fears."
His voice cracked. "But four days ago... I put him into Fredbear's mouth. I thought showing him it was harmless would help him. I thought... I thought facing the fear would make him stronger. But I didn't know it would bite down. I didn't know it would kill him. And in the end..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "He saw me as the bad guy."
Henry stayed silent, thinking carefully before he spoke.
"I can't pretend I know what it feels like to cause someone's death. But I do know what it feels like to lose someone you love." Henry sighed. "I can only imagine how much pain you're in. And I want to help you through it... if you'll let me."
Jeremy wiped his nose, trembling. "Yes—yes, Henry. I... I can't get through this alone."
"You don't have to," Henry said gently. "You have me."
"I don't deserve your kindness..." Jeremy muttered, eyes welling again.
"Jeremy... you made a mistake. Everyone—"
"IT DOESN'T MATTER IF IT WAS A MISTAKE!" Jeremy shouted suddenly. "I STILL KILLED MY BROTHER, UNCLE HENRY!"
Silence fell.
Henry inhaled slowly. "When I lost Charlotte, I blamed myself. I kept thinking I could've done more. I pushed everyone away. My wife left. My sister died. I was alone. And for a long time... I wanted to end it."
Jeremy looked up, wide-eyed.
"But then," Henry continued, "I realized something. I can't lay down and die—not until I kill the monster that took my daughter from me."
He let his hand drop, fist trembling. "My point is, Jeremy... you still have a reason to live. Even if you don't see it yet."
Jeremy's face crumpled and he burst into tears. "Michael didn't deserve what I did to him... I should've been the one shoved into that mouth..."
Henry slid over and pulled him into a tight hug.
"I don't know why you and Dad forgave me so easily," Jeremy sobbed. "I'm a horrible person..."
Henry pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. "Jeremy... the fact that you regret it this much already tells me you're not the horrible person you think you are."
Jeremy broke down again, and Henry held him close.
Several minutes passed in heavy, exhausted silence.
"I laughed..." Jeremy said suddenly.
Henry blinked. "What do you mean?"
"When I scared him. From under his bed. Behind the couch. When I locked him in parts and service..." Jeremy's voice shook. "I laughed."
Jeremy clenched his fists. "I think I was lying when I said I wanted to 'help him face his fears.' I think some sick part of me enjoyed it. I think—"
His voice rose, raw and shaking. "I think a sick part of me found it fucking hilarious!"
He slammed his fist into the couch cushion.
"Even on his last day... I just — I just wish I could take it all back..."
He dropped his face into his hands, sobbing.
Henry didn't speak. There wasn't anything left to say.
So, he simply placed a steady hand on Jeremy's back, holding him upright while he fell apart.
William woke in his bed and rolled over. He hoped, just for a moment, that Jennifer would be there, and he'd realize this was all a nightmare. But he knew it wasn't. With a heavy sigh, he sat up and buried his face in his hands.
He was still trying to fully heal Michael. In the basement, he had found some of the amalgamated child remnant in a syringe. He knew what he had to do—but the thought of it made him recoil.
"I... I have to do this," he whispered, holding the syringe tightly. "I... I have to... I'm... I'm sorry..." Tears formed in his eyes as he closed them and pressed the needle into Michael.
Nothing seemed to happen. The gash on Michael's forehead remained brutal and unforgiving. William stepped out of the basement, his body trembling. He collapsed to his knees.
"I'm sorry... I didn't want to... I swear." he sobbed. Then he heard it—the faint, cruel laughter he knew all too well.
"It's like I've told you many times before... you're just like me, William."
"JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he roared, tears streaming freely. "Just... shut... up..." His sobs wracked his body.
Days passed. Slowly, miraculously, Michael began to heal. William realized that the amalgamated remnant was working. Relief and joy filled him, but the guilt for what he'd done—and what he'd had to do—still weighed heavily on him.
One afternoon, as William checked on Michael, the boy opened his eyes.
"F-Father... my head... it still hurts," Michael said, tears brimming.
"I know, Michael... it'll stop soon. I hope," William whispered, holding his son's hand firmly.
Michael had been making remarkable progress. He could now walk, though the gash on his forehead had only reduced to a deep scar. As he passed a picture of Fredbear and Spring-Bonnie on his wall, his breathing accelerated. Memories of those terrible nights came rushing back, and he began to cry, loud and uncontrollable.
William ran to him immediately. He was about to ask what was wrong when he noticed the picture on the wall. Sighing, he said softly, "I'm sorry, Michael... I was so focused on helping you that I forgot to take it down."
Michael sobbed, but William enveloped him in a hug. "Hey... it's okay. I'm still here," he reassured him.
Michael clung to him tightly, and William held him just as tightly. "I'm still here."
.